How Should One Contemplate the Divine Līlā?

How Should One Contemplate the Divine Līlā?

Freedom from worldly bondage requires release from worldly thoughts. So long as such conceptions continue, the mind's worldly activity does not cease. Yet becoming altogether free of thought is not easy. There is, however, a straightforward path: stop fighting thoughts and change their subject. Replace worldly conceptions with thoughts of God. Why do we hear, read, reflect upon, and sing the Lord's qualities and līlās? Was Vyāsa, who divided the Vedas and composed the Brahma Sūtras, the model of every Vedāntin, so idle that he abandoned Vedānta to sing divine stories? Was Nārada so unintelligent that he advised Vyāsa to sing the līlās in order to find peace?

Vyāsa found himself restless. Though freedom from ordinary thought should have been natural to an incarnation of God and author of the Vedānta Sūtras, he remained without peace. Nārada told him, “You expounded knowledge and realization, but neither drank nor offered others the rasa of divine līlā. Therefore your mind remains disturbed.” Vyāsa, Śukadeva, Vasiṣṭha, and Nārada were not ordinary people who would abandon something higher for something lower.

Our mind is a product of nature. The minds of stainless sages have been dissolved through the destruction of mind. In place of that vanished mind, God gives them another with which to contemplate His qualities and beauty. The highest practice is therefore to entertain thoughts related only to Him.

Imagine that evening has come and the Lord will soon return with the calves. Stand waiting for Him: He is coming and will arrive at any moment. Let the mind remain filled with that feeling and its many possibilities. Perhaps He now walks behind the calves; perhaps He is playing His flute. His līlās have no end. There is no rule that they must be contemplated in a particular sequence. Whatever līlā arises in the mind may be developed there. In time one thinks only, “May I too play with Him. May He make me one of His companions.” This is a form of spiritual practice.

The practice of the grove may be described in broad outline. It involves forming a body born of contemplation and creating a mode of service. First imagine that within the Lord's vast realm of groves there are many levels, one being the circle of mañjarīs. Mañjarī-bhāva is exceedingly elevated because it contains no wish for personal happiness. The mañjarīs labor solely for the joy of Rādhā and Mādhava and desire nothing for themselves. In the realm of bhāva, choose one of them as teacher and guru. Through contemplation enter a mañjarī body and envision her. Many particulars concern her appearance and complexion, but they need not be discussed here. Pray to receive a share in service beside the guru-mañjarī. When that prayer is accepted within the contemplated realm, begin serving.

At first one receives outward service: sweeping beyond the grove, clearing thorns, or carrying away the spittoon. Such matters are not for lofty intellectuals, who may consider this the talk of mad people. Through continued practice one first attains mañjarī identity in imagination, then in the realm of bhāva. Major scriptures explain this, including the Rāsollāsa Tantra with its detailed method. Method alone is insufficient, however; one must engage in practice according to the method. First comes the imagined mañjarī, then the mañjarī of bhāva, and finally attainment of the mañjarī body.

While still living in this body, whenever intense longing arises or an order comes from that realm, the aspirant follows the guru-mañjarī and is assigned the service she indicates. Through continued service he gains the right to enter the grove beside her. Entry is no ordinary attainment. Not everyone may enter even the inner chambers of the Lord's līlā cities such as Mathurā, Dvārakā, and Ayodhyā. Vraja is forest, pasture, and Vṛndāvana. Its groves are made of metals, jewels, vines, and flowers, and gaining entrance is exceedingly difficult.

When Sañjaya entered Kṛṣṇa's private chambers, he observed that even Pradyumna and Abhimanyu, though sons of the family, had no right to enter. Sañjaya and similar intimate companions occupy a position analogous to the mañjarīs and therefore possess access. He saw the intimate sport of Arjuna, Kṛṣṇa, Satyabhāmā, and Draupadī. Not everyone may enter the grove; in Vaiṣṇava practice, attainment of the mañjarī body that grants such entry is considered very exalted.

There is therefore no need to abandon thought. Direct it toward divine līlā, especially the wholly innocent childhood pastimes from the Lord's appearance through the lifting of Govardhana. They are suitable for everyone. See God in the play of children at home. Nothing elaborate is required. If such contemplation begins, corresponding visions will arise after some time. This must be tested in practice and can be done by anyone who truly wishes. When intense longing awakens, the simple scenes observed at home can be connected with God, and unimagined visions of līlā begin to appear. While walking, sitting, sleeping, or waking, the līlā enters the mind continually. One no longer has to meditate deliberately; the scenes insist upon appearing. They begin to appear before those who wish to grasp and hold them, but not before one who neglects them. If someone thinks that divine contemplation has interfered with urgent work, the Lord does not wish to take anyone's necessary work away. Call Him when the need for Him arises. He is always ready.

Were the women of Vraja not severely tested? Their test was no ordinary one, yet they passed. Such temptations and fears arise before the lover. The test in the circle of rāsa was formidable. God Himself warned, “You will go to hell. You have abandoned your husbands. This is not the conduct of faithful wives.” Anyone might have trembled at once. The greatest test is the desire for one's own happiness, a very subtle force. We may assume that it has vanished while it secretly motivates our actions.

These are later matters. At the beginning, simply contemplate God. There is no need to know the nature of the self. He will reveal as much as one needs. If He does not wish to reveal it, He may say, “You are already learned. We shall take you wherever you need to go. What will you do with more knowledge?” The Lord says, “Abandon every dharma and take refuge in Me; I shall free you.” Complete destruction of thoughts, however, is not easy. When a worldly thought arises, do not dwell upon the world even in order to renounce it. Psychology teaches that excessive thought about something to be abandoned prevents renunciation and fixes the object more firmly within the mind. Change the subject of thought and replace natural conceptions with divine ones.

Bring remembrance of God into the mind by any means. In the Vibhūti Yoga of the Gītā He says, “Among deceivers, I am gambling.” No lawbook of Manu, Yājñavalkya, or Parāśara endorses gambling, yet God calls Himself the gambling among cheats. A gambler has no leisure to hear a saint's teaching. Ask him instead whether he throws dice. When he answers yes, tell him to recognize God in every throw. The instant his mental tendency takes the form of God, gambling falls away. This is the aim: the mind must assume God's form. God is truly present there, so no falsehood is involved. We should therefore strive to bring God-related subjects into every conception.

The simple method is to contemplate the beauty and sweetness of God as accessible to the senses. Imagine His beauty in whatever form arises and repeatedly behold that form within the mind. Once the mind rests there, see His līlā. He is playing tipcat, hide-and-seek, and games with His friends. God alone is solid; everything else is fluid, fleeting, and filled only with air. As God fills the mind, useless air escapes by itself. The more fully He occupies it, the less He departs. It is easy to take hold of God but difficult to let Him go. He knows how to seize a person, not how to abandon one. Whatever space He occupies in the mind becomes His forever, and whoever enters His dominion remains His. Continue every God-related contemplation as it arises. The mind will become filled with divine conceptions and its tendency will grow firm.

The mind possesses the beautiful capacity to assume the form of whatever it attends to. It may become shaped like Brahman or like a sensory object. We must withdraw it from enjoyment and place it in God. Our bad habit is to be drawn repeatedly toward pleasures even while suffering at every step. Once the mind tastes the rasa of divine thought, it begins to seek that flavor of itself. The heart longs for peace, joy, and happiness free from opposites. Ultimate, eternal, complete happiness exists nowhere but in God. When the joy of contact with the Lord, who is happiness and bliss itself, settles in the heart, a new and extraordinary delight arises spontaneously.

A person accustomed to the dim light of a thin wick will at first be dazzled by electricity. Once he knows its brilliance, he realizes that it needs no wick, oil, lamp, or protection from wind. Why would he remember the little flame when such light is available? Likewise, when the mind begins conceiving God, the world begins leaving it. The realm of divine bhāva is the realm of love, where one regards God as the beloved and contemplates His līlās. The unfilled mind initially resists, but repeatedly bringing God into it makes it quickly attach to Him.

The Lord's life story naturally attracts every mind. It is sweet and lacks the painful effort of forced renunciation. Every other renunciation requires a person to give something up. When divine bhāva appears, it consumes the world's former appearance. The world may remain outwardly unchanged, yet one's vision sees it as the Lord's own form. Divine līlā becomes visible at every moment and in every condition. God is playing everywhere, and everywhere His sportive delight unfolds. In every circumstance His līlā-play continues. In death and life, happiness and sorrow, the lover continually receives the beloved's delightful touch. Physical contact by the hand is gross. Subtle or actual contact means the touch of the self, Brahman, and God. Its delight is beyond imagination and words. Words do not even belong to the mind's own language. Spiritual reality has no adequate vocabulary and can only be indicated indirectly, like pointing to the moon through a branch. Its taste is as indescribable as sugar to one unable to speak:

“Speech has no eyes, and the eyes possess no speech.”

Begin developing contemplation in whatever way it arises. Imagination gradually produces the conviction that God is real, present in all, everywhere, for everyone, and at every time. If He wishes, He can make a divine conception true, because He is already present within the imagined world and meditation. As one contemplates Him, visions corresponding to that thought begin to appear. This must be practiced. When it becomes real, extraordinary joy arises and the mind no longer withdraws. Worldly renunciation then becomes easy. Renunciation is difficult only when what we seek does not appear much more valuable than what we abandon. When the desired object is necessary, giving is effortless. If the house needs lentils, we carry money to the shop, place the lentils in our bag, and hand over the money without difficulty.

In the same way, once God becomes both necessary and dear, nothing else is required. Dearness is supreme. When it arises, God forms a mind suited to the lover and wishes to unite with him:

“Seeing those autumn nights filled with blossoming jasmine, the Lord too made up His mind to sport, taking refuge in Yogamāyā.”

God Himself wishes to relish rasa. If it is pure, unwavering, and free from bad, stale, or absent flavor, He comes to taste it. When the mind contains no sensory object, life's surrender exists for His happiness, and renunciation fills it, rasa becomes succulent and filled with love. God comes wherever such rasa appears. It rests in loving dearness. When God becomes dear, His name, abode, everything belonging to Him, and every word about Him becomes dear; all becomes sweet. Vallabhācārya's Madhurāṣṭaka declares everything sweet. When divine sweetness manifests, it fills the world with sweetness; when His rasa appears, the world becomes flavorful; when His light manifests, the world becomes luminous. Without contact with God there is neither rasa, light, nor splendor, only darkness and absence of flavor.

Even longing for God without established love is sufficient to begin. Every being seeks happiness, but unbroken, complete, eternal happiness does not exist in the world, so satisfaction is never found. Even one who became Indra or Brahmā would desire something beyond. We seek the eternal, whole, and complete, whether named self, Brahman, or God. If a creature needing nectar sits upon filth and calls it nectar, how will it find the real thing? We need nectar but imagine it in refuse. The life of Rāmakṛṣṇa Paramahaṁsa describes two kinds of flies. A honeybee consumes only honey. The other may taste honey, but abandons it for excrement whenever that appears. Thus those attached to sense objects are naturally attached to filth. Attachment to sense objects means attachment to filth. Attachment to enjoyment means attachment to filth.

We beg to drink the poison of sensory objects. When God does not give it, we complain that He has deprived us and withheld grace. He asks whether we remember Him, and we reply that remembrance can wait until He removes our discomfort. Everyone needs rasa because it is God's own nature. Everyone seeks God, yet tries to fulfill that longing through enjoyment and objects. The longing remains unsatisfied and yields only sorrow. By His grace, truth will become visible when the mind desires that rasa alone. We have mistaken filth for sweets and poison for nectar. Tulasīdāsa says:

“Having obtained a human body, fools give their minds to sensory objects, exchanging nectar for poison.”

Who could call wise those who lose the philosopher's stone and pick up a worthless guñjā seed?

“No one ever calls him good who takes a guñjā seed after losing the philosopher's stone.”

What does the pleasure-seeker receive in this life? The torment of hell and misfortune:

“Those unfortunate people who turn away from the feet that destroy worldly existence live in this world as hell embodied in human form.”

Care is therefore necessary. Proceed attentively, recognizing true rasa in God. When the mind is tempted by anything else, immediately remember its filth. In truth, once the mind turns toward God, the state develops by itself. A mind drawn to Him once does not return. This is His extraordinary enchantment. Once He draws the mind, recalling it lies beyond our power. His grip is so strong that it never turns back.

Do only two things. First, strive to form beautiful thoughts related to God. Second, in your own language, the language of loving feeling, weep out your sorrow before Him. Pray helplessly, “Lord, by Your grace let my mind renounce every thought but You. I desire no other happiness. May remembrance of You alone remain within me.” This true resolve is the root of contemplation of God. Continue in this way and thought of Him and His līlā will arise naturally. Then we shall attain not only the practice but its goal.