Resilience to the Right

Upon conducting a thorough introspection at the end of this week, it became apparent that one fact, regarding my general psyche, influences the majority of my actions: my motivation is derived from the association that I keep. There is a definite correlation between the state of my demeanour and my interaction with certain people. Thus, when three men of colossal standing in my life simultaneously disappeared to another country, my source of inspiration was entirely depleted. Those of you who are psychologists will have uttered your various sighs of understanding and will have identified this condition of mine as a product of “separation anxiety” (such an epic-sounding-term). Who are these personalities who left the ashram on Monday?

H.G Gauranga prabhu, H.G Govinda prabhu and H.G Ghanashyam Priya prabhu.

Those of you who have either read the prior instalments of this blog, or have had the honour of meeting these men, will fully comprehend my next statement. Whilst they have all had different ways of leaving profound imprints on my life, there is something that they all share; they are the only people in the whole world who do not realise how spiritually elevated and exceptional they are. Without them, I felt ill-equipped and my spiritual life lacked impetus.

“Separation is the test of love. If one is asked to install deities and then immediately instructed to leave and fulfill the Lord’s will elsewhere, separation anxiety kicks in. But the man who combats this through sadhana is on the way to selflessness.”  HG Gauranga prabhu.

This quote has been the foundation of this week’s exploits. It has allowed me to finally appreciate the reasoning that when the going gets tough, the monks get chanting. That makes it sound it rather cute-doesn’t it? I apologise, because I mustn’t mislead you; the reality of practicing sadhana bhakti is not a glorious and swift change of heart-it is a fight. It is a war against the seemingly irresistible clutches of Maya. My experiences thus far have confirmed this fact: evading Maya is nigh on impossible for an unintelligent being like myself, and so the only path to success is to “combat” Her extensive powers head on. The only way to do this is to take shelter of the Lord.

Some of you may be wondering why fighting such a formidable force is necessary if the result is not immediate happiness. All I can offer you in response is this: I know that, previous to this week, separation from inspirational figures would have definitely resulted in me becoming very withdrawn-I have been known to just vanish from the company of even close friends on account of lacking motivation and interest. I have always had the propensity to abruptly disappear on  a whim. That did not happen this time. I am still here, in the monastery, and I am extremely grateful for it.

Incidentally, it was Nrsimha Caturdasi on Saturday. Cue more scriptural encouragement to hone my sadhana. As I listened intently to a lecture given by one of the most amicable and deeply insightful monks here: HG Janakinath prabhu, the most potent point was, surprisingly, not how we should attempt to imitate Prahlada Maharaj’s feats of unwavering sadhana and sraddha, but rather how we should learn and develop some of the characteristics of Lord Nrsimha Dev.  Now, Janakinath prabhu was not saying that we should attempt to behave like God, nor was he condoning acts of violence against those who are faithless. Instead, he made this inference:

“whilst, Nrsimha Dev was fierce in his fight against the mightily demonic Hiranyakaśipu, His form was conceived by Lord Vishnu’s sensitivity.”

A paradox that culminated in greatness.

Hiraṇyakaśipu had received Lord Brahma’s benediction that he could not perish on the land or in the sky. Therefore, to ensure that Lord Brahma’s words remained intact, Nṛsiḿhadeva placed Hiraṇyakaśipu’s body on His lap, which was neither land nor sky. Hiraṇyakaśipu had received the benediction that he would not die either during the day or at night. Therefore, to keep Lord Brahma’s promise, the Lord killed Hiraṇyakaśipu at twilight, which is the end of day and the beginning of night but is neither day nor night. Hiraṇyakaśipu had taken a benediction from Lord Brahma that he would not die from any weapon or be killed by any person, dead or alive. Therefore, just to keep the word of Lord Brahma, Lord Nṛsiḿhadeva pierced Hiraṇyakaśipu’s body with His nails, which were not weapons and were neither living nor dead. Indeed, the nails can be called dead, but at the same time they can be said to be alive. To keep intact all of Lord Brahma’s benedictions, Lord Nṛsiḿhadeva paradoxically but very easily killed the great demon Hiraṇyakaśipu. That is autonomy. All too often, we can become overly absorbed in our quarrel for happiness that we are oblivious of other people’s feelings.  Offence of a devotee is the only crime that the Lord will not tolerate.

Hence, we should be fearsome in our sadhana, taking shelter of Lord Krsna, and simultaneously be delicate in all our actions.

Mercilessly Merciful

It may come as a surprise to those of you who have followed and persisted in reading the previous instalments of this blog, that there was nothing ungainly about the beginning of this week-nothing untoward. In the absence of illness, social-hangovers and doubt there was freshness, a renewed sense of anticipation and zest. I found myself in an incredibly spritely mood as I bounded down to the temple room at four in the morning, the pleats of my dhoti seemingly dancing as I ran. Ok, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. But I was feeling pretty good.

 There is an innate tendency within all humans that encourages us to question everything. This never ceases to stun me; when we feel upset, we ask why, when we feel happy, we still inquire as to why that is. Or, maybe that character trait is just another component of my singularly fascinating armoury of abnormality. Anyhow, it transpired that, whilst chanting that morning, a rogue thought seized central stage (in my mind) and loudly declared that it was imperative that I discover the reason for this unfamiliar eagerness. I was happy, and yet I needed to provide a logical explanation. Ridiculous.

Needless to say, I neglected to ignore this urge. My chanting had been ruined.

All was not lost, however. Two immensely influential individuals had just arrived from India: HG Gauranga prabhu and HG Govinda prabhu. These two men are truly exceptional speakers and, together, they comprise of a strikingly brilliant preaching machine. There is only one term that I can use to justly convey to you how inconceivably powerful a team they are: acintya bheda bheda. In English: they are one and simultaneously different. When they preach to you, I imagine it’s not dissimilar to being in a boxing ring with a four-armed man; their snippets of advice are like sharp jabs: accurate, heavy and numerous. Furthermore, it is utterly impossible to resist their blows of wisdom, because they seem to be raining in from four different directions, puncturing your material defences. In short, you are left overwhelmed by their collective intelligence.

This was exactly how I felt after an intimate seminar they delivered on Tuesday. There is no other way to portray the poignancy of their messages other than to simply provide you with my unedited notes. Thus, I hope you will receive the raw intensity of the words of these two outstanding monks:

• The calibre of character in any asrama is the real beauty and attractiveness by which the asrama is identified.
• One who is unaffected by the past and never concerned with the future is forced to be responsible-this is the role of a brahmacarya.
• The key is to turn the abnormal (celibacy) into extra ordinary. You are not condemned when you fall, but when you stay down that’s when your problems start.
• It is natural to sacrifice.
• Any action has to be established by a massively stable foundation, thus we increase the scope for sustainability and success…..the stages for that foundation are: why, what and how. Oft people skip the how and therefore there is no substance to their action.
• So what and where is the need for this “brahmacarya species?” To produce selfless servants of the lord and, by extension, humanity. Das Das Anudas…to serve the Parampara is to be and so we are forced to lose our selfish nature….this is the role of the brahmacarya asrama.
• In any activity you do there will be scarcity, impediment and discomfort…but when you do service for the Lord in the right attitude one can achieve proper selflessness.
• Separation is the test of love. If one is asked to install deities and then instructed to go and find something else for the Lord….separation anxiety kicks in, but one who combats that is on the way to selflessness.
• “We all know how heavy Prabhupad’s books are, but heavier still is the application of the teachings.”
• Only a few years ago a child would go to their mother and express their gratitude for all the mother has done for them. And the mother’s response would be “it is merely my duty.”
  Now the mother asks why her children can’t be thankful, and their child’s response is ” but it’s your duty.” Everything is the wrong way round just as it was predicted in the Vedas.
• There is no KC when one is self conscious.
• Prabhupad called modern schools slaughter houses, because it kills our spirituality…creates dropouts, disfunctional characters, selfish people.
• Bhakti Tirtha maharaj said that we have such lofty philosophy but the application needs to match that. Even materially, in the world today the general attitude is that if I don’t make it, I’ll teach. That is where our problems start.
• The I4H formula:
  I-intelligence
  H-hard work
  H-humility
  H-honest
  H-helpful
• To lead is to share. We see the bird flying formation: the arrow head. The bird at the front who bears the brunt of the wind force is always rotating. Learn to be honest and share the responsibility.
• According to 9 34 of the BG, one only needs to have sraddha paraya in his spiritual master to gain taste for Krsna karma.
• Krpa equals grace and bhakti can only be acheived by the path of grace.
• Determination has to be a prominent characteristic of a vaisnava. Thomas Edison: 10000 ways of not to make a lightbulb. There is no shame in having to start again.

• Prabhupad once travelled 6000 miles to see a splendid book display, of which the devotees were extremely proud. But whilst the display was first class there was a birds’ nest inside the room, on the chandelier. Prabhupad explained that the devotees’ care was lacking and that they had become too preoccupied.
  This is a metaphor for our chanting. The birds represent our thoughts, because it is ok for them to pass harmlessly through, but when they settle, our mind/room becomes messy. So we cannot afford to be preoccupied while chanting.

Incredible spiritual guidance-isn’t it?

There is a line in Rudyard Kipling’s poem “If” that succinctly encapsulates what humility is, and describes the exact way in which HG Gauranga prabhu and HG Govinda prabhu constantly conduct themselves:

“If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch”

I know the extent of their humble dispositions because, it was with me that they utilised their “common touch.” They were kind enough to take me under their wings, give me the shelter of their vast spiritual knowledge and allow me to bask in their glorious grace for the duration of their stay. And all of this came about, because the Lord had somehow arranged for me to study Sanskrit at school-a fact that these two distinguished personalities were intrigued by. What I have learned from them in this brief juncture in my life, will not easily be forgotten and it is due to their extraordinarily practical spirituality that I am convinced that activities like chanting or studying the Bhagavad Gita are not abnormal or mundanely weird, but are bonafide routes to eternal happiness.

Thus it was, that they became very dear to me, and I dear to them. Krishna must have a sense of humour.

Imperfect practice breeds perfect impractice

According to a medical dictionary, the word “hangover” carries this definition: “A popular term for the unpleasant consequences affecting 75% of those who drink alcohol to excess, resulting in headaches, nausea, vomiting, thirst, dry mouth, tremors, dizziness, fatigue and muscle cramps, fuzzy cognition, poor visual-spatial coordination and pain with loud noises; in the extreme case, hallucinations, shaking and sweating.”

I’m fairly certain that the vast majority of you will either be utterly puzzled or concerned upon reading read that opening statement. And I’m sure that at least one of following questions has manifested in your mind: 1) Has this guy actually lost it-has the “monk-life” finally claimed his sanity? 2) Has he really been consuming monumental quantities of alcohol whilst on his “spiritual voyage”? Or 3) Is there really any need for a medical authority to define the word “hangover”?

I believe an explanation is in order. There is only one word in the entire English language that I would elect to portray how I felt upon waking up on the Monday morning of my third week here: rough. I mean “rough” in the most vulgar sense imaginable, and I put that down to having a potent social-hangover. A social-hangover is a term that I have coined to highlight the correlation between frequenting one too many late-night kirtan/preaching programmes with friends and feeling abominable due to the prospect of waking up at four the following morning. Furthermore, the symptoms of my social-hangover were not totally dissimilar from those alluded to in the medical definition of a normal hangover. The only differences are that a social hangover is not the product of consuming copious amounts of alcohol, and “hallucinations, vomiting and shaking” are replaced by irrational doubt and an absolutely heinous headache. Thus I chose to begin this instalment with that explanation (and I knew it would provide you with an incentive to read on).

And so, as I trudged grudgingly down to the temple room for the early-morning programme, I knew that this week would challenge my whole belief system. I cultivated this premonition, gave it the shelter of my thoughts and allowed it to fester, which, in turn, led to an extraordinarily disturbed japa session. Whilst others were meditating on the holy names of the Lord, my meditation was solely focussed on this notion: What is the point of placing my faith in a supernatural being that I cannot relate to?

I was faltering, sulking because I had catastrophically missed a few hours of sleep and conveniently forgetting all the happiness that I had found whilst living here in order to claim that the existence of Lord Krishna offended my logic. It was not long, however, before Krishna rebutted and annihilated my “logical” stand on his existence.

HG Urmila Mataji was giving class that morning on Chapter 12 (Devotional Service) of the Bhagavad Gita. Now there are two things that I must say about this situation: firstly, Urmila Mataji is one of the most coherent and concise speakers that I have ever had the honour of listening to (in and outside of ISKCON), and secondly, Chapter twelve is my favourite episode in the Bhagavad Gita as it is concerned with the revelation and, indeed, clarification of the path by which we can access true freedom. Krishna had made His move. But being a proud fool, I decided to cling to my doubt and ask Mataji a question: “In 9.27 of the Bhagavad Gita, it states that whatever we do ‘yat karoshi,’ we should do as an offering for Krishna. However, it is a task of generally underestimated difficulty among devotees to even remember the Lord whilst working, let alone to devote one’s every action to Him. Furthermore, it seems like a very mechanical and somewhat forced process by which we seek to act for Krishna rather than a spiritual one. Surely this is not what Krishna is asking for?” Maintaining her grace, Urmila Mataji offered me an answer that was so honest and clear that I understood immediately; she described an analogy of a baby learning to walk. No infant has ever simply sprung to its feet and gone for jog. It has toiled through the mechanics of standing and falling, the mechanics of taking a step and losing balance and so on before it has the ability to walk.

Everything we do is a tiring process of trial and error; everything is “mechanical” and “forced” initially, but that doesn’t mean that we can never learn to walk, or that walking doesn’t exist-does it?

No it doesn’t. I smiled. The doubt had been dispelled.

Two days later, illness struck and, on this occasion, it definitely was not a case of being “once stricken, twice blessed.” Bed-ridden, bored and beaten by inattentive japa, doubt ensued once more. This time I was actually questioning why I was even attempting to live the “monk-life.” Cue another of Krishna’s mystical moves. That evening, His Grace Ghanashyam Priya prabhu- a man who I treat as a friend, all too often, and not a superior asked if we could catch up-something we do regularly. Usually, our meetings are simultaneously jovial and deeply philosophical by nature, but this one carried an air-so laughably sombre-that you would have been forgiven for assuming that someone had passed away. In short, I was feeling sorry for myself, again. Ghanashyam Priya prabhu must have made his diagnosis of the situation and figured out the appropriate prescription within the first minute of my entering the room, because he immediately addressed the issue. What he offered was not temporary and certainly was not concerned with the symptoms, but, instead, dealt with the root. Without mentioning a single patronising word of sympathy, he dove straight into a pastime of his that left me in awe and feeling pretty embarrassed.

A few years ago, he had decided to go on one of the outstanding annual Pandava Sena (the ISKCON youth movement) trips abroad. That particular year the youth had chosen a temple in Germany as their trip destination and whilst it had, by all accounts, been a sensational week, Ghanashyam Priya prabhu’s adventure really began as he was leaving. He was scheduled to leave a day or two before everyone else because he had to be back in London for his first day of work. If you have ever come into contact with devotees, you will have noticed that they are extremely caring-if not a little too caring-and it transpired that this characteristic had caused Ghanashyam to narrowly miss his flight. Upon explaining his situation to the lady behind the advice bureau, he discovered that he would have to pay in excess of 400 Euros to get a place on the earliest flight the following morning. That was 393 euros more than he had. Crisis. He made numerous phone calls, but to no avail, no one was answering their phone. No money, nowhere to sleep and now the prospect of losing a job without even starting it. Did he panic? Of course. But what makes this man special is his willingness to act “sraddhaya paraya” (with transcendental faith); he took shelter of the Lord and meditated on Krishna for the entirety of that torrid night.

In the morning he returned to the airport and, in what was his only chance to get back into London and go to work, approached the lady at the advice bureau desk and asked if there were any viable options for him to be on the plane that was due to set off for Heathrow in the next half hour. The lady behind the desk had been dealing with another passenger’s problems, when she did something remarkable. She slipped a first class ticket into Ghanashyam Priya prabhu’s hand and said “run.”

Perspective. That’s what Ghanashyam had prescribed and that is exactly what I needed. I might add that it is also this upstanding man of Srila Prabhupad who is my muse-my inspiration to find Krishna and discover myself. Later on in the week I learned that I had been successful in gaining a place in a company of great financial stature. Krishna really does arrange and sticking to the right practices really does pre-empt success.

Once stricken, twice blessed

We are often told that being of a reasonably inquisitive disposition is an asset and an indication of intelligence, but I can assure you that when your mind is inexplicably inundated with questions as you wake up, it is fairly disconcerting. This confusion is intensified further if you happen to be arising from your not-so-perfectly-peaceful-slumber at four in the morning and the questions that are flooding your mind are of a spiritual nature. This is what happened to me on the first morning of this, my second, week at the Bhaktivedanta Manor temple. Frankly, I was convinced that I had completely lost the plot.

The tone for the week had been set. All I required now were answers.

In the last instalment, I made the bold statement that I would surely not “have the opportunity to meet so many enlightened personalities in such a brief time frame” ever again. This could not be further from the truth; not only was I provided with ample opportunity to pose my questions to His Grace Gaur Gopal das, but I was also put into contact with a man whose story is outstanding and whose wisdom is awesome: His Holiness Candramauli Maharaj. Cue yet another question: Could it really be a mere coincident that the arrival of a distinguished sannyasi, the extent of whose knowledge is baffling, coincided with my odd influx of spiritual queries?

Furthermore, I had been invited into a class that was being given by Candramauli Maharaj and was exclusively for the benefit of the brahmacaryas (the actual monks here). I think this is an appropriate juncture to inform you that I can become fixated with the study of spiritual literature (just one of many of my quirks), so when verses from the Bhagavad Gita began to roll melodically from Maharaj’s tongue, I was mesmerised. This trance of mine only endured for a moment or two as these words emanated from the mouth of our speaker:

“If you only learn scriptures and philosophical theories and neglect the personal message behind them, you become an impersonalist and your heart becomes cold.”

My balloon had burst and my pride (born from knowing a couple of verses off by heart) punctured by the pointed nature of this statement. And in that moment, I realised that a cold heart equates to hardened spirituality, which leads to a severely-austere state of mind, which in turn manifests in the physical realm as selfish action.

Thus humbled, I resolved to ask Maharaj a question about a point he had made in the lecture regarding being conscious of devoting our work/study to Krishna. “Maharaj, frankly speaking, remembering Krishna outside of the workplace is, in itself, a complex task. So, how do we apply Krishna to our work and what are the symptoms by which we can know that we are in fact performing our duties for the Lord?” Maharaj paused momentarily. “In answer to the first part of your question, I would say that initially a very mechanical process of consciously devoting something to Krishna before you do it must take place. With regards to the symptoms, it’s all about humility and happiness. Humility, because you will notice that you will begin to take little or no credit for your actions and Happiness, because you have accepted that the outcome is in the capable hands of Krishna.

Humility. There it was again.

All too soon it was over and Maharaj was preparing to leave. As I paid my obeisances (bowed down) to Candramauli Maharaj, something unforgettable happened; I felt a delicate thud on the back of my head. I glanced up and immediately understood; Maharaj had softly struck the back of my unworthy head with his cane, granting me his mercy and treated me to a wry smile. It was in that silent exchange that he demonstrated his understanding of my inquiring nature. Thus it was that I had been once stricken, twice blessed.

I mentioned before that Maharaj’s life story was so incredible that it was verging on the absurd. One of his most potent life experiences, though, is his prison preaching. And whilst it seems staggeringly courageous that a man, clad in saffron bed-sheets, would dare to step into the same room as convicted men and attempt to preach what many inmates would have perceived as an extraterrestrial way of life, there is something that he did that was considerably more remarkable. Maharaj never once inquired why the inmate he was meeting was incarcerated . He simply treated them with respect and listened to what they had to say-only ever speaking in response. The ability to remain ambivalent to the extent described in 5.18 of the Bhagavad Gita is phenomenal and very stirring. It is singularly uncommon to meet someone like this and the only emotion that encapsulates the way I feel as I reflect on my encounter with Candramauli Maharaj is happiness.

I was going to conclude this instalment with a substantial chunk of waffle reiterating what I’ve learnt this week, but I think that this quotation really captures the essence of my findings: “Always do what you love and love what you’re doing” (His Grace Gaur Gopal das).

And just in case you are still wondering, I have just about managed to maintain a stable mental condition, despite my obscure experience on Monday morning. Sorry to disappoint you.

Dhoti Debut

Before I launch into relating a plethora of anecdotes about my experiences this week to you, I think that it would be impolite and distinctly unprofessional if I neglected to, firstly, give you an idea of who I am and why I’m writing this blog, and secondly, provide an explanation for the  title of this instalment.

Imagine, if you will, a naive young man whose life in September last year was brought to an unwelcome standstill. On completion of his school career, his progression to university was all but assured-in fact-in his opinion it was a certainty. However, an opportunity to follow his boyhood dream manifested itself in a trial with a professional football club. Cue a decision of stupendous gravity: to pursue the dream or go to university. In what was a culmination of a fair amount of dithering on the young man’s part and incompetence on the part of his college, both opportunities disappeared. That “young man” is me.

I am now embarking on a three month stay at the Bhaktivedanta Manor temple (the place where the famous “Hare Krishna’s” hang out). Why am I here? Happiness.

“Happiness? How do waking up at four in the morning, practicing celibacy and wearing a bed-sheet instead of trousers (a reference to donning a dhoti) make you happy?” This was the response I received, having told a friend about my plan. A sentiment that some of you, I’m certain, are echoing as you read this, although you probably aren’t wearing the same expression of fierce bewilderment that was etched onto my friend’s face. My reply was simple: “Admittedly, arising at four (rolling rather ungracefully out of my bed onto the floor) is tough, but reward and challenge are interdependent-one doesn’t exist without the other. Preceding my decision to live with monks, celibacy was a discipline that I had never quite comprehended, nor wanted to understand. However, perpetually pursuing sex brings a perverse happiness that is unpredictable-true happiness, by definition, is unchanging and is utterly reliable. In short, seeking happiness through lust is illogical. And finally, have you ever seen someone try to put on a dhoti for the first time?” To which my friend inquired: “are you really that bad in the sack?”

And with those crude words ringing in my ears, I began my spiritual journey.

Aside from the early starts, the wearing of simple garments and other forms of monk-protocol, this first week has been one that will never be emulated in this life. Surely, I will never again have the opportunity to meet so many enlightened personalities in such brief time frame. On Friday I was fortunate enough to be present at a series of seminars delivered by a man who is, not only regarded globally as exceptional, but also incredibly amusing (even to those outside of the Iskcon movement): His Grace Gaur Gopal das. I sincerely recommend that you to download various pod-casts of his as they contain a healthy dose of highly relevant advice (irrespective of your stance on spirituality). It would be a colossal injustice to the quality of the seminar if I were to try to relate it all to you, but I will attempt to describe my favourite part. The first seminar was entitled “Striking a balance in life” and it was within this that His Grace Gaur Gopal das gave us an analogy of how difficult it is to find equilibrium in life. We are all jugglers, juggling five separate balls. There is one rubber ball entitled work and four glass balls labelled: health, family, friends and spiritual life. Work is compared to rubber because it has the tendency to bounce back when dropped, but the other four are described as glass because of their fragile nature; when one is dropped it is marked, scuffed and sometimes smashed. Therefore, for one to retain some sort of balance and avoid catastrophe, awareness and vigilance need to be acquired. Gaur Gopal das then told us how to attain those qualities: add Krishna to everything we do. Meditation on Him produces focus and focus, in turn, breeds awareness. Hence, the juggling is no less of a challenge, but we can learn to relish it.

I feel that whatever words I elect to describe the most poignant encounter I had this week will not encapsulate the true glory of the individual involved, but to shirk from recording something so important would be folly. Those of you who have been to the Bhaktivedanta Manor may have noticed, but not remembered seeing a seemingly soundless, but ever-smiling man, clad in robes of saffron, tirelessly cleaning the bathrooms and surrounding area. Without his devotion and selfless service the Manor-experience would not be so pleasant-yet he is commonly forgotten by the visiting congregation. That perception is his very own design; he would have it no other way. I had the honour of working with him on Tuesday and was utterly awestruck by his infectiously cheery demeanour, his words of wisdom and his sweetness. He is, in short, humility personified, meticulous and caring by nature. It is due to this man that I am now of the opinion that if everyone carried out their duty with such humility; unhappiness would be an alien emotion. So next time you see him, return his smile and try to live your life like he does.

On reflection, this first week has been characterised by many debuts (not just wearing a dhoti) and I should, therefore, have found it fairly difficult. But contrary to “common logic,” I have been astonished by the way in which my body and mind have not only adapted to, but relished the once alien routine of this “monk life.” This is truly a startling revelation and the reason for it is ridiculously obvious: this is the most natural way of living. It is within our nature to care about all, it is natural to want to know ourselves better and it is definitely a customary desire for human beings to crave real purpose. I realise now that leading a life without these aspects is not living, but merely existing.

Thanks for taking the time to read this, and I apologise if at any point it sounded like I was preaching for that is not my intention; I only wish to share and document my experiences. The next installation will be on Wednesday, so stay tuned to discover whether this happiness has been maintained.