Divine Love

Bhagavad-Gītā Summary, continued.

The concluding verses of the  Eighth Chapter of the Bhagavad-Gītā might be considered something like a Hindu “Book of the Dead.” Just as the Tibetan Book of the Dead describes the Bardos or intermediate states and transitional phases in the afterlife, in the 8th chapter Kṛṣṇa tells Arjuna about the various abodes to which one may pass on his journey towards the infinite.  

These different gradations are described in great detail as is the process for leaving one’s body. Such an understanding is confidential: in the 9th chapter Kṛṣṇa explains that this understanding is not for everyone. 

Then again, if you’ve read this far, you may be a candidate for a  more confidential understanding.

Kṛṣṇa says, “O best of the Bharatas, I shall know explain to you the different times at which, passing away from this world, one does or does not come back. Those who know the Supreme Brahman pass away from the world during the influence of the fiery god, in the light, at an auspicious moment, during the fortnight of the moon and the six months when the sun travels in the north. 

A yogi who passes away from this world during the smoke, the night, the moonless fortnight, or in the six months when the sun passes to the south, or who reaches the moon planet, again comes back. According to the Vedas, there are two ways of passing from this world—one in light and one in darkness. 

When one passes in light, he does not come back; but when one passes in darkenss, he returns. Knowing these two paths, O Arjuna, the true yogis are never bewildered. Be thou therefore fixed in yoga.” 

Exactly what sort of yoga Kṛṣṇa means is described in the 9th Chapter of the Bhagavad-Gītā.

Ninth Chapter of Bhagavad-Gītā

The 9th Chapter is called the “King of Knowledge,” and the “King of Secrets.” Bhaktivedanta Swami’s version is the “Most Confidential Knowledge.” In his Gītārthasaṁgraha, Yamuna summarizes as follows: “The 9th Chapter treats of the eminence of the Supreme Personality of Godhead, Śrī Kṛṣṇa, and his divine superiority in human embodiment as well as the excellent character of the great souls or mahatmas and bhakti-yoga, the highest form of yoga.” svamāhātmyam manuṣyatve paratvaṁ ca mahātmanām viśeṣo navame yogo bhaktirūpaḥ prakīrtitaḥ. स्वमाहात्म्यम् मनुष्यत्वे परत्वं च महात्मनाम् विशेषो नवमे योगो भक्तिरूपः प्रकीर्तितः

It bears mention that many commentators finish their commentaries of Bhagavad-Gītā with the 6th Chapter. In the first six chapters of the Gītā different ethical considerations have been rehearsed, and the paths of yoga have been introduced in some cases ambiguously. 

The many different alternatives in yoga have been gone over somewhat favorably in the first six chapters, where Kṛṣṇa appears to magnanimously accept that all of them have their place in spiritual advancement. Yogis who are especially appreciative of these other schools therefore abbreviate their study of the Bhagavad-Gītā and end where it suits them with Kṛṣṇa’s brief foray into the aṣṭaṇga yoga and meditation practices mentioned in the 6th chapter.

 Unfortunately for these commentators, the book doesn’t stop there.

According to Kṛṣṇa this information is confidential. He’s revealing intimate knowledge of the divine. How to achieve divine love is an intimate secret. It’s not for everyone. It’s an open secret in a way. It’s not really a secret at all. Everyone knows that if you diet and exercise you will stay healthy, maybe even lose weight. 

And yet, books and plans announcing so-called “Secret Diets” are best-sellers.  We know eating bad food and being lazy is unhealthy, still, we fail to act. The “Secret Diet” is no secret at all; really it is common knowledge. But when heart disease and diabetes give us a wake up call, suddenly we discover the “secret diet.” The “confidential knowledge” Kṛṣṇa is revealing has been published again and again. We know that the message of divine love is true; and yet we have other things to do.

King Yudhisthira was once asked by a mysterious forest-dwelling Yaskha, “What is the most wonderful thing?” He replied, “The most wonderful thing is that hundreds and thousands of embodied souls meet death at every moment, but yet while everyone knows that they are going to die, they make no plans for death.”  ahany ahani bhūtāni gacchantiha yamalayam śeṣaḥ sthāvaram icchanti kim āścaryam ataḥ param अहन्य् अहनि भूतानि गच्छन्तिह यमलयम् शेषः स्थावरम् इच्छन्ति किम् आश्चर्यम् अतः परम्

We know that death is imminent, and yet we act as if it’s a big surprise when someone dies. 

For the theist, God’s presence is self-evident, as is the experience of being a living soul. That the two might have a relationship is no secret. There’s nothing magical in thinking that a soul might have a loving relationship with God.

 Kṛṣṇa’s purpose in the 9th Chapter of the Bhagavad-Gītā is to explain the nature of the loving relationship between soul and God and how that unfolds through yoga. This yoga is called bhakti.

Commentators antagonistic to the bhakti  school cut off their commentaries at the 6th chapter, or explain the rest of the book in a pretentious manner with all kinds of word jugglery to arrive at twisted conclusions. 

But in the words of Yamuna, the 11th Century Bhagavad-Gita commentator, “In Chapters 7-12, bhakti-yoga, which is the culmination of karma and jñāna, or action-in-sacrifice and transcendental knowledge, is treated as the best means of attaining the Supreme and knowing him As He Is.”  (madhyame bhagavattattvayāthāmyāvāptisiddhaye jñānakarmābhinirvartyo bhaktiyogaḥ prakīrtitah मध्यमे भगवत् तत्त्व याथा म्यावाप्तिसिद्धये ज्ञान कर्माभिनिर्वर्त्यो भक्तियोगः प्रकीर्तितह्) 

An entire third of the Bhagavad-Gītā, omitted by the above-mentioned commentators, Chapters 7-12 , arrives at the conclusion that bhakti or dedication is the highest path, above both work-in-sacrifice or karma-yoga, and transcendental knowledge and meditation or jñāna-yoga.

Kṛṣṇa has resolved many of Arjuna’s doubts. Her he says that the most confidential and secret knowledge, that of worship through bhakti will now be explained both through theoretical understanding as well as in practical realization. (jñāna and vijñāna.) This knowledge, completed through actualization will lead to enlightment. One who realizes this knowledge will be freed from evil and be released from the miseries of material existence.

Serpientes Malditos

La Maldición de los Nagas

नारायणं नमस्कृत्य नरं चैव नरोत्तमम्

 देवीं सरस्वतीं चैव ततो जयम् उदीरयेत्

महाभरत

Mahābharata

Una versión de

Michael Dolan, B.V. Mahāyogi

En medio del batido y la quema, la salvia de los árboles místicos se mezcló con las hierbas aromáticas y las flores mágicas del monte Mandara y se vertió hacia las aguas del océano de leche, produciendo gradualmente el elixir conocido por esos dioses como amrita.

Los dioses celestiales alcanzaron entonces la inmortalidad al beber ese elixir mezclado con hierbas y oro líquido. Poco a poco los líquidos lechosos de las profundidades se concentraron en una rica mantequilla con la ayuda de las hierbas, las especias y la savia de los árboles del Himalaya.

“Con esto los dioses pidieron permiso de parar al sentir que habían alcanzado su meta. Se acercaron a Brahma, el creador, y dijeron, ‘Descansemos.’

“Pero Brahma se acercó a Narayana y le pidió que le otorgara a los dioses fuerzas renovadas para que pudieran continuar con sus labores. Y él dijo, ‘Puedan continuar con fuerza renovada.’

“Y ellos continuaron con renovada fuerza, espesando y batiendo el néctar.

Y con esto, cosas milagrosas ocurrieron. Mientras continuaban batiendo el néctar, la luna emergió del océano y tomó su sitio en los cielos. Y más adelante del batido, apareció Lakshmi vestida de blanco, y después el Soma y luego el caballo blanco Uchaishraas

De esta manera, muchas creaciones poco usales se elvaron desde el líquido primordial incluyendo al final al divino Dhanvantaril que llevaba un recipiente blanco de néctar en las manos.”

“Apareció Airavata el gran elefante de cuerpo enorme y blanco y tomó a Indra el dios del trueno en sus hombros.”

“Pero a medida que continuaba la agitación del néctar, un terrible veneno empezó a emanar de la coagulación de las potentes hierbas. Este veneno es conocido como Kalakuta, Esta masa tóxica ardió con el terrible fuego verde y los humos tóxicos. Y con estos humos del veneno, los tres mundos se quedaron atónitos.”

“De inmediato el Señor Shiva, tras haber sido llamado por Brahma hizo un cuenco con sus manos y bebió todo el veneno, espumándolo así de la superficie de las aguas.

El gran Señor, Shiva contuvo este veneno en su garganta para no digerirlo. Y por haberlo tenido en su gargante es llamado Nila-kantha, o garganta azúl. Pero algo de ese veneno escapó de su boca y en donde cayó en el suelo creó a las serpientes venenosas quienes forman parte de nuestra familia, los Nagas. Aunque, por supuesto, no todos somos venenosos, sin embargo miríadas de víboras y serpientes terribles se crearon en ese momento. Algunas de esas serpientes son desfavorables y se predijo su extinción. Es el sacrificio de serpientes de Janamejaya el que extingue su especie, aún mientras hablamos.”

La Maldición de los Nagas

“Mencionaste una maldición,” dijo Astika.

“Sí, te explicaré la maldición,” dijo su madre Jaratkaru.

“Pero primero dime acerca del néctar. ¿Qué ocurrió entre los dioses y los demonios y quien bebió del néctar inmortal?”

Jaraktaru continuó, “Cuando Shiva se tomó el veneno para seguridad de toda la creación, los asuras, los demonios pudieron ver que los dioses tenían venta. Se prepararon para la batalla, pensando que tendrían que pelear por el néctar.”

“Estaban decididos a poseer tanto a Lakshmi, la diosa de la fortuna y el néctar amrita que fluía del batido del océano de leche. En ese momento Narayana empleó sus poderes mágicos de ilusión y sumió la forma de una diosa seductora que hipnotizó a los demonios. Los demonios coqueteaban con la hermosa diosa quien les recomendó fueran pacientes. Embrujados por la diosa Mohini, le ofrecieron parte de su néctar, seguros de que después recibirían más de lo que compartieran.

“Mohini entregó todo el néctar a los dioses quienes vencieron a los demonios, Pero en la confusión un demonio llamado Rahu se coló entre ellos. Se las arregló para beber un sorbo de néctar, pero en cuanto fue detectado Narayan cercenó su cabeza con su disco chakra. Desafortunadamente el néctar había tocado sus labios y su cabeza se preservó para siempre. El disco de Narayan lanzó la cabeza de Rahu hacia los cielos, en donde el eterno codicioso, a veces se traga al mismísimo sol, únicamente para verlo pasar otra vez por su cuello hueco y es por ello que tenemos hasta hoy eclipses solares.”

“¿Y la maldición? Dijo Astika.

“La maldición vino tras la disputa que surgió durante el batido. Una gran maldición fue colocada en contra de la raza de Nagas a causa de uno de nuestras antepasadas, Vinata, Maldijo a toda la línea Naga nacida de su hermana Kura a ser quemada en el gran sacrificio de serpientes de Janamejaya.”

“Por qué maldijo a su propia raza, si también era una Naga.”

“Las dos hermanas eran envidiosas. Durante el batido del océano de leche, aparecieron muchas bestias místicas del líquido divino. Una de ellas era un caballo, Uchaisrava. La madre de los Nagas, Kudra hizo una apuesta con su hermana acerca del color de la cola del caballo. Kudra apostó que la cola del caballo era negra, mientras que Vinata apostó que era blanca. Pero Kudra hizo trampa.”

“¿Cómo hizo la trampa? ¿Podía cambiar el color de la cola del caballo con poder divino?”

“Kudra tuvo ayuda. Envió a miles de sus hijos, pequeñas serpientes negras, a mezclarse con los cabellos de la cola blanca. Cuando el caballo apareció parecía que su cola era negra, pero cuando su hermana Vinata se enteró, maldijo a las futuras generaciones de serpientes nacidas en la línea de Kudra a morir en el sacrificio de serpientes del rey Janamejaya.”

“¿Y qué tengo yo que ver con esta maldición?”

Es una larga historia, hijo mío. Pero cuando se aproximó el tiempo de Janamejaya todos los reyes naga, las serpientes, los hombres serpientes y las mujeres cobras llevaron a cabo una convención, Decidieron que yo me tendría que casar con un brahmán y criar a un hijo que pudiera detener el sacrificio. Así que conocí a tu padre, un gran santo brahmán, y te tuvimos. Tu eres hijo tanto de un brahmán como de un naga. Y por ello, tienes poderes especiales.”

“¿Cómo puedo detener el sacrificio?” Dijo el muchacho.

“Janamejaya es noble hacia los brahmanes.” Dijo su madre. “Si un brahmán se lo pide por favor se verá forzado a detener el sacrificio. Eres el único brahmán que pedirá este favor. El rey nunca pensará que quieres detener la matanza de las serpientes. Ningún otro brahmán dará su apoyo para terminar con el sacrificio de serpientes. Pero tú eres inocente y noble. El rey no se negará.”

“Sólo con este propósito en mente es que me casé con tu padre Jaratkaru: para salvar a nuestra gente, la familia serpiente de Naga. Has sido criado como un brahmán perfecto y honesto. Pero recuerda, eres el hijo de una Naga nacida como mujer-serpiente. Y tu tío es el gran Vasuki. Incluso ahora, Vasuki siente los dolores del fuego mientras loa mantras sagrados le atraen hacia el sacrificio de Janamejaya.”

Cosmic Evolution

Eighth Chapter of Bhagavad-Gītā Summarized

As summarized by Michael Dolan/Bhakti Vidhan Mahayogi

According to Yamunacharya, “The Eighth Chapter of Bhagavad-Gītā deals with the 3 divisions of truth-seekers: namely those who seek aiśvarya, or those who seek knowledge of the indestructible self and those who wish to attain the Supreme, or Bhagavan. This chapter explains the knowledge to be attained and the qualities to be acquired by these different classes of aspirants.   (Gitasaṁgraha 12 aiśvaryākṣarayāthātmyaṁ bhagavaccaraṇārthiṇām vedyopādeyabhāvānam astame bheda ucyate. ऐश्वर्याक्षरयाथात्म्यं भगवच्चरणार्थिणाम् वेद्योपादेयभावानम् अस्तमे भेद उच्यते) 

Bhaktivedanta Swāmi titles the chapter  “Attaining the Supreme,” in keeping with the ancient commentator Yamunacharya. Śrīdhara Mahārāja’s translator calls it “The Path of Absolute Freedom.

Arjuna has asked Kṛṣṇa to define terms, and so far we have seen the explanation of Brahman and ātmā, or God and the Self. He’s also interested in understanding karma, and supernatural influences especially those of the Vedic gods. Let’s start with karma.

The word karma may be defined in various ways. It comes from the Sanskrit root kri  which is the verb “to do,” or “to make.” 
Normally, we think of karma in terms of action and reaction: we speak of good karma and bad karma. Karma also means “work, action, creative energy.” Here, Kṛṣṇa associates karma with procreation. He says that karma is bhūta-bhāvodbhava-karo visargaḥ  or “that procreative energy by which the material bodies of the living entities are created.” We've seen the meaning of "karma-yoga" as work-in-sacrifice. When karma is balanced in yoga through sacrifice it may lead to dedication or bhakti. But when karma is an end to itself, it means action becomes perpetuated in the chain of birth and death. 
Here, Kṛṣṇa uses the word karma  to describe the entire subjective evolution of consciousness by which the living souls generate the conditions for the varieties of living species in the cosmic world with the help of the host of gods and other progenitive beings. (bhūta-bhāvodbhava-karo visargaḥ karma-saṁjñitaḥ) Bhaktivedānta Swāmī  translates this, "action pertaining to the development of the material bodies of the living entities is called karma..." whereas S. Radhakrishnan says, "karma is the creative impulse out of which life's forms issue. The whole cosmic evolution is called karma. The subject-object interaction which is the central pattern of the cosmos is the expression of Brahman, the Absolut Sirit, which is above the distinctions of subject and object." According to the translator of the commentary of Śridhara Mahārāja,  the word visarga  means "creation," and bhūta-bhāvodbhava-karo means "whose action produces the bodies of human and lower species though the agency of gross and subtle material elements." 

S. Radhakrishnan titles the chapter, “the Course of Cosmic Evolution,”

Kṛṣṇa continues: “Adhibhutam or the cosmic manifestation of time and space is impermanent. Physical nature or adhibhutam is subject to change at any time. The physical elements themselves are transitory and destructible. The conception of the entire universal experience along with all living beings, the sun, stars, and moon with all their gods is the cosmic form of divinity called adhidaivatam. Just as material bodies are inhabited by the individual spirit souls, so I inhabit the adhidaivatam universal body or cosmic form in my capacity as the Paramātmā or Supreme soul. As such, I am the original subject as well as the object of all sacrifice, the Adhiyajña.  

The Sanskrit here is terse, but deep with meaning: Adhibhuta  refers to the transitory nature of the elements and the time-space continuum which are akṣara,  destructible, mutable, perishable. Those who are after aiśvarya or material opulence and wealth will be frustrated in their sacrifice. They will achieve only temporary results, since everything in this world is temporary. A more worthy attempt will be to offer sacrifice to the higher plane,  adhidaivata  beyond the mundane gods of this world. The best offering will be made to the subject of all sacrifice, the Adhiyajña. the Supreme Puruṣa, Kṛṣṇa Himself. In his Gīta-bhāṣya, Ramanuja comments, “Adhiyajña connotes God; He should be propitiated in sacrifice, i.e. God, who is the atman of the gods who constitute his body, should be propitiated by sacrifices. This should be commonly known by all three groups of truth-seekers (materialists, spiritualists, and those who take the path of dedication)  when they perform any sacrifices.

Kṛṣṇa assures Arjuna, “And, whoever, at the time of death, quits his body, remembering Me alone, at once attains My nature. Of this there is no doubt.” Since one’s final conviction is determined by one’s regular habit in life, one should always remember God, Kṛṣṇa, on a daily basis. “He who meditates on the Supreme Personality of Godhead, his mind constantly engaged in remembering Me, undeviated from the path, O Arjuna, is sure to reach me.”

Kṛṣṇa goes on to describe the respective destinations of three kinds of religionists: those who strive for karmic gain, who wish to have a greater reward in their next life, those who seek spiritual relief from material stress, and those who wish to enter into a loving relationship with God. These are called karmis, jñānīs, and bhaktas. Karmic religion involves worship of God for some material benefit in this life or the next. As they are attached to worship for some material gain, the karmic religionists will return to enjoy the benefits of their sacrifice. As they have no interest in leaving the world of birth and death they are condemned to rebirth in saṁsara. The jñānīs  wish for liberation by merging their individual existence in the infinite undifferentiated spirit called Brahman. They shall achieve liberation, but at the expense of individual selfhood. Absorbed in infinite spirit as drops of water are absorbed in the ocean, they shall enter the impersonal Brahman. One the other hand, those devoted to the Supreme God shall enter his divine planet in a spiritual form, called svarūpa.  Having attained the highest plane of spiritual existence in devotion, the bhaktas  will serve there in dedication. They never return to the material world.

 Kṛṣṇa explains the parameters of the material cosmos, calculating the time frame for the beginning and end of the universe at approximately 311,000,000,000,000 years according to Vedic calculations. The creator of the universe, called Lord Brahma, is also temporary and lives and dies with his creation. The living entities take birth and die again and again in a cycle of rebirth until they understand the truths revealed in the Vedas and explained by Kṛṣṇa here in the Gītā. 

When one Brahma dies, another is reborn and the universe is again created in an endless loop off 311,000,000,000 universal creation cycles. And yet beyond this physical universe is a metaphysical universe not subject to annihilation. The spiritual world is beyond the manifest and unmanifest universes of cosmic reality. This Supreme Abode is unmanifested and infallible. Kṛṣṇa says, “It is the Supreme destination. When one goes there, he never comes back. That is my supreme abode.”

Bhaktivedānta Swāmī comments: “The supreme abode of the Personality of Godhead, Kṛṣṇa, is described in the Brahma-saṁhitā  as cintāmaṇi-dhāma, a place where all desires are fulfilled. The supreme abode of Lord Kṛṣṇa known as Goloda Vṛndāvana is full of palaces made of touchstone. There are also trees which are called ‘desire trees’ that supply any type of eatable upon demand, and there are cows known as surabhi  cows which supply a limitless supply of milk. In this abode, the Lord is served by hundreds of thousands of goddesses of fortune (Lakṣmīs), and He is called Goviinda, the primal Lord and the cause of all causes. The Lord is accustomed to blow His flute (venum kvanantam).  His transcendental form is the most attractive in all the worlds—His eyes are like the lotus petals and the color of His body like clouds. He is so attractive that His beauty excels that of thousands of cupids. He wears saffron cloth, a garland around His neck and a peacock feather in His  hair. In the Gītā Lord Kṛṣṇa gives only a small hint of His personal abode (Goloka Vṛndāvana) which is the supermost planet in the spiritual kingdom. A vivid description is given in the Brahma-saṁhitā.  Vedic literature states that there is nothing superior to the abode of the Supreme Godhead, and that that abode is the ultimate destination.  When one attains to it, he never returns to the material world. Kṛṣṇa’s supreme abode and Kṛṣṇa Himself are nondifferent, being of the same quality. On this earth, Vṛndāvana, ninety miles southeast of Delhi, is a replica of that supreme Goloka Vṛndāvana located in the spiritual sky. When Kṛṣṇa descended on this earth, He sported on that particular tract of land known as Vṛndāvana in the district of Mathurā, India.”

First Contact with Yoga

The Yoga of Puerto Vallarta

   (Note: this reading is not for the weak of heart and may contain references to sex and drugs)


The next morning I woke up in the dust with a headache. The fire was burned out and so was my brain. The Prophet was up early, smoking. The Brujo and Arturo had disappeared. "Come on, kid," the Prophet said, "We better get going." We walked back to the Chevy. Smoke was coming from the Brujo's chimney as the Prophet gunned the big V8 engine and we drove back to Caborca. My mother wasn't thrilled with our outing, but didn't say much. We gathered up my brothers and returned to the checkpoint and vehicle impound where the federales released the red Chrysler station wagon. A few pesos exchanged hands. No hard feelings, it was all business and adios amigos.

The drive to the coast was uneventful. I never saw Arturo again. I guess he's roaming the hills somewhere between Sonora and Arizona on the Mexican border humming a tuneful dirge on his harmonica. If you listen closely to the wind you can still here him. We drove down south, stopping in the beachtowns of Guaymas and Mazatlan.

 And so it was that my mother, Michel,  and the Prophet, my brothers Philo and Jean-Pierre and I had somehow made it from the desert sands of Caborca with its wild peyote cactus to the warm waters of Mazatlan, down the coast to Guaymas and Tepic and Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco. In those days, Puerto Vallarta was not so well-known. It still had the air of a sleepy fishing village.



Our goal was to reach Puerto Vallarta, a  paradise for the rich and famous of Hollywood made popular by Richard Burton and Liz Taylor. They had filmed "The Night of the Iguana" there with John Huston and later bought houses there. Vallarta later became a mecca for artists and hippies. My mother had rich and influential friends there who would help us get set up. The Prophet would have his own club: there he would spread his message of peace and love and the true music of Mexico. At 15 and a half, I was naive enough to believe.

Everyone has their golden age, their salad days of glory, green in youth and hot of blood. Summer found us at the dead mans' beach, Playa de los Muertos, where pirates left their silver and their bones in Puerto Vallarta long ago.

 

     Crocodiles roamed the nearby jungles of coconuts and palm trees. The volcanic coastal range cut us off from civilization faraway in Guadalajara. Powerful thunderstorms shook the sky with lightning all across the horizon as we made our way down the mountains and into this quiet paradise of warm weather and happy people. In those days the women still washed their laundry in the arroyo, displaying their colorful cloth, gleaming brilliant reds and greens in summer sun.

    We rented a small upstairs apartment from Doña Candelaria, a proud and smiling woman of Jalisco. Her broad shoulders and big hands told me she was no stranger to hard work. And her robust frame told me she was no stranger to tamales and atole, tacos and beans, green and red enchiladas, tortillas, sopes, gorditas, and nopales. Nor was she unfamiliar with toasted corn, barbecued fish, roast chicken, or to rico pozole with radishes, shredded lettuce, and oregano. In fact, given her amazing corpulence, there were few varieties of Mexican food unknown to Doña Candelaria.  Our window looked out on a cobblestoned street that wound its way to the beach about a ten minutes walk away.

Michel, my mother, had been fascinated with Mexico since she was a child. My grandfather's mother was Mexican, and my grandmother ued to dress her up in a little bolero outfit. She and my grandfather would take my mother to Olvera Street in Los Angeles where they could listen to Mariachi music. My mother could sing songs in Spanish and dance when she was a little girl.

Mexico opened her up to live her dream. She used to tell us she was the reincarnation of a mysterious 19th Century Marques named Fernanda who lived in Monterrey, California. So now that we had arrived, sh practiced her Spanish with Doña Candelaria as we made camp in our new apartment.

She was friends with Doña Candelaria, and her six brothers. She set up her artist's easel on the balcony with a view of the ocean over the treetops in the distance.  After a stint at Christmas in Connecticut as the perfect housewife of the 1960s, she was determined to change her life. No longer would she conform with being a postwar suburbian drudge, helpmate to an  business executive and TV producer. She would transform herself into Doña Michel, an artist whose style merged the best of Paul Gaugin and Frida Kahlo. We weren't so sure about Mexico, but while she flirted with living in the United States after this, and made occasional visits, she would live the rest of her life in Mexico. She continued to paint and make a living as a working artist until she passed away at the age of 80 in San Miguel de Allende in 2011.

The great French impressionist Paul Gaugin was her great inspiration. Where Gaugin had left his pedestrian life as a Dutch banker for the tropical colors of Tahiti, Michel had left the plastic world of Network TV for the brilliant contrasts of Mexico.

Study the work of Gaugin and Van Gogh and you will see an evolution in style from the grim greys of Amsterdam to the vivid colors of Tahiti.

Gaugin begins with starched portraits of dutch maids in shades of prussian blue in Amsterdam and ends with scandalous nude amazons in scarlets and lime greens as he paints the primitive beauty of the tropics.

My mother had left behind Beverly Hills, Hollywood pretension, and the French Marquis of Aubignosc for the Prophet of la Nueva Onda of Mexican music and her own self-discovery in the beaches of Puerto Vallarta and the Aztec sun of Mexico.  And where Frida Kahlo struggled against the macho stereotypes of the 1930s and 40s, Michel would reveal the New Feminism in her art. Her bravery in renouncing her former life and launching a new life of self-discovery later gave me inspiration to do the same.

Anyway, somewhere in this madcap loco mix were my two brothers, Philo and Jean-Pierre and I.

And so it was that The Prophet set out to find work at one of the local clubs, where he would play his six-string and declaim his teachings to the unwashed masses who would smoke marijuana, dance, and listen to his rambling commentaries on the War in Vietnam, Gringo Imperialism, the New Wave of music, and the true teachings of Christ.

As soon as we were established, my brothers Philo, Jean-Pierre, and I went out to explore our world. One of our first discoveries was roasted corn. A street vendor had set up on the cobblestoned street in front of our house across the street from a giant mango tree. A hollowed out tin can was his stove.
He toasted the corn on sticks on a grill above the charcoals stowed in the can. At a peso apiece it was hot corn heaven.

Across the street a pretty little girl in a t-shirt and baggy shorts, with raven hair and a broad smile had set up her orange crate under the mango tree.  As the proprietress of the tree, she had collected enough mangos to set up shop. Her name was Lupita. She got a peso a piece for the mangos. I had never tasted fresh mango before, but after  only one, I was hooked.  We visited her tree every day

 My brothers and I left the Prophet to his dialogues on  New Christian-Aztec theosophy with Michel, the artist, and set out down the cobblestones, through mango and tamarind trees to discover the beach.

In those days the Playa de Los Muertos was the happening beach in Puerto Vallarta. We wore our best Santa Monica swim shorts, called "Jams" and made quite an impression. We were the only white kids on the beach. There were a number of brightly painted red and green fishing skiffs overturned on the beach.  Muscular boys would make a team and push and drag them out into the waters and over the low-breaking waves and then jump in. The Playa de Los Muertos opens on the Bahia de las Banderas, the bay that leads into the Pacific Ocean. They called it the "Beach of the Dead," for the dead pirates who were supposed to have lost their lives anciently in battle with the deadly Aztec Indians who once inhabited the coast.


Emerging from the coconut trees, we set up our towels on the sand and and surveyed the area for adventure. Philo, Jean-Pierre, and myself were veterans of the beach scene in Malibu, Santa Monica, and Venice Beach. Mexico was different from back home: people spoke a different language and had a different culture. But the beach was something we knew. We understood sunshine, rocks, sand, and the seductive curve of a perfect wave. So in we went. We swam out into the bay a bit.

 Out in the water there were wooden platforms tethered to buoys about 500 meters out.  We could rest on the platform, lying on our backs and take the sun before heading back. We practiced diving tricks, and waved to the people on the beach. We dived off and raced each other to one of the platforms. Whoever got there first was the king. The cool blue water was transparent enough to see the tiny schools of silver sardines below our feet.  We did back-flips off the platform, showing off for the Mexican girls on the beach. We felt like kings.  This was clearly heaven. We were a bit worried on the way down from Caborca, but now it was all worth it.

Under the platform we explored. If you opened your eyes in the water, you could see clearly for a couple of meters. We noticed these tiny blue ice-cubes floating in the water. Suddenly, Philo screamed. He was such a clown, we thought he was just fooling around, trying to scare us. But then we knew it was real. If you've never been attacked by jellyfish before, you can only imagine what the pain is like.

It felt something like a bee-sting, but instead of gradually subsiding, the pain only intensified as the toxin got more absorbed in the blood. I felt a flash of heat on my neck as Jean-Pierre started screaming, "Son of a bitch!" Even though he was my younger brother, Jean-Pierre was tougher than any of us. His scream surprised me. Suddenly my left arm went numb and I couldn't remember how to swim. I was struggling in the water. We had to race back to the beach.

The jellyfish were everywhere. They call them "agua-mala" which means "bad-water." To this day, the Bahia de las Banderas is infested with them. Tiny, transparent blue and purple, jewel-like and deadly, their sting is supposed to be charged with sexual power and is prized for its aphrodesiac properties.

Later on the beach we were starving, wet, and cold. Along the beach the mexican muscle boys and fishing men had a fire going in a low pit. Fish were spitted over the fire and barbecued. We tried the fish with lime and salt and coconuts and mangos. It all cost less than a dollar. The locals laughed with us and told us to  put limes on our jellyfish stings. Somehow we survived.

My brother Philo was only about 13 years old at the time, but even at that age was irresistible to women. Sandy-haired, blue-eyed, and with an easy grin, he had a marvellous sense of humor and a gift for seduction. While Jean-Pierre and I were still drying off and examining our sting wounds, Philo wandered off.

It wasn't long before he had struck up a conversation with the only other Gringos on the beach. He had asked to borrow a cigarette and pretty soon was best friends with Georgia, Cindy, and John. He told them horror stories about the ellyfish told them of our adventures with the Prophet and our best friend the Joker from Batman. They were from Boston, down from the holidays. John and Georgia were brother and sister and Cindy was Georgia's friend. Georgia and Cindy were into Yoga. John was thinking about going into self-exile to avoid the draft and the war in Vietnam.





  We got along so well, it only seemed right for them to invite us for dinner, and so we went with our new best friends to a mansion they had rented in the jungles above Puerto Vallarta. We quickly ran home to change. My mother and the Prophet were still locked in creative discussions and were happy to take a break from us and gave us permission. The mansion was about a half-hour walk from the house of Doña Candelaria, where the mango trees grew thicker.
  A stone path took us through an overgrown garden of squash-blossom, marigolds, and chili plants shaded by the papayas and mango trees. It was a big wooden house with a nice veranda where John could sit on the porch-swing and play Dylan songs on his six-string. Georgia made us lemonade with the green limes they have in Mexico, and it cooled us from the tropical heat while Philo told stories and did impressions of President Nixon and Batman. We crooned a couple of tunes along with John and then listened to his rant against the War in Vietnam.
  The sun was down now, and Georgia, who was a vegetarian, served us a big salad with avocados and fresh tomatoes from her garden. She began explaining how nobody in his right mind should eat meat. Tarzan was a vegetarian she said.
  "No, he wasn't!" said my brother Philo. "Didn't he kill the lion?"
"That was in self-defense," said Georgia. "But the tiger was his friend. Cheetah is his friend and Cheetah is a vegetarian."

"Oh, so we're all supposed to eat bananas?"
"Look, the elephant is the strongest animal in the jungle, and elephants are vegetarians," I said, trying to score a point with the lovely Georgia. She smiled at me. My brother grimaced. He could always see right through me.
"Well, finish your salad, boys," she said.

On cue, it started to rain, big greasy drops. It was the afternoon tropical downpour. At first tentative, it became more and more emphatic until we felt that the house would be swept away in the hurricane. John put down his guitar and we picked up our plates and went back in the house.
"Oh, Noah." said Georgia.

"Noah's got nothing to do with it," said John. "Don't get all biblical with me, Georgia." But the rain kept on. A sharp wind lashed one of the shutters against the wall. This hurricane meant business. Water started dripping from the roof. John went out to check on the roof.

We finished our salads while Cindy and Georgia brought us bean and cheese burritos with a spicy sauce.

We sat on the floor in a circle and ate quietly. The rain went on. We could hear John banging on the roof. Philo told jokes, acted out an episode from Star Trek and did the dialogue between Lucky and Pozo from Waiting for Godot. Our plates cleaned, went in to the kitchen with Cindy and  helped Georgia with the dishes.
"Your boyfriend's pretty lame," Jean-Pierre said.
Cindy laughed. "John? He's not my boyfriend. Whatever gave you that idea?"
"So you're free?"

"Shut up. Listen, John's Georgia's brother. He's here to get out of the draft. He hates the Vietnam war. How old are you, anyway?"
"I'm almost 14," he lied. "In California, I'm old enough to drive."

The wind banged the shutter again. The sun goes down late in the summertime in Mexico. It was past nine o'clock. The storm was getting serious. John came back inside, his green army jacket soaked to the bone.
"I guess you guys are going to have to spend the night," he said, his droopy mustache hiding a big grin.
 "Georgia's got some extra blankets. Mike, you can take the hammock."

The hammock on the veranda was swinging in the wind, but protected from the rain. It looked cozy enough. Another thunderclap sounded. We were happy to be marooned here in this jungle paradise, far from the suburbs of Southern California, even farther from the snows of Connecticut.
"You wanna smoke?" John said, lighting up a hand-rolled cigarette.

By this time my brothers had also been initiated into the wonders of marijuana by the Prophet. My mother never found out exactly what had happened in the desert outside Caborca. The Prophet is probably one of only a handful of people to have smuggled pot from California into Mexico during the 1970s. He was constantly smoking, either pot or cigarettes, and by now my brothers and I had taken up smoking. Philo was only 13 at the time, but he became a lifelong smoker.

We passed a joint as John told of of the horrors of the Vietnam war. The U.S. was destroying a small country in Southeast Asia with no reason. The draft was unfair. Women and children were being napalmed.

My mind was spinning. The girls put on some sitar music. We lost track of time.  The candles burned down. Somehow my brothers faded away and were sleeping on the sofas under blankets.  We said our goodnights. Georgia and Cindy went off to their room and John went into his. I took my blanket and went out on the veranda to sleep in the hammock.

Now, if you've never slept in a hammock before, it takes some getting used to. This was my first time and I squirmed and squirmed until I dozed for a few minutes until I realized that the mosquitoes were eating me alive. Suddenly I felt the tacos and hot sauce squirming in my stomach. The rain had stopped and I could hear the crickets and frogs just out of sight in the garden. I got up to visit the bathroom.

I knew I couldn't sleep and took a look at the little library Georgia and Cindy had put together. One of the books there grabbed my attention. It was Bhagavad-gita As It Is, by A.C. Bhaktivedānta Swāmī.



The photo was of a serious scholarly-looking Indian man.  He had kindness in his eyes, as if he could understand what suffering was. I opened the book and read:

"Out of so many human beings who are suffering, there are a few who are actually inquiring about their position, as to what they are, why they are put into this awkward position and so on. Unless one is awakened to this position of questioning his suffering, unless he realizes that he doesn't want suffering but rather wants to make a solution to all sufferings, then one is not to be considered a perfect human being. Humanity begins when this sort of inquiry is awakened in one's mind. In the  Brahma-sūtra this inquiry is called "brahma-jijñāsā." Every activity of the human being is to be considered a failure unless he inquires about the nature of the Absolute. Therefore those who begin to question why they are suffering or where they came from and where they shall go after death are proper students for understanding Bhagavad-gītā."

I was hooked. I was interesting in making a solution to suffering. What would this inquiry lead?