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A trip to there and back again (Krsna ! )

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A poem(Krsna !)


<font color="red">

Who's gonna save you

when you're about to go over the edge(Krsna!) /images/graemlins/smirk.gif

or off the rails(Krsna!) /images/graemlins/wink.gif

Or jump into a bloody mess(Krsna!) /images/graemlins/tongue.gif

of illusion ,confusion and delusion(Krsna!) /images/graemlins/confused.gif


So who gonna kick your butt(Krsna!) /images/graemlins/blush.gif

when you make offence to all the good people

of this world(Are there any?)(Krsna!) /images/graemlins/ooo.gif


Find out for sure

whether or not you're flaming mad

or not?(Krsna!) /images/graemlins/grin.gif </font color>


--- Krsna das

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in a sense yes.


the way I see it:


ultimately... in spiritual life everything is dependent on Krishna's mercy, but we must try to follow the path of the Acharyas and pray for their, and Lord Krishna's blessings.


in material life we must walk the path of Dharma and pray that our material life will not distract us from our spiritual pursuit

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We do have to do some of the gardening/weeding though not that we sit back and leave it all up to Krsna all the time!



Sorry just can't believe someone can be so flippant. My guru maharaja would whack me into next week if he heard me say that stupid statement!


Can I suggest the bhakta course to you?????



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Bhaktivinode's App. Day


By the pond

Cool dark day

In a sick body.


I'm looking for the most

golden opportune moment to think of Krsna

It's not working.


From His side

It's easier if He comes to me

to give special mercy.

I don't deserve it.


Thank You Krsna


krsna das


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It's all His


Nothing is mine anymore


All I do is Krsna's doing through me


Yes,a very tight compact of love between Him and me


No kidding !

It's an internal state of reciprocal give and take:


He give me everything


And He takes away everything.


Krsna is doer,seer, maker ,etc...


I've done nothing at all ...


But desire that Krsna take over my heart and soul


and give me His very Self.


Hare Krishna


Krsna das

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I have fear of the Spirits of the past

That flutter behind me and "within me".


My ash thoughts push the wind

and fly over

Melting in tears of ice ...


My sand throne

for a sinner rogue

on the wake of his false ego.


I'm a toy of ironic destiny

Today as Yesterday

Always every thought is an Eternity

in order

That I desire virtue

like a noble king

can give his country .

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Hare Krsna,

kirtana all in my citta


Mahamantra, Hare Krsna

taken root in my heart and soul,

my essence revealed as jivatma...


The Holy Names blasted

through the deep rock

and steel-framed fence of sin

around the heart

realizing my eternal nature as a sevaka

as Sri Krsna das

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Was I caught and stolen for Krsna's pleasure?


Did I redeem myself by coming to Him?


Prostrated in full dandavats..


Calling out His names with petition and contrition...


I desire therefore I will change to be His loving servant devotee


some day soon


Can I do it?


Na, can't be done by me!


Only by His grace and mercy.

He'll do some day soon

He'll force me to taste the nectar

Spit out the stool


He'll mercy kick me in the head


So that I can serve Him willingly, lovingly without any reservation.


Krsna das here reporting from a small place called Earth.

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Poems have a way of grabbing the essence from thin air!:





Walt Whitman (1819–1892)


from Song of Myself





I celebrate myself, and sing myself,

And what I assume you shall assume,

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.


I loaf and invite my soul,

I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.


My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,

Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents

the same,

I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,

Hoping to cease not till death.


Creeds and school in abeyance,

Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,

I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,

Nature without check with original energy.





Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with


I breathe the fragrance myself, and know it and like it,

The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.


The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is


It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,

I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,

I am mad for it to be in contact with me.


The smoke of my own breath,

Echoes, ripples, and buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine,

My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood

and air through my lungs,

The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color'd

sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,

The sound of the belch'd words of my voice, words loos'd to the eddies of the wind,

A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,

The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,

The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides,

The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and

meeting the sun.


Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? Have you reckon'd the earth much?

Have you practiced so long to learn to read?

Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?


Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,

You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns


You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through

the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,

You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,

You shall listen to all sides and filter them from yourself.


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Freed from Lust?


Not yet perhaps,

But I've got the desire

to put the whole episode behind me. Yes.


Lust is Disgust.

The Lord's Grace is a real must

In order to

Love without Lust.


I sit in one place

And peer outside my prison self


The world is passing me by,

The only way I make meaning

is to tap in these few lines on this srceen.


Otherwise the residual lust

will force me to see a woman

to desire.


krsna das

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The addiction of being alone


She beckons



And smiles.


Her wicked

Breaks homes

Binds you

To her rooms.


An addiction

She is


Hah! you wish!


When You abandon,

She calls

Traps me

In her squalls.


Then one day

You weren't there

She spied me out

But I ran away.



I realize

You're still here

By my side.


But how long


The lonely temptress

Will score?


© Rucha Gokhale




Thursday, July 28, 2005


The betrayal


I waited

How long

I don't recall.

But time flew

And weariness



Along came

The one

I waited for .

Eyes red, forlorn




Bit my tongue

As tales flew


Sputtering and jerky,

A heart emptied of fears.

Sordid. Murky.


Felt I both

Betrayal and pity

And I watched.

The drunken stupor

Of a forgotten friend

From before.


A voice lamented.

Begged and urged

"Fight on!"

But tempted by such intimacy

I proved once again

My fallacy.


© Rucha Gokhale






The Sensitive Skill


The difference between

Me and him

He's wise yet I

Am wiser still.

Not in the way

The laureates are


In a village way by far.


His might herculean

His mind so swift,

Achilles, Alexander, Arjun like his skill.

He knows not though

Neither achieved the heights

I've seen a dear father achieve

Only just to endure my sullen whims.


I know he's as deep

As his heritage allows...

Not deep perhaps

Like the ocean of my love;

Yet a wholesome smile

At my warm but uncooked rice

Would've made him king

And earned him the land of my soul.


© Rucha Gokhale




A life just begun


Here I was

The end of a phase of a beginning

Scribbling words, mundane.


My feelings, hmmmm...

Let me analyse them

And have it done.


Putting quill to paper

Or fingers to keys,

Stalling, procrastinating.


Ah! need to fetch

Such and such

The larder needs stocking.


Stop! get back!

Back to inking

Precious thoughts of past days.


Paralyzed mind

Furtively worked to get out of the "chore"

In a million ways.


Let me feel!

Let me deal!

Let this seem unreal!

Let it be a dream!

Screamed... My mind

- in defense of an innocent life just begun.


© Rucha Gokhale




Absent Love


Took the world in,

Through naked eyes,

But my own veiled truth

Never realized.


Dirt and shame grow,

From root to tree,

And so an absent love

Begins with me.


Too shallow to care,

Too selfish to know,

That I reap the fruits

Of the seeds I sow.


But for forgiveness and mercy

Stirring all around,

I had it not in me

To stand my ground.


I cannot run,

And I can't hide.

But I can rise above

This darkness inside.


I can't run

But I can fly!

I'll take my chances

With the unknown sky.


The whirling wind

May bring a friend,

But my loneliness

I must defend.


For I am at ease

With an absent love,

With it I'll make

My home above...


© Rucha Gokhale

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Why does famine strike a personal domain?

While cool rain spills on an evergreen plain?


Why do slight tremors cause

A mind to bend?

Though a thousand earthquakes

It could easily mend?



When rose-gardens flourish

Without a weed,

Will thorns prick undaunted

And a soul must bleed?



When reality has turned into

A fairy tale,

Nightmares come true

Like a wicked spell?



Just when the heart learns to leap

O'er trivial pain?

Does fate turn tables

Bringing abandonment again?


And why?

When cool rain may spill on every evergreen plain,

Must famine strike a personal domain?


© Rucha Gokhale


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Exposition of the stanzas describing the method followed by the soul in its journey upon the spiritual road to the attainment of the perfect union of love with God, to the extent that is possible in this life. Likewise are described the properties belonging to the soul that has attained to the said perfection, according as they are contained in the same stanzas.








1. On a dark night,

Kindled in love with yearnings—oh, happy chance!—

I went forth without being observed,

My house being now at rest.


2. In darkness and secure,

By the secret ladder, disguised—oh, happy chance!—

In darkness and in concealment,

My house being now at rest.


3. In the happy night,

In secret, when none saw me,

Nor I beheld aught,

Without light or guide,

save that which burned in my heart.


4. This light guided me

More surely than the light of noonday

To the place where he (well I knew who!)

was awaiting me—

A place where none appeared.


5. Oh, night that guided me,

Oh, night more lovely than the dawn,

Oh, night that joined

Beloved with lover,

Lover transformed in the Beloved!


6. Upon my flowery breast,

Kept wholly for himself alone,

There he stayed sleeping,

and I caressed him,

And the fanning of the cedars made a breeze.


7. The breeze blew from the turret

As I parted his locks;

With his gentle hand he wounded my neck

And caused all my senses to be suspended.


8. I remained, lost in oblivion;

My face I reclined on the Beloved.

All ceased and I abandoned myself,

Leaving my cares forgotten among the lilies.


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Robert Frost (1874–1963).


Mountain Interval. 1920.

1. The Road Not Taken

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth; 5

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same, 10

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back. 15

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.



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If I can traverse the path

calked out by the Great Souls


Then let it be written down

some where that it was possible

for a fallen soul like me

to become a Krsna das in truth.


Not holding back,

the mercy is there

but not taking is offense


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Hankering for that which really quenches;

immortal beverage - kirtan-rasa-beyond illusion's trenches.


I need to give up the trapings of maya's lair

by using the sadhus words with care.


They are beacons of light

and clarion calls for our bhakti fight.


To ressucitate my soul's very essence

By Krsna's auspicious Harinama presence.


Krsna das


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Krsna is THE person


Whom I must learn to relate in Real Time


Moment to moment 24/7


All else is detail


The main line to Krsna is Krsna.


How ?


Hare Krsna Maha-Mantra Chanting


Prescibed by the best of Krsna bhaktas;


as the medicine for all ills of Kali-yuga


Harinama Harinama...


Lest we forget and become dullards again.


There's the One - Krsna

And Krsna is not alone, He is with His pure devotee entourage.


How to enter?


Pray to be allowed access to His dear devotees by endearing youself to Him.


Act in such a way as Krsna will be obligated to come and see you.


There you are struggling in your little material bubble, And within a moment krsna can pop it and make you cry for Him feelingly from the bottom of your heart,




"Krsna, O Dear lord,

Please save me!"


Which Krsna?


He is Only One, and yet He appears mystically as Sriman Mahaprabhu, Sri Gauranga Avatara at Navadvipa...


Sri Krsna caitanya, prabhu nityananda...


It is indeed a GOLDEN AVATARA oportunity to enter into this most special kirtana-rasa-- prema hari-nama sankirtana


distributed by His most dear and confidential devotees to the most fallen and least deserving


Envisioned with 2 hands extended to everyone


one teeney Krsna das begs for the strength to keep on begging for Sri Gouranga's Causeless Mercy,



Krsna das

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Poetry of William Blake





Youth of delight! come hither

And see the opening morn,


Image of Truth new-born.


Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason,

Dark disputes and artful teazing.


Folly is an endless maze;

Tangled roots perplex her ways;

How many have fallen there!


They stumble all night over bones of the dead;

And feel--they know not what but care;

And wish to lead others, when they should be led.


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Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 19




Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,

And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;


Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,

And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;


Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,

And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,


To the wide world and all her fading sweets;

But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:


O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,

Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;


Him in thy course untainted do allow

For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.


Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,

My love shall in my verse ever live young.



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That's me, an eternal newbie

full of pep, but then ran out of fizz


I wanted to save the world

But then realized,

I couldn't even save myself


All the big project's programmes

turned on me to leave me in doubts

'til i was shown the mercy of a Krsna Bhakta.


krsna das



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Oh Lord, why should I pretend


that I usurp your power,


when all that vibrates


does so only at your Will.




Why should I make plans for the future,


when all my days are decided by You.


Why should I think I, when all is You.




Please Lord, grant me the Grace


to always see clearly.


Provide to me Your Will


so that my every action


is in accord with


Your highest standards of selflessness,


compassion, kindness and love.




It is You who are all.


This part of You recognizes Your Glory


and humbly offers back to You


that which has always been Yours,


but I was too ignorant to see.





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