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  • happyfreecarly - Carly Boland @happyfreecarly 5 months ago
  • “Don’t starve your beads.” #RadhanathSwami

There is a light and airy feeling to new beads. Their wood is fresh, often light colored, and their surface textured.

After daily, chanting, there seems to be a miraculous change. Their weight begins to change. It is inexplicable, but they feel heavier, as if they have somehow been filled, saturated with the potency of the mantra.

Their colour changes, as though Tulasi Devi herself would like to take on the darkened complexion of her Shyam.

The stiffness of the binding thread begins to loosen, and the feel of them slipping through the fingers becomes hypnotic in itself. The feeling keeps me coming back, day after day, striving to unlock the unlimited mysteries of the Holy Name.
Massaging them smooths out their previous texture, until the beads begin to take on a luster and shine, and before long, they themselves look almost like a string of mini deities.
Nama Murtis.

Feed them the nectar of the Holy Name and they begin to change and transform. As do we. We return again and again to our beads, and to the Holy Name, hoping to find peace, hoping to find relief, hoping to find joy and comfort. And all of that and more is available.

I am longing for the day that I fill my beads with enough yearning and longing that Govinda will hear my prayers and He will unlock the door to His own kingdom of Love.
Gurudeva’s instruction was, don’t starve your beads. And that image stayed with me.

The image of a bag filled with forgotten japa beads, untouched, left without the daily offering of love and the whispering of dreams that enters into each and every bead, each day that we show up to chant, no matter how long or short the session. The image practically haunted me.

On the days where my mind wants to rebel, on the days where my lips don’t want to obey, on the days where my heart wants to close the shutters, and all of me wants to hide behind my false sense of control, the image of my starving beads, prompts me to get up. To go to them. To run my fingers over them and remember. Remember the feel of them between my fingers, their smooth surface connecting me to the mantra that escapes with each breath. “Don’t starve your beads.” #radhanathswami There is a light and airy feeling to new beads. Their wood is fresh, often light colored, and their surface textured. After daily, chanting, there seems to be a miraculous change. Their weight begins to change. It is inexplicable, but they feel heavier, as if they have somehow been filled, saturated with the potency of the mantra. Their colour changes, as though Tulasi Devi herself would like to take on the darkened complexion of her Shyam. The stiffness of the binding thread begins to loosen, and the feel of them slipping through the fingers becomes hypnotic in itself. The feeling keeps me coming back, day after day, striving to unlock the unlimited mysteries of the Holy Name. Massaging them smooths out their previous texture, until the beads begin to take on a luster and shine, and before long, they themselves look almost like a string of mini deities. Nama Murtis. Feed them the nectar of the Holy Name and they begin to change and transform. As do we. We return again and again to our beads, and to the Holy Name, hoping to find peace, hoping to find relief, hoping to find joy and comfort. And all of that and more is available. I am longing for the day that I fill my beads with enough yearning and longing that Govinda will hear my prayers and He will unlock the door to His own kingdom of Love. Gurudeva’s instruction was, don’t starve your beads. And that image stayed with me. The image of a bag filled with forgotten japa beads, untouched, left without the daily offering of love and the whispering of dreams that enters into each and every bead, each day that we show up to chant, no matter how long or short the session. The image practically haunted me. On the days where my mind wants to rebel, on the days where my lips don’t want to obey, on the days where my heart wants to close the shutters, and all of me wants to hide behind my false sense of control, the image of my starving beads, prompts me to get up. To go to them. To run my fingers over them and remember. Remember the feel of them between my fingers, their smooth surface connecting me to the mantra that escapes with each breath.
  • “Don’t starve your beads.” #radhanathswami There is a light and airy feeling to new beads. Their wood is fresh, often light colored, and their surface textured. After daily, chanting, there seems to be a miraculous change. Their weight begins to change. It is inexplicable, but they feel heavier, as if they have somehow been filled, saturated with the potency of the mantra. Their colour changes, as though Tulasi Devi herself would like to take on the darkened complexion of her Shyam. The stiffness of the binding thread begins to loosen, and the feel of them slipping through the fingers becomes hypnotic in itself. The feeling keeps me coming back, day after day, striving to unlock the unlimited mysteries of the Holy Name. Massaging them smooths out their previous texture, until the beads begin to take on a luster and shine, and before long, they themselves look almost like a string of mini deities. Nama Murtis. Feed them the nectar of the Holy Name and they begin to change and transform. As do we. We return again and again to our beads, and to the Holy Name, hoping to find peace, hoping to find relief, hoping to find joy and comfort. And all of that and more is available. I am longing for the day that I fill my beads with enough yearning and longing that Govinda will hear my prayers and He will unlock the door to His own kingdom of Love. Gurudeva’s instruction was, don’t starve your beads. And that image stayed with me. The image of a bag filled with forgotten japa beads, untouched, left without the daily offering of love and the whispering of dreams that enters into each and every bead, each day that we show up to chant, no matter how long or short the session. The image practically haunted me. On the days where my mind wants to rebel, on the days where my lips don’t want to obey, on the days where my heart wants to close the shutters, and all of me wants to hide behind my false sense of control, the image of my starving beads, prompts me to get up. To go to them. To run my fingers over them and remember. Remember the feel of them between my fingers, their smooth surface connecting me to the mantra that escapes with each breath.
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