Hare Krishna…

When I decided to spend the day with my yoga teacher at the Hare Krishna farm in rural Mississippi, which is as weird as you can imagine, my mom thought I might be joining a cult.

“Don’t worry!” I told her.

I found myself chanting Hare Krishna and walking in a circle around an old man in a toga, wearing yellow paint across his forehead, and I thought to myself this is how it starts.

But I did not join the Hare Krishna.

I chanted and I did yoga in a temple.  I ate  A LOT.

I had one conversation with a man who tried to convince me that all I ever needed to read for the rest of my life was the Vedas.  ”Even Shakespeare does not compare,” he told me.  ”The Vedas contain all the wisdom of the universe. Don’t bother reading Dickens, Jane Austen or any of that crap!”

Yeah, well, I didn’t fall for that one. Anything or anyone that tells me NOT to read can go to hell!  I know that’s not very yogic of me, but reading and writing are my religion.

I consider myself a friend of the Hare Krishna.  To me, they are extreme warriors for peace.  The Hare Krishna believe that the fastest way to reach enlightenment is to, you guessed it, chant Hare Krishna (or Jesus if you prefer or whatever you call your god). The other ways of getting there are not wrong, but they aren’t as good.

The Hare Krishna are essentially a vegetarian, broken record.  They like to eat, dance, sing. There’s nothing wrong with that, except I think sometimes too much bhakti (devotion) turns cultish and ends up creating separation rather than unity.

Alas, we ate well and we chanted with our gracious hosts.

I guess a little Hare Krishna never hurts.

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