Divine Mother Hugs

This happened, very fittingly, the last year I went to Camp Harmony. For those of you who don’t know it, Camp Harmony is a 5-day folk music camp I attended every winter for many years, up until recently. It was my first introduction to concepts like intentional communities and karmic families, and it will always have a special place in my heart, thanks to this story and many others.

It was New Year’s Eve, the last night of camp. Well, early New Year’s morning by this point. I was starting to wander around saying goodnight to people, and goodbye in many cases, as we’d all be heading home the next day. In the dance hall there was a large group of kids (it’s a family-friendly camp) whose parents had evidently decided not to sweat the whole bedtime thing, given the occasion. They ranged from fairly small to probably early teens. Many I knew, many I didn’t.

Anyway, one of them that I did know heard that I was leaving and ran across the hall to give me a goodbye hug. And somehow the entire herd of them got swept up in his enthusiasm, and I was engulfed in one giant swarming hug that involved probably at least 15 kids. Pretty silly.

But then, after they all broke off and let me breathe again, one small boy complained that he didn’t really get a proper hug, because there were too many people in the way. Well, I’m not one to refuse hugs to adorable children, so naturally I remedied that situation.

That’s when something a little bit magical happened, as every one of those noisy, bouncy, up-way-too-late-at-night kids quietly lined up, single file, behind that first boy and waited for their turn to give and get their own hugs.

Our happy, friendly little scene had suddenly just expanded into something much greater. It wasn’t about us anymore — like I said, I didn’t even know some of these children — but there was Love around that needed to be expressed, and there we were to do it. So we did. It was so sweet I was nearly crying by the end, through all the smiles.

And then the moment passed, the children all scampered off, and I headed off to bed in a slight daze.

There aren’t many times Divine Mother reaches down and gives you a big hug without even bothering to be metaphorical about it, and it’s been a dear and comforting memory every time I’ve thought back to it over the last couple years. And in a way, it’s even sweeter now that I’m a monk, and especially as I watch our little band of brahmacharis growing larger. It’s a reminder that there will always be more people to love, and more than enough love to share around. We just need to remember where it’s coming from, and be open to letting it flow through us.

From Swamiji’s book, Affirmations for Self-Healing:

The whole world is my home, and the human race, my family.
With God’s kindness I embrace all men.

Tandava

I took monastic vows today, accompanied by the assumption of my new spiritual name: Tandava. Neither of these events requires the other, but they go well together. A spiritually meaningful name can act as a beneficial focal point or affirmation, and the change itself is an interesting exercise in non-identification with one of our most identifying aspects: our names. I have to admit also that I simply thought “Brahmachari Graham” sounded a bit dumb, and so if I were ever going to get a spiritual name, it might as well be now. So, with that bit out of the way, there are a lot of interesting things to say about the process and reasoning behind the specific choice.

I first encountered the term “Tandava” earlier this year, when I was learning a chant for the Shivaratri kirtan. The chant goes “Jaya Shiva Shankara, Voom! Voom! Hara Hara / Hara Hara Hara Hara, Voom! Voom! Hara Hara.” I was just absolutely delighted and tickled by the voom-vooms, and mentioned so to Dambara, who informed me that this is the sound made by Shiva’s dance, which is known by the name Tandava.

Fade that into the background, and fast-forward to the night I decided to look for a new name for myself. I went by the library and checked out a dictionary of Sanskrit names. I flipped through it a little bit that night, noticing how it was arranged alphabetically and also in thematic groups. I planned on making a systematic search through it, writing down potential candidates to review later, gradually narrowing down the list, etc. Then I woke up the next morning and had a name. So much for plans. I looked it up to make sure I’d remembered correctly, then the book just sat around on my table for a few weeks until I returned it. I told Asha about the name, and she liked it enough to pass on to Swami Kriyananda, who said it was a beautiful choice and gave it his blessing.

The association with Shiva appeals to me because Shiva is the Mahayogi, the great meditator, but is also active in the world -- it’s his dance that creates, sustains, and finally dissolves all of creation. He dances his Ananda Tandava, a dance of joy, to celebrate and enjoy creation, but he is detached enough even to destroy it all (with the Rudra Tandava) when the time comes. That wholehearted joy and enthusiasm, combined with inner detachment and freedom, is very much what we’re trying to embody at Ananda, and in the Nayaswami order.

The dancing aspect of Shiva is known as Nataraja, the Lord of the Dance. I had to laugh when I realized that connection. Several years ago, I was given the name Anachoron by Eric, who always assigned new names to friends he referred to on his blog. He explained that it was from the Greek: anax (lord) + choros (dance). He didn’t even know at the time that the melody to “Lord of the Dance” (a.k.a. “Simple Gifts”) had been my personal theme music for years.

And this brings me to why I like the specific connection with dance, which I expand to include all of music, since dancing for me was always just another way of being a musician. I’m not drawn to actually get out and dance much anymore, but it feels right for my name to commemorate the transmutation of it into spiritual qualities. Dance and music gave me a lot of my early experiences with spiritual principles and attitudes, before I even knew I was on the spiritual path.

Attunement is one of the most significant of these principles. I’m reminded of Richard’s “what can you dance to this?” exercise that he would often do at the end of a Social Dance course. He would play a wide variety of music in quick succession, switching from style to style, and from simpler to trickier tempos and rhythms, challenging us to find the right dance for each one. Every time the music tripped us up unexpectedly he would call out “What’s wrong with the music?” to which the correct and resounding answer was always “Nothing!” The music is simply something to attune ourselves to, letting go of whatever we were just doing a moment before, letting go of our expectations, and finding the right way to move our bodies with what’s trying to happen around us. Similarly, the Tandava dance I want to do is not a dance of my own creation, but movement in attunement with God and Guru, whatever music they may play for my life.

In dancing, of course, you don’t have only the music to consider, but your partner and the other dancers on the floor as well. Though trying to express the ideals of the music, you have to bring them into physical manifestation in a practical way. What is your partner’s level of ability, and how can you work with it? How much space do you have to maneuver? How can you adapt creatively to sudden changes and unexpected obstacles on the dance floor? And through all that, how do you maintain your connection to the source of the inspiration? Inspiration naturally changes to a certain extent as it gets “translated” into a physical manifestation, so you have to stay open to seeing how it will work out, and not get fixated on one particular idea.

Dancing this way is an expansion of consciousness. You become intimately aware not only of your partner’s every movement and momentum, but also the enjoyment and ease with which she’s dancing. You get a sense of the dance from her center as well as from yours. Leading and following happen as much by magnetism as by physical movements. Along with the focus on the partner connection, your awareness also spreads out across the dance floor (especially in a traveling dance, like a waltz), to the other dancers, to the musicians. When you have all of this in a perfect flow, the self-consciousness just drops away into a pure, joyful experience.

Dance can also embody the quality of calmness in the midst of even intense activity. Many times in fast waltzes and especially polkas I’ve deliberately slowed and deepened my breathing, centering myself in the spine, even as my feet moved faster and faster. This was a way, I realize now, of focusing and directing my energy precisely where I needed it, as we do in meditation, in the Energization Exercises, and eventually in all of life.

And so that’s some of what I had in mind in choosing “Tandava” as a name and an affirmation for how I’d like to develop: focused energy in meditation and activity, expanded awareness, compassion for others, and a joyfully engaged enthusiasm combined with the ability to let everything go when needed.

Brahmacharya Vows

On June 2nd I will take the Renunciate Vow of Brahmacharya, joining the Nayaswami Order, and receiving the new spiritual name and title of Brahmachari Tandava. For those of you who read that sentence as complete gibberish I shall attempt to explain.

The Nayaswami Order is a new expression of the ancient Swami monastic order (“naya” means “new”), and was started a few years ago by (Naya)Swami Kriyananda. The purpose is to retain the original ideals, but in a way that is both more appropriate for the current age and interdenominational, open to people on any flavor of the spiritual path. Some qualities you would traditionally expect of a monk -- e.g. celibacy and devotion to God -- still apply, while others do not (I will not be locking myself away in a monastery, for instance). If you want to dive into the details, there’s lots to read on the website, including Swamiji’s entire book, A Renunciate Order for the New Age.

I won’t be a swami in this order, but a brahmachari, which you can think of as a novice swami, or simply as a monk. Brahmachari means “one who flows with Brahma,” and also has connotations of self-control, and the “Brahmachari” part of my name is kind of like calling a Western monk “Brother,” but you don’t have to say it when you’re talking to me. My actual name will be Tandava, which means “the dance of Shiva,” and which has enough interesting things to say about it that it merits its own blog post. For now I’ll just say that it’s common to assume a new name at a time like this, accentuating the transition from one’s former life to the spiritual life.

So what is this all about? The spiritual path is a journey towards finding ultimate bliss in God, which is easier said than done. Even if you’re already on the spiritual path, there may come a time at which it can be very helpful to formalize this goal with a vow, much like two people who have been dating might decide to get married. You don’t have to, but there’s more of a structure there, and community support, and powerful symbolism, all of which can help keep you going for a serious, long-term commitment.

This is an important point, so I want to highlight it: What we tend to notice most about a monastic vow is what is being given up, but what it’s really about is where we’re going.

Here’s a simple example, one of my favorites because it’s one I often find myself needing to work on. Nobody gives up eating dessert purely in order to make themselves miserable (at least, I sure hope not). But people do it all the time because they want to lose weight, or so they can get in shape to run a marathon, or for similar reasons. The goal they aspire to is worth giving up smaller pleasures for. It may be challenging, but they want to do it. If the goal is important enough to you, the challenging part doesn’t even feel like “renunciation,” but rather just sweetens (ha!) your ultimate victory.

Gandhi advised that you should never give up a pleasure until you’ve replaced it with a higher pleasure. Otherwise, you’re just making things difficult for yourself. The search for pleasure leads to the search for happiness, then on to bliss, and thus to God, so you’ll get there in the end, regardless. And the spiritual path -- little though I would have guessed a few years ago -- has joy strewn all along it, so it’s worth the trip however long it takes.

Still, the celibacy aspect of renunciation alarms a lot of people. Let me address it by starting off with some thoughts about families in general.

I was very lucky to be born into a very good family, with deep, loving, spiritual connections. And I hope never to take that for granted, because there are many, many people who don’t get along with their birth families at all. On the other hand, there are people like Quena and Cass who are family to me in every way but blood. There are the enormous Dickerson (step-)family reunions I used to go to, with as many “outlaws” as in-laws. And numerous other people in my life have shown me that, regardless of who you’re born with, your true family will come to you one way or another. The spiritual family of Ananda is another prime example.

This is why I’m not at all concerned about having children. I love children, and I love my new nephew, but I don’t feel the need to personally create any. If I have karma with someone, we’ll find each other.

The question of having a partner is a trickier issue, since that’s been much more of an explicit desire and goal for so much of my life. Some of the same thinking applies, though. Having a partnership as a way to develop love in a deep, focused way can be a very good and necessary thing. But there’s also a time when it’s more appropriate to expand one’s feelings outward, and feel more impersonal love and compassion for humanity as a whole. This is the stage I feel like I’m in these days. My job exemplifies it well -- I’m managing relationships with and among 27 different people, and I can’t even imagine hauling my consciousness over to focus specifically on just one relationship, the way I would if a romantic situation were to develop. I’d rather keep expanding it outward.

It’s also just as simple as the fact that I’m currently single and quite happy to be so. I work and serve and meditate as much as I’m able, and I come back inside myself to recharge my batteries. It’s a good arrangement for me right now, but there’s not really any spare energy lying around that I want to direct to a relationship.

But still, one’s relationship with God is always personal and independent of outwards vows and symbols. So why actually bother to do this, when I can still be single, meditate, serve, etc., even without it? I’d been thinking about it for a while, but it was my brahmachari brother Amit who pushed me over that particular fence on New Year’s Eve. That’s when he took his vow, and that’s when it finally clicked for me. We have a lot of Nayaswamis here in the Palo Alto community, but there were only two Brahmacharinis, and both were older women -- not really my demographic. So I never really had much of an image in my mind of someone more like me doing this. As soon as Amit provided that, I realized I was ready.

The inspiration that night was palpable, and that’s something I too want to be able to provide for others who are ready to receive it. I want to be an example of how you can dedicate your life to God, even as a young ex-Stanford, ex-Googler in the middle of Silicon Valley. So for me, that’s a huge reason for adding an external form to something that’s already going on inwardly.

So that’s the news on the life-changes going on over here. I just wanted you all to know about it so if you see someone who looks an awful lot like Graham but is wearing yellow and called Tandava, it’s still me.