{"id":1801,"date":"2025-03-15T16:36:17","date_gmt":"2025-03-15T16:36:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.yoganandafortheworld.com\/story\/?p=1801"},"modified":"2025-03-15T16:36:17","modified_gmt":"2025-03-15T16:36:17","slug":"swami-kriyananda-stories-ch-30-interlude-drums","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.yoganandafortheworld.com\/story\/swami-kriyananda-stories-ch-30-interlude-drums\/","title":{"rendered":"Swami Kriyananda Stories — Ch. 30: Interlude — Drums"},"content":{"rendered":"

I parked beneath an oak tree on the Stanford University campus at 6 a.m. and set out for a run.<\/strong> Six miles from Stanford, I turned onto a trail by a creek that flowed under shimmering leaves in the early morning sun.<\/p>\n

After a long climb to the ridge top, I turned north and jogged the undulating trail to Windy Hill. A helicopter passed loudly and set a den of coyotes howling in the bushes no more than twenty feet away.<\/p>\n

I tried unsuccessfully to wrap my head around a spiritual practice. I talked to Divine Mother and chanted repetitive prayers. I had felt depressed and lonely of late, finding little healing or inspiration in my meditations. Clearly something was wrong.<\/p>\n

My mood improved when I began my new job, thanks to Ishani. I would pass her in the store and my heart would fill. I released these feelings by praying for her. I felt happy in her company, even more so in praying that Master bless her with his<\/i> happiness. I considered that we were far too different to be more than friends.<\/p>\n

Still, something was ripping me apart, as if I had been injured and couldn\u2019t find the wound.<\/p>\n

Rather than drive home after the run, I strolled to the eucalyptus grove where the annual Native American Pow-Wow\u00a0was underway.<\/p>\n

I sat beneath an awning, in a section set up by one of the Navaho families. A man in a nearby seat struck up a conversation. After a while, a young Dineh joined us, a challenge in his eyes, as if to say, \u201cWhat are you doing sitting in the Native American section?\u201d We talked for a bit, and by way of building bridges I mentioned that I had read all of Tony Hillerman\u2019s books several times, and that I had followed a meditative spiritual path for forty years. I think he was mollified also by my t-shirt, from a footrace called the \u201cWhat, Mi-Wok Trail 100K\u201d which showed a Native American dancer. At any rate, he became more friendly.<\/p>\n

At one point, I put my arm around the man with whom I had been talking and said, \u201cOur friend here was born in Newfoundland of a Native American father and a Scottish mother, and he\u2019s not too happy about inheriting his mother\u2019s coloring.\u201d He was, in fact, thoroughly Scottish in appearance, with red hair, light skin, and red freckles.<\/p>\n

I watched the dancers for a time, but was simply too tired to stay longer.<\/p>\n

The next morning I went to Sunday service at Ananda Sangha. I found the service uplifting, but afterward my heart once again felt bruised and sore.<\/p>\n

Looking for something to do, I drove in the direction of the Pow-Wow. Fearing that it might be tawdry, with milling crowds and heat and brain-frying music, I considered going home. But a gentle impulse seemed to urge me to drive on. I parked beneath the oaks by the stadium and walked toward the Pow-Wow, curious to see what was in store.<\/p>\n

I was deeply tired\u00a0from the previous day\u2019s run. But I found that by sitting quietly\u00a0and breathing deeply I could recover enough peace and energy to vibrate with good feelings.<\/p>\n

I love Tony Hillerman\u2019s novels for the respectful way they portray the path of the Dineh: its dignity, simplicity, and harmony. The books present an appealing\u00a0picture of a simpler way of life.<\/p>\n

As I sat quietly, I noticed that the atmosphere was very different from the usual outdoor fair, where beer flows, the music is a blunt insult, and the atmosphere is heavy with materialism. \u201cMaybe if we spend just a little bit more this time<\/i>, we\u2019ll find happiness\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

The Pow-Wow wasn\u2019t like that at all. The Dineh sat in family groups, quietly enjoying the day and talking under their awnings, and despite the crowds the air was soft with harmony.<\/p>\n

The announcer introduced the Pow-Wow staff and tallied the accomplishments of the chief male dancer, George Bearskin. Mr. Bearskin stood with bowed head while his kudos were read, then walked off to the enthusiastic applause of the crowd, his face dispassionate, as if to say \u201cDarn it, I forgot to get a new battery for the truck.\u201d I saw no hint of pride or false humility\u00a0in his demeanor; he simply blended. I felt it was a beautiful demonstration of hozro<\/i> \u2013 the harmonious melding of personal self with nature and community\u00a0that the Dineh consider the pinnacle of happiness and the right, spiritual way to live.<\/p>\n

Several rows ahead of me, a woman braided her young daughter\u2019s long black hair. I glanced at them from time to time, admiring their quiet communion whenever my attention drifted from the dancers.<\/p>\n

The dancers\u2019 costumes were wonderful \u2013 colorful \u201cfancy dancer\u201d outfits of modern materials and older, traditional buffalo dance\u00a0and warrior costumes of animal skins and feathers. The women dancers moved with dignity and calmness. I found their dancing initially boring and laborious, their slow movements seeming to lack energy and inspiration. Later, at home, I picked up a book of poetry and stories by Luci Tapahonso, The Women Are Singing<\/i>, and opened it to a passage where she explains that the women dancers tap the earth lightly in blessing. What a difference that explanation made!<\/p>\n

The dancers seemed relaxed, faithful to Hillerman\u2019s portrayal of Indian spirituality as a comfortable part of their lives. You could see this harmony even in the children. Brats will be brats, but I was touched by the Dineh boys and girls. One chanting group included a thin, dark-skinned girl of perhaps fifteen. (There were eight groups of six or seven drummers each.) She was the only woman in any of the groups, and she was deeply focused on the chanting, which was very loud and forceful, and required great vocal power and concentration. There wasn\u2019t the slightest possibility of resting or of dropping the rhythm, as the slightest variation would be immediately noticeable.<\/p>\n

I watched a small group of children talking quietly nearby. One of the young girls touched my heart. She was perhaps twelve or thirteen and wore a blue dancer\u2019s costume, her black hair arranged traditionally, swept up in braided rows with blue feathers\u00a0in the braids. It touched me that she was so obviously a child. Nowadays, it\u2019s very unusual to see a child who hasn\u2019t been shriveled and stunted by rock music and TV and a relentless addiction to things<\/i> by the time they reach their early teens. She seemed as innocently sweet as nature had made her, like a fawn, and she was as lovable for her innocence as the young of all species. As she talked and listened, her little round face was grave behind her glasses. I was grateful to be reminded of the goodness and wisdom of native cultures. It was a small vignette, but I thought it spoke volumes about her parents and her people.<\/p>\n

The announcer said that\u00a0in the early 1900s the U.S. government had banned Indian chanting and dancing, condemning them as \u201cheathen\u201d and \u201cdevil-worship.\u201d I was reminded of the fundamentalist preacher Pat Robertson\u2019s views on Hindu art and culture. What an ill-informed fellow he will seem, a few centuries from now.<\/p>\n

I walked over and stood close to the drums, curious to see if the drumming could help heal my discontent and loneliness. In the 1980s, I chanted daily for at least an hour and a half for five years without skipping a day. The experience healed my heart and opened a world of many beauties. My meditations soared.<\/p>\n

Standing as close to the drums as possible, I turned my attention away from the crowds and opened my heart to receive the healing power of the chant. Yogananda said that devotional drumming \u201cloosens up the karma in the spine.\u201d The group of drummers that included the young girl were amazing. There was a great power of harmony in their chanting and drumming. I was riveted. Glancing up, my eyes met those of one of the Dineh judges \u2013 a young man, he smiled in shared understanding, then our attention was drawn back to the chant.<\/p>\n

I had expected to leave the Pow-Wow feeling thoroughly frazzled, but as I strolled to my truck I noticed that I was feeling happy for the first time in weeks.<\/p>\n

Two days later, I walked up to Ishani at the store and said, \u201cI\u2019ve been having wonderful experiences in nature. I wonder if you\u2019d like to come and see some of those places with me.\u201d She didn\u2019t answer, but stood blushing and looking as if she\u2019d been hit by something large and bright. Her cheeks flushed and she stammered hoarsely, \u201cYes…\u201d I fell in love with her very much at that moment.<\/p>\n

It was so natural to ask her to visit nature\u2019s beautiful world\u00a0with me. I wasn\u2019t at all nervous that she might decline. Nor was there a sense of going behind my Guru\u2019s back and evading his guidance to get something I wanted.<\/p>\n

Our relationship has been spiritually blessed. The keynote that we return to, again and again, is God. The care of our relationship requires that we feed it by returning constantly to its source.<\/p>\n

My experience at the Pow-Wow brought me other blessings, not the least of which was a fresh realization that my guru, Paramhansa Yogananda, is happy to use any and all available means in his efforts to help us find a greater happiness. In a little over fifty-three years as his disciple, I\u2019ve found him never to be dogmatic or doctrinaire, but always creative and original in adapting his guidance to the devotee\u2019s specific and individual needs. When church services won\u2019t do the job, he\u2019s quite willing to use Native American drums.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I parked beneath an oak tree on the Stanford University campus at 6 a.m. and set out for a run. Six miles from Stanford, I turned onto a trail by a creek that flowed under shimmering leaves in the early morning sun. After a long climb to the ridge top, I turned north and jogged … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1801","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\nSwami Kriyananda Stories — Ch. 30: Interlude — Drums - Swami Kriyananda: Lightbearer<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"A 59-years disciple of Paramhansa Yogananda recalls how he was healed by Native American drums.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.yoganandafortheworld.com\/story\/swami-kriyananda-stories-ch-30-interlude-drums\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Swami Kriyananda Stories — Ch. 30: Interlude — Drums - 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