By Bhakta Patrick
My first encounter of the devotees was an unexpected one. I’d heard about the Hare Krishnas before (most notably from when they were mentioned by Kermit the Frog in that seminal classic, The Muppet Movie), and only thought them as funny looking but probably good natured people in orange robes singing and dancing in the street, and this is the extent to which I suspect most college students know ISKCON. At my university, the students may talk to the devotees when they see them on their bi-weekly campus harinam, maybe sit and listen to the kirtan, maybe even take a book, but they seldom, in my experience, tried to understand why they were there beyond playing cool music and distributing tasty cookies and ginger-ade.
I, however, a curious freshman English major, decided to go further one day when I saw the friendly neighborhood representatives of Lord Caitanya’s Sankirtan army chanting under a tree outside the humanities building; a curious sight for a Thursday afternoon.
Now, I am not a socially adept person. Since I’ve been making coherent sentences I have yet to master the treacherous art of small talk. Still, my interest overcame my social anxiety, I suppose, and I approached one of the devotees. “Um… hi there!”
“Hey!” she said, smiling. Her sari was rippling violently in the wind, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“Are you guys Hare Krishnas?” I asked. What a stupid question. Who else could they be?
“Yes! You’ve heard about us?”
I proceeded to summarize to her my experience with Hindu scriptures and my geeky love of Sanskrit literature. I’d studied the Bhagavad Gita in school, and had also read versions of the Mahabharata and Ramayana, as well as some of Kalidasa’s plays, the Upanishads, and the Panchatantra.
“That’s wonderful!” she beamed.
“You should come to our center!” piped a shiny-headed devotee with a melodious Indian accent, “We have kirtan every night, and we serve free food afterwards!” He handed me a floral printed card that read “HARMONY COLLECTIVE: Learning Love through Cooperation”
I decided to go. They had me at “free food”.
The Harmony Collective is located, aptly, at 108 North Adams St. near Downtown Ypsilanti, in an old Victorian looking house that sports chipping chartreuse paint and dusky orange windowsills. Upon entering, I tried to make small talk with the devotees but was distracted by the walls, which sported small pictures and tapestries featuring stories from the scriptures; the epic Battle at Kurukshetra, the Gopis in the midst of their blissful Rasa Dance, and Krishna himself, the divine, sky-blue toddler, eating butter straight from the churn.
When I went upstairs to the altar room, kirtan was in full swing. Sitting down on cushions was Sidha (the Indian devotee who handed me the card). He greeted me with an enthusiastic “Ayeeeee!” and bade me sit down. At first, I was somewhat, if not extremely uncomfortable. Interacting with strangers is always uncomfortable. But, I decided to just close my eyes and roll with the tide.
Sooner or later, things got really, really, fun. I found that I loved making music with these people, reveling in the funky, driving rhythms, the sudden tempo changes. As with many college musicians going into a non-musical field, with the load of classes, homework, and social life, one barely has time to sing or play. I found that I really missed this.
After kirtan, I chatted up the founder of the Harmony Collective, the mellow yet piercingly intelligent Deva Madhava Das, and his wife, the equally remarkable Phalguni Radhika Devi Dasi, who was the woman who was leading kirtan that evening. I quickly struck up a friendship with her in particular, and on my subsequent visits we would discuss philosophy, scripture, literature, and our love of BBC comedy quiz-panel shows with equal enthusiasm.
I found myself being drawn to this place; no matter how hectic things got with school I always found ways to come back and visit, and I was always greeted with smiles and “how are you”s from all. It felt like things were slower there, less apprehensive, less worried than the fast-paced atmosphere of campus. No matter what was going on with my mammoth homework load or my social life or my dank existential anxiety about careers and the future, I knew I could always come to the Harmony Collective for a place to breathe and re-assess.
As I got more familiar with the HC’s devotee community, I inevitably got more familiar with Krishna Conscious philosophy. Prabhupad’s Gita, given to me by Sidha Hari on our first meeting, was different than the thin, more academic Gitas I’d read in the past. Upon diving in, I found Prabhupad’s commentary much more elaborate and distinct from interpretations I’d studied, but the process of cultivating sincere devotion and an emphasis on one’s personal relationship with God described in Prabhupad’s purports attracted me greatly.
Soon I was setting up a small altar in my room and chanting semi-regularly on beads given to me by Phalguni. By the end of the semester, I knew how to play the harmonium, how to do the swami step, and who the heck Hiranyakashipu is. Visiting devotees started referring to me happily as “Bhakta Patrick”. I liked that. It rang.
My parents, however were not so congenial. When I first mentioned to them that I went to the devotees for dinner one night, they responded with two resounding words: “STAY AWAY.” Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. I chalked this up to anxiety about me being away for the year, so I waited for a while and tried to drop subtle hints, saying things like “oh if I run out of meal plans I could always go to the Hare Krishnas”, and “I was at this Interfaith thing and the Hare Krishnas brought free food”, but alas they never warmed up to the idea, and remain decidedly cool to this day. It’s why I often find myself coming up with explanations like, “I’m going to this event put on my friend who runs a Yoga Center. It’s also why I didn’t use my full name to submit this article.
I brought this up to Phalguni one night as we hung out and watched everyone’s favorite T.V show featuring a magical azure flautist, Little Krishna.
“Parents are always like that”. She told me, “Mine totally were. It’ll take some time.”
“I have to tell them sooner or later, though” I said.
“You should invite them over” said Phalguni, sipping her hot mug of ginger tea, a Harmony Collective specialty. “Have them sit down and talk with us. Once they realize what we actually do here, they’ll be less freaked out. One time this kid documented us for his photography project and thought it was going to be exposing some weird cult thing, but all we really do is cook and play music.”
“I suppose so…” I imagined my parents meeting the devotees, a bizarre thought. I’ve always been the adventurous one in the family, so they’ve always been worried that my curiosity would get the better of me. Me joining a cult was, apparently, one of the worries on their list.
“Deva’s great with parents. There hasn’t been a parent he’s talked to that hasn’t liked him” she smiled, “Besides, he’s always willing to wear pants instead of a dhoti if he has to.” It was comforting to hear, but I don’t think I’ll take Phalguni up on her offer quite yet. Someday, but not today.
At the beginning of the winter semester, I arranged to stay at the Harmony Collective for a few days before classes started, and boy was I excited. I couldn’t wait to jump into doing all kinds of service and hang out with some of my favorite friends. What could be better than three days of spiritual renewal before being thrust headlong into that cyclone of schoolwork and extra curriculars?
It turned out to be less renewing than I expected.
Transitioning from reading and watching Netflix on the couch at home to being in an environment where everything is all Krishna all the time proved to be a heck of an adjustment, and not a comfortable one. I was glad to have the company of my friends, but as we settled into the daily routine, doubts about my bhakti practice began to surface, and I quickly began to feel overwhelmed and ill at ease. During Bhagavatam class, I’d listen to lessons that I did not understand, and, in some cases, didn’t agree with, but somehow I felt obligated to readily accept. As a few of us ventured out into the frozen wasteland of Ann Arbor for a bone-chillingly cold sankirtan , all the while eyed suspiciously by passersby, I found myself thinking, “Why am I even doing this?”. I quickly realized that I was in too deep, and, I feared that the devotees perceived me as more Hare Krishna than I actually was.
I decided not to take part in the 10 hour Kirtan that Sidha Hari had spontaneously scheduled on my final evening at the house. Phalguni and I stayed in the kitchen, busying ourselves with salad dressing and Ekadasi pakoras. As we were finishing up, I asked for a word.
“If I ever decided… like… not to be a devotee” the words caught in my throat, “would you be disappointed?”
She sighed and took my hand. Whenever I ask someone a hard or difficult question my mind always goes through a rolodex of potential responses, most of them bad ones. The rolodex was going full speed on this one.
“You shouldn’t let me influence what direction you take your spiritual life” she said, “You need to do what you feel is right, regardless of what anyone might think”. The thing about Phalguni is she has these wide, compassionate eyes that can stare directly into your soul, but in a reassuring way, not a creepy one.
I proceeded to vomit forth my concerns about Krishna Consciousness in an incoherent, anxiety driven babble. Phalguni squeezed my hand and said, “Don’t worry about it. This place is meant to be a shelter; somewhere where you can come to rest and plug in, not where you have to worry about living up to expectations. We’re not here to make you into a devotee. We love you, and we care about you, and we just want to help you have the best spiritual life you possibly can.”
And then I cried. All over her shoulder. Seldom in my life have I felt so loved and unconditionally accepted by anyone, and the reassurance and comfort was just as overwhelming as my anxiety had been, if not infinitely more so. After pulling myself together, we chatted for a bit, took some Prasad, and then went upstairs for the last leg of the kirtan. As we jammed together late into the night, I couldn’t help but think about how lucky I was to experience a community like this; not a lot of people get to. But, I suppose that is precisely what Deva and the gang are trying to do, to give community to anyone who needs it.
I have gone on to make many great memories with the devotees, including packing inside a huge auditorium to hear Radanath Swami speak, going on a 14 mile, ten hour sankirtan extravaganza across Detroit, and I plan to go Michigan YogaFest with them later this year. I love these people so much that how could I not? I’m not a Krishna devotee, and I doubt that I will ever be, but at the Harmony Collective that doesn’t matter. It never really did. It’s the mark of a genuinely loving spiritual community that one can feel loved and accepted. No conditions. No expectations. Just mutual compassion and respect, and everyone needs that, Krishna or no Krishna.
The Harmony Collective is a place where you can come to grow, connect, and feel welcome. It’s just as beneficial for people who wish to dive deep into Krishna Consciousness as for people who just want to enjoy nice music enlightening conversation, and good food. For me, whatever happens to me on my journey, at the Harmony Collective I always feel at home.
I think everyone need something like that; a spiritual home away from home. People seek it out in different ways and find it in surprising places. I can’t speak for anyone else, but there’s one thing I know for sure.
I’ve found mine.