"I felt as if those monks were kindred spirits, as if I had been there myself at some distant forgotten time."
ON A CRISP, sunny October morning in 1958 I sat in my third-grade classroom at St. Philomena Elementary School in Denver, Colorado. Our regular teacher was absent that day, and a substitute had come to take her place. As soon as we'd recited the Pledge of Allegiance and were quietly seated at our desks, she began to speak about something I'd never heard mentioned in our Catholic parochial school: she revealed to us that there were cultures in the world where people worshiped God differently from our Roman Catholic parents. She boldly told us about the different religions and spiritual paths of the world. I was fascinated.
I long remembered one religious path she spoke about. She told us of a place called India, where there are monks who wear robes, shave their heads, and travel barefoot from temple to temple, repeatedly prostrating themselves on the ground, in full submission to God. They lie flat out and place a small stone where their outstretched arms reach. Then they get up, place their heels where the stone lies, and again prostrate themselves, offering obeisances to God and placing the stone at arm's length. In this way, slowly, slowly, with great devotion, reverence, and humility, they walk from temple to temple, chanting God's names all the time.
Although I had never heard anything like this before, a strange sensation of familiarity came over me, the most powerful deja vu I had ever experienced in my young life. I felt as if momentarily transported to that place called India, to that dusty road where those saintly monks chant the name of God and walk from temple to temple. And I felt completely at home there, as if those monks were kindred spirits, as if I had been there myself at some distant forgotten time. I felt I had known these holy men. But how could that be?
I told no one about how our substitute teacher's words had affected me that morning, but instead kept the image of those saintly pilgrims in my heart, hoping to someday meet them again.
During my grade-school years I found few friends to share my enthusiasm in spiritual pursuits. Most of my peers had no interest in rising early to attend Mass on weekdays, or going to the church after school to pray and meditate. So I was somewhat of a loner; my fellow students considered me a fanatic about spiritual things.
Always longing to know more about God and seeking more answers than the Bible or theologians could give me, I began in my youth to search elsewhere, beyond the religion of my birth, beyond the creed of my mother, who was impatient with my wanting to understand anything outside Roman Catholic doctrine.
As a senior in high school I would steal off to the local bookstore and pick up books like At the Feet of the Master and Be Here Now. These encouraged me, but still were not completely satisfying. I felt there was more to spiritual knowledge than these books offered.
On My Own
After graduating from high school I was glad to be away from home and free to explore life on my own. I dove into Nietzsche and Camus, hoping to find answers at the University of Wyoming library to my philosophical and spiritual questions, to find my niche among the world views of the greatest philosophers of our time. Though I was thirsty for truth, I found no spiritual identity for myself in those volumes of nebulous words. Instead, I became an atheist from reading Nietzsche's arguments, which I could find no one to refute. Having abandoned all religious affiliations, I then had a fleeting affair with drugs, alcohol, and the boy next door.
Spring of 1971 found me bored, pregnant, and disgusted with my hedonistic life at the University of Wyoming. I decided to quit college and go have my baby in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Plenty of progressive thinkers lived there, the weather was tolerable, and I was full of questions about religion, philosophy, and the meaning and purpose of life.
After giving birth to my son Benjamin, I decided to move back to Cheyenne, Wyoming, to live with my parents. Although the prospect of living with my religiously intolerant mother was distasteful, that seemed easier than trying to make it on my own somewhere. My parents would help me raise my son, and I could pursue my spiritual search in the quiet solitude of their home. So my baby and I settled into a routine there, while I continued in the privacy of my room to explore different philosophies and religious ideas.
I gradually came around to believing in God again, but this time with a much broader perspective after all the reading and soul-searching I had done over the last couple of years. I began praying fervently to Jesus to guide me to the Absolute Truth. More than ever, I had a burning desire to understand who I was, what the purpose of human life was, who God was, and how I could serve Him in this world. I was ready for something that would radically change my life.
The Hare Krsnas on TV
While living at my parents' home I would sometimes flip on the television to watch talk shows. One program I liked aired from Denver, just a hundred miles away, and was hosted by a young woman named Beverly Martinez. She was thoughtful and tried to find guests who would be of interest to a wide range of viewers.
One morning she was interviewing two young people wearing robes and looking like angels without wings. I had never seen such effulgent people in my life. They actually glowed. They didn't appear to be hippies or flower children but seemed to possess an unearthly wisdom and peacefulness for which I had long been searching. Miss Martinez said they were from a religious group called the Hare Krsnas.
The interview was short, and in a moment they were gone. I had been so enamoured by their radiant appearance I hadn't thought to write down the group's name. The screen left no address, phone number, or even a clue as to how to spell Hare Krsna. How could I find these people?
I scanned a Denver phone book at the local library and phoned alternative religious organizations. When I talked to a young Buddhist monk, I tried my best to describe to him what I was looking for. After I had made an awkward attempt at pronouncing the group's name, he thought for a moment and then suggested I might be looking for the Hare Krsnas.
Yes! That was the name I'd heard on the talk show. He said I'd probably find them at the airport. I thanked him, scratched the name "Hare Krishna" on a piece of paper, and tucked it into my pocket.
I had no car of my own, so I asked my brother Don to take me down to Denver's Stapleton Airfield. As soon as we had parked in the huge lot and entered the main building, there they were. I recognized the robes, the mark on the forehead, and the bright faces of the Hare Krsnas. There were two of them a man with a shaved head wearing orange cloth and a woman in a peach-colored sari. They carried books and incense.
I was pleased to see that the woman was one of the two guests from the Beverly Martinez show. She was busy speaking with a traveler so I stopped to talk with the other devotee, a short man who introduced himself as Dattatreya Dasa and spoke very quickly with a curious enthusiasm.
He apologized for being unable to sit and talk with me and answer my many questions. Instead, he placed a book in my hands. He said that by reading the book I would understand the answers to questions like Who am I? Why am I here? Who is God? How can I serve Him?
I had never seen anything like this book in my life. On its golden cover was a most amazingly colorful picture of five effulgent persons with large, beautiful eyes. Dattatreya asked if I might be able to offer a little donation for the book, but I hadn't come prepared. He ended up giving me the copy of Teachings of Lord Caitanya and a stick of strawberry incense for all the money my brother and I had in our pockets $2.38.
I thanked him, returned his gesture of folded palms, and floated out of the airport in a blissful bubble. I read all the way back home to Cheyenne, retired at once to my bedroom, shut the door, and read for hours, drinking in the mystery of Lord Caitanya's teachings.
Here was the philosophy I had been searching for. Here were the answers to all the questions I had been pondering for so long. Here was the religious path I had heard about way back in third grade. Here were the monks in robes who chanted the names of God and prostrated themselves on the earth in absolute surrender as they journeyed from temple to temple. Here were the holy names of God that no one in the Catholic faith or anyone else could ever teach me.
After my first reading of Teachings of Lord Caitanya, I felt such gratitude for this treasure trove of spiritual knowledge that I bowed my head to the floor and wept tears of relief at having at last found my spiritual path.
My mother thought I had gone crazy. I was spending so many hours reading the book over and over again and praying and chanting and meditating. She would criticize me and try to force me to give up my interest in this weird new infatuation. She even tried to sneak the book away and burn it. Those were bittersweet times discovering the Hare Krsnas, beginning to learn their philosophy, and trying to chant the holy names in an atmosphere of opposition.
At Krsna's Temple
After reading Teachings of Lord Caitanya and chanting the holy names, I felt I just had to be with Krsna's devotees. I bought an Amtrak train ticket and told my parents that Benjy and I were going to visit my cousin Dave and his wife, Betsy, in Denver.
From Dave's house we took a bus to the temple. I was so excited my heart was pounding. My little boy had no idea where we were going.
As soon as we got to the temple a kind devotee greeted us warmly and gave us a little tour. The temple was small and bare-looking, not at all what I had expected. But our host made us feel quite welcome. He introduced us to other devotees, took the time to patiently and expertly answer whatever philosophical questions I had, and then smilingly handed me a broom. He said that if one performs a simple service like sweeping but does it with love for Krsna, or God, one becomes purified and eligible to return home to our original place in the spiritual world.
After a few blissful hours of service at the temple, we got back on the bus with a promise to return as soon as possible. The devotees told us we could come back anytime. We were back the next day.
There to greet us this time was Pranavallabha Dasa, who gave me my first japa beads. (I discovered much later that I had gone to school with him several years before.) He kindly taught me how to chant on the beads, and I went back to my cousin's place that evening excited to begin chanting rounds.
The next day, my son and I again rode the bus to the temple. This time we met Puja Dasi, who had me help her clean the bathroom. She taught me how to sing the holy names while I worked, and we sang together, cleaning the bathroom in great happiness.
Puja Dasi called us Bhaktin Francie and Bhakta Benjy and invited us to come back the following Sunday. Kurusrestha Dasa, the temple president, and his fiancee, Devi Dasi, were getting married, and there was to be a special wedding ceremony as well as a Sunday Feast.
We returned on Sunday. By the end of the fire sacrifice, the arati (Deity worship ceremony), the booming kirtana, the lecture, and the feast, I was thoroughly convinced that here was the life I wanted to live. I was ready to move into the temple right then and there. I knew now that I wanted more than anything to live with Krsna's devotees. I was advised to approach the temple president with my request.
Puja led me to a small out-of-the-way room off a dimly-lit hallway. She knocked softly on the half-open door, and a deep voice greeted us from inside. She opened the door wide enough for me to see Kurusrestha seated behind his presidential desk with his new bride. My throat tightened. I felt awkward and guessed that perhaps this wasn't the most appropriate time to discuss moving into the temple.
After briefly introducing me as Bhaktin Francie, Puja respectfully left.
Standing in the doorway with my child in my arms, I swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and spoke from my heart. I told them I loved the philosophy of Krsna consciousness and wanted very much to live with Krsna's devotees here at the Denver temple.
Kurusrestha's response was a source of both pleasure and pain for me. He commended my fervent desire to live with Krsna's devotees. But he said that my son might be at a disadvantage since there were no other children living at the Denver temple. He advised that I consider moving to the Los Angeles temple, where my son would have many little devotee friends. I was sad to think of leaving, but I felt that Krsna was speaking through Kurusrestha. He was right. My little boy needed other children to grow up with.
I thanked all my new friends and at once started making preparations to move to Los Angeles.
After returning to Cheyenne, I sold everything I could, and my baby and I hitched a midnight ride out to Los Angeles with my brother Jim in his old dilapidated truck. Everything I hadn't sold was piled in the back of the truck as we headed for the West Coast.
I started chanting sixteen rounds the night we began our journey. When we pulled up to the temple two days later, we met Gopavrndapala Dasa, who had given me directions to the temple by phone before we left Cheyenne. Soon after, a sweet devotee named Karunamayi Dasi agreed to take in Benjy and me and let us live with her and her twin boys, who were the same age as my son.
Now we were among kindred spirits. At the Los Angeles temple, called New Dvaraka, we found ourselves living right in the midst of those bright-faced devotees of Krsna, those saintly monks I had heard about so long ago, who daily bow down in full surrender to the Lord and who constantly chant His holy names. Yes, we were home.
On the morning of November 3, 1974, at the lotus feet of Sri Sri Rukmini-Dvarakadhisa, I was formally initiated as a disciple of His Divine Grace A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada. That was the most momentous day of my life. But when I look back on the events leading up to that wonderful day, I see how Lord Krsna had been working in my life from the very beginning.
Phalini Devi Dasi writes devotional songs and performs them with guitar and piano. She has produced an album titled "Prabhupada and Other Songs" (see page 31). She lives in Sacramento, California, with her husband, Haripada Dasa, and their two children, Kamalini and Nitai Prana.