Vyasa-puja offering to Srila Prabhupada 2011
Dear Śrīla Prabhupāda,
Please accept my humble obeisances at your lotus feet.
Your mercy penetrates to the lowest strata of Kali-yuga. As a five-year old, standing before my church congregation, parents beaming proudly, I recited a Bible verse by rote: “For God so loved the world that He gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life.” Next came the church barbecue.
At eight years I lamented I was not born on earth during the time of a magnificent religious founder— Jesus, Moses, Mohammed, someone, anyone. Early teen confusion buried this sentiment.
Later, as a university student, brain-drained by the best speculators academia could provide, I would bus from New Haven to New York City, to the East Village. Particularly, I roamed the Second Avenue area at night, desperate to and something that could save my life. I even did the unthinkable, determined to resolve my mysterious Second Avenue fixation. Slipping away from my classmates during a day trip to the East Village, I walked into the New York University admissions office and asked to transfer there. Taken aback, the admissions officer pulled me up short: “You want to transfer from Yale! Young man, have you discussed this with your parents? We’ll certainly take you, but we can’t match the money you’re getting.” That ended that, but not my strange obsession with the Second Avenue locale.
Your Divine Grace finally saw it to salvage me after the New York temple moved to Henry Street, in Brooklyn. I was shocked to learn of your Second Avenue beginnings during the very time of my wanderings there.
Four decades have passed, and a greater amazement has gradually dawned: the earth has been invaded by Vaikuṇṭha denizens.
You are the emissary from the spiritual world that humanity and I have longed for.
About your predecessor, Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī Ṭhākura, you summarized, “What can I say? He was a Vaikuṇṭha man.” His fine biography by your disciple Bhakti Vikāsa Swami drives this reality into our depths. When we read therein what your Guru Mahārāja said about his predecessors, Śrīla Gaura Kiśora dāsa Bābājī and Śrīla Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura, the Vaikuṇṭha conspiracy becomes even clearer.
Thank you for coming to this mad world, with your books.
For Kṛṣṇa so cherished His separated parts and parcels that He sent from His special entourage nitya-siddha devotees, that whosoever serves their mission should not degrade into the animal species but attain eternal devotional service.
Trying to be a genuine disciple,
Devāmrita Swami
Dear Śrīla Prabhupāda,
Please accept my humble obeisances at your lotus feet.
Your mercy penetrates to the lowest strata of Kali-yuga. As a five-year old, standing before my church congregation, parents beaming proudly, I recited a Bible verse by rote: “For God so loved the world that He gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life.” Next came the church barbecue.
At eight years I lamented I was not born on earth during the time of a magnificent religious founder— Jesus, Moses, Mohammed, someone, anyone. Early teen confusion buried this sentiment.
Later, as a university student, brain-drained by the best speculators academia could provide, I would bus from New Haven to New York City, to the East Village. Particularly, I roamed the Second Avenue area at night, desperate to and something that could save my life. I even did the unthinkable, determined to resolve my mysterious Second Avenue fixation. Slipping away from my classmates during a day trip to the East Village, I walked into the New York University admissions office and asked to transfer there. Taken aback, the admissions officer pulled me up short: “You want to transfer from Yale! Young man, have you discussed this with your parents? We’ll certainly take you, but we can’t match the money you’re getting.” That ended that, but not my strange obsession with the Second Avenue locale.
Your Divine Grace finally saw it to salvage me after the New York temple moved to Henry Street, in Brooklyn. I was shocked to learn of your Second Avenue beginnings during the very time of my wanderings there.
Four decades have passed, and a greater amazement has gradually dawned: the earth has been invaded by Vaikuṇṭha denizens.
You are the emissary from the spiritual world that humanity and I have longed for.
About your predecessor, Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī Ṭhākura, you summarized, “What can I say? He was a Vaikuṇṭha man.” His fine biography by your disciple Bhakti Vikāsa Swami drives this reality into our depths. When we read therein what your Guru Mahārāja said about his predecessors, Śrīla Gaura Kiśora dāsa Bābājī and Śrīla Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura, the Vaikuṇṭha conspiracy becomes even clearer.
Thank you for coming to this mad world, with your books.
For Kṛṣṇa so cherished His separated parts and parcels that He sent from His special entourage nitya-siddha devotees, that whosoever serves their mission should not degrade into the animal species but attain eternal devotional service.
Trying to be a genuine disciple,
Devāmrita SwamiDear Śrīla Prabhupāda,
Please accept my humble obeisances at your lotus feet.
Your mercy penetrates to the lowest strata of Kali-yuga. As a five-year old, standing before my church congregation, parents beaming proudly, I recited a Bible verse by rote: “For God so loved the world that He gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life.” Next came the church barbecue.
At eight years I lamented I was not born on earth during the time of a magnificent religious founder— Jesus, Moses, Mohammed, someone, anyone. Early teen confusion buried this sentiment.
Later, as a university student, brain-drained by the best speculators academia could provide, I would bus from New Haven to New York City, to the East Village. Particularly, I roamed the Second Avenue area at night, desperate to and something that could save my life. I even did the unthinkable, determined to resolve my mysterious Second Avenue fixation. Slipping away from my classmates during a day trip to the East Village, I walked into the New York University admissions office and asked to transfer there. Taken aback, the admissions officer pulled me up short: “You want to transfer from Yale! Young man, have you discussed this with your parents? We’ll certainly take you, but we can’t match the money you’re getting.” That ended that, but not my strange obsession with the Second Avenue locale.
Your Divine Grace finally saw it to salvage me after the New York temple moved to Henry Street, in Brooklyn. I was shocked to learn of your Second Avenue beginnings during the very time of my wanderings there.
Four decades have passed, and a greater amazement has gradually dawned: the earth has been invaded by Vaikuṇṭha denizens.
You are the emissary from the spiritual world that humanity and I have longed for.
About your predecessor, Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī Ṭhākura, you summarized, “What can I say? He was a Vaikuṇṭha man.” His fine biography by your disciple Bhakti Vikāsa Swami drives this reality into our depths. When we read therein what your Guru Mahārāja said about his predecessors, Śrīla Gaura Kiśora dāsa Bābājī and Śrīla Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura, the Vaikuṇṭha conspiracy becomes even clearer.
Thank you for coming to this mad world, with your books.
For Kṛṣṇa so cherished His separated parts and parcels that He sent from His special entourage nitya-siddha devotees, that whosoever serves their mission should not degrade into the animal species but attain eternal devotional service.
Trying to be a genuine disciple,
Devāmrita Swami
