Conversations With Ananda — Ch. 74, Nayaswami Rambhakta

Rambhakta in 2013.
Photo: 2013

At 82, Rambhakta remains active in the music ministry at Ananda Sangha in Palo Alto, California.

When I moved to Ananda Village in 1976, I was offered a job at “Pubble,” the department where Swami Kriyananda’s books were published. Soon after I arrived, Swamiji invited the Pubble staff to his home to talk about some projects he was planning.

Swami’s house was on the other side of the ridge from the Village, and I hiked over the hill with two other staffers, Asha and Seva, who were nuns and walked a little ahead.

I was very nervous, biting my nails mentally about meeting the great man for the first time. I thought, “Gosh, it’s like going to meet the Pope or something!”

When we arrived, we heard music issuing from Swamiji’s home. When we entered we found him listening to a humorous song, “The Vatican Rag.” It was playing quite loudly, and Swami was laughing uproariously:

First you get down on your knees,
Fiddle with your rosaries,
Bow your head with great respect, and
Genuflect, genuflect, genuflect!

You can do what steps you want if
You have cleared them with the pontiff.
Everybody say his own kyrie eleison,
Doin’ the Vatican Rag!….

Between guffaws, he sang the refrain, “Genuflect, genuflect!”

My jaw was so far open, you could have parked a battleship inside.

Get in line in that processional,
Step into that small confessional,
There a guy who’s got religion’ll
Tell you if your sin’s original.

If it is, try playin’ it safer,
Drink the wine and chew the wafer.
Two, four, six, eight,
Time to transubstantiate!

When in Rome be like a Roman,
Make a cross on your abdomen.
Ave Maria, gee it’s good to see ya’!
Gettin’ ecstatic and sorta dramatic and
Doin’ the Vatican Rag!

When we’d finished with our business, Swamiji invited us to gather around the piano to sing a song that he had recently composed. Most of those present were singers in Ananda’s small performing group, the Gandharvas (the “Celestial Singers”).

Swamiji invited me to join in, but I demurred, because I couldn’t read music and didn’t want to drag the group down and spoil the fun.

Over the years, I felt sad that I hadn’t taken up Swamiji’s invitation. I knew that he hadn’t wanted to include me just so that I could partake in the festivities, but that he was offering me a way to serve that I would have found deeply enjoyable and fulfilling. I realized that he was offering me a wonderful chance to be part of Paramhansa Yogananda’s work at Ananda.

In the fall of 2008, reflecting on all the loving help he had given me over the years, I felt it was time to start giving back from a grateful heart. After service one Sunday, I walked on stage during a choir rehearsal and joined the tenor section. I didn’t know the music – I was sure I could learn it later, but I wanted to make a first gesture.

As I write this, I’ve been singing the music for twelve years. I’ve sung in the choir and two small ensembles, and it’s been a wonderful experience. It’s brought me spiritual growth, and I feel closer to my Ananda family and to God and Guru.

Swami Kriyananda says that his music is more than an adornment to Ananda’s mission, intended to entertain people at Sunday services. He says it’s “central to everything we do at Ananda.”

He wrote: “At Ananda, people have been drawn to join the community even more through our music than through our teachings. Books and teachings give them ideas, but the music has made them feel the importance of the teachings.” He said that every note he’d written was received from divine inspiration.

When I joined the choir, I was very conscious of these statements, and I resolved to do my best to make my service as true and sincere as possible.

Swamiji said that when he wrote a song, he tried to make each part singable, so it would be equally inspiring for the sopranos, altos, tenors, and basses. I don’t read music, but I was able to start learning the music by listening to recordings of the tenor parts. As I listened and followed along with the sheet music, I gradually picked up the “melody” that Swamiji had written for the tenors, and in time I began to feel the inspiration behind the music.

The practice recordings were mostly made by Chaitanya or Dambara, both of whom had sung the music for at least twenty years. Swami Kriyananda praised the senior Ananda singers for singing with understanding. As I listened, I could feel their attunement with the inspiration in the music.

Young singers in India train by singing along with the teacher. At rehearsals, I found it very helpful to stand near Chaitanya or Dambara and “hitchhike” – riding their waves of inspiration.

In various Ananda service projects over the years, I’ve felt a higher power helping me navigate the details. In my work as web manager for our Palo Alto Living Wisdom School, for example, though. I’m not a graphic designer and have no background in technology, whenever I’ve faced technical hurdles I’ve often found answers coming quickly. “Divine Mother, help me – I don’t have a clue!” This prayer often brought the right solution.

When Swami Kriyananda invited me to sing, I’m sure he knew it would be a service that I would love. But I don’t want to paint a too-rosy picture of singing as a path to personal spiritual growth. A lot of work goes on behind the scenes before we perform. It can be a demanding sadhana, though the gains far outweigh any effort that’s involved. It takes time to learn the music, to “smooth the voice,” to explore the inspiration, and to learn to offer ourselves as God’s instruments while we’re singing.

Beyond the technical side, it takes preparing ourselves. Swami Kriyananda urged us to be impersonal when we sing, setting aside restless emotions so that God can use us to give His inspiration to the audience, to latch onto it and be inspired.

It’s almost never trivial to get ourselves out of the way. There are endless challenges. What if you ate something that disagreed with you? What if someone hurt your feelings? Will you be able to rise about it, set self aside, and “sing out with joy”?

I discovered that it’s critical not to try to fix the problems by myself, but to offer them to God. Trying to solve them with the rational mind, I just end up feeling tense and frustrated, but if I bring God into the picture I find that He is very willing to help. “Divine Mother, I ate something that’s making me feel like a demented person wandering the streets of downtown Chicago late at night with a stomach ache. I can’t remember the words or notes, much less ‘get out of the way.’ I want to serve but I need Your help.”

Trying to “rise above it” by our own power can often be hopeless, especially when our minds are compromised.

I remember the first time I sang in the choir when Swami Kriyananda was in the audience. I looked forward to singing, feeling that he would be pleased to see that I’d finally accepted his invitation.

On the night of the event, I could not remember the music for the life of me! I had eaten something that was killing my energy. Waiting to go on, I tried to be energized and focused, with a woeful absence of success. At one point in his talk, Swami looked at me with a bemused expression. I saw myself as an empty-headed buffood, sitting there in the audience.

Less than a minute before we went up, the words and music suddenly came. Whew, a narrow escape!

When we walked onstage I was happy to stand half-hidden behind Chaitanya, who’s a big man, because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to remember the music all the way through. Just then David, who was standing on the highest platform, whispered, “Hey, Rambhakta! You can’t hide behind Chaitanya. Get up here!” So there I was, feeling shaky about the music, standing in the most visible position of the room. What a joke! The lesson I took from the experience is that Divine Mother doesn’t care about our problems. What touches Her is our willingness. Master said, “All you can do is the best you know how.” I somehow managed to lurch through the song.

I often wonder if Divine Mother deliberately arranges it so that we aren’t able to behave perfectly, to make us open our hearts and offer ourselves to Her. With minds blasted to smithereens, we realize that our power to succeed is entirely in Her hands. It brings us closer to Her, more effectively than if we could always be faultlessly balanced, mentally sharp, and inspired.

On the other hand, Divine Mother doesn’t tolerate poor preparation or scattered attention. The more conscientiously I prepare, the easier I find it is to get out of the way when we sing. Knowing the music well is a huge part of being able to let go of ego-identifications, because it frees us to step out of the way and concentrate on self-giving and merging with the spirit of the music, instead of fretting over the notes. It gives God an instrument that is prepared to uplift and inspire others.

I find that if I practice conscientiously, never miss rehearsals, and meditate and pray before we sing, I’ve basically done my job. Having prepared, I can walk on stage and say silently, “Master, we give you our hearts. Sing through us.”

After I had been singing for a year, I received an email from David Praver who was in India with Swamiji at the time. He said that Asha had mentioned to Swamiji that I was singing the music. Now, I’m sure that Swamiji would have been perfectly justified in saying, “Well, it’s about time!” Instead, David reported that he had remarked, “That’s wonderful. It would be so good for him!”

That was Swamiji – never placing the needs of the organization over those of the individual – always ready to encourage and help us.

 

Leave a Comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.