Recently the ISKCON GBC (Governing Body Commision) showed their desire to respond to devotee’s concerns by implementing the advice of famed ITV (ISKCON TV) producer and director Nrsimhananda Das. He was upset, and rightly so, like everyone else with even a molecule of reason floating somewhere between their earlobes, over one of the infinite great maha aparadhas (big ass offenses) commited daily by the ISKCON guru elites.
As we’ve been bitterly reading the daily offenses spoken of on the Sampradaya Sun and other Prabhupada-anuga (Prabhupada’s self-appointed spokesmen and women) websites, informing us of the GBC and guru elite’s committing of daily offenses, I await along with all my other bitter brothers and sisters in arms—waiting patiently and bitterly, to bitterly rise up and overthrow the usurpers in power by bitterly and endlessly pointing at them and shouting “WE HATE YOU!” Read the rest of this entry →
1. For over 350 years, between 1607 and 1965, demons thrived in the shadows of America. Few humans believed in them.
2. Srila Prabhupada was one of the gifted demon hunters of his day, and kept a secret journal about his lifelong war against them.
3. Rumors of the journal’s existence have long been a favorite topic among historians and Prabhupada biographers. Most dismiss it as myth.
A spiritual atmosphere can be maintained only by living in a society of devotees and by serving the orders of the acaryas. The spiritual master is the best brahmana. At present, in the age of Kali, it is very difficult to render service to the brahmana-kula, or the brahmana class. The difficulty, according to the Varaha Purana, is that demons, taking advantage of Kali-yuga, have taken birth…
—Srila Prabhupada
I bet a fun thing would be to go way back in time to where there was going to be an eclipse and tell the cave men, “If I have come to destroy you, may the sun be blotted out from the sky.” Just then the eclipse would start, and they’d probably try to kill you or something, but then you could explain about the rotation of the moon and all, and everyone would get a good laugh.
—Jack Handey, from Deep Thoughts
I was still bleeding… my hands shaking. As far as I knew, he was still here watching me. Somewhere, across a vast gulf of space, a kirtan was going on. A sannyasi wearing a a gold rolex was speaking about renunciation of materialistic values as the path to God.
None of it mattered.
The laid out volumes in front of me were the only things now. The ten leather-bound books of varying size—each one a different shade of black or brown. Some merely old and worn. Others barely held together by their cracked covers, with pages that seemed like they’d crumble if turned by anything stronger than a breath. Beside them was a bundle of letters held tightly by a red rubber band. The only standout from these antiques was a single sheet of gleaming white paper. On one side, the names of eleven people I knew. No phone numbers. No e-mail. Just the addresses of eleven men, and a message scrawled at the bottom of the page.
Expecting You.
Somewhere that man was still speaking. Prabhupada… dharma… varnashrama.
*****
I had been writing for a Blog for 4 years, living an ordinary simple life if looked at from a certain perspective, in an town that seems timeless in it’s unchanging way. Time seems to stand still here. Always having something interesting to do has that effect on people. Years pass by without barely a notice of time. Many times I wonder why I started and continue on with Blogging, it seems so much slower than the rest of my life, but the answer is always the same, and I feel stupid for even considering the question.
I’ve been jarred out of my routine once a day every year for the last 4 years. It happens during the same time as the annual Gaura Purnima festival and gathering of the tribes for Srila Prabhupada’s followers, during the months of Feb-Mar in Mayapur, West Bengal. Every year for the last four I’ve been sent messages by a person calling himself Lochan Das: Demon Killer. Weird. But I’m used to weird. How can I not be? Anyone connected with ISKCON or other Hindu cults, sects, or whatever you want to call Hindu religions, gets used to weirdness to the degree where often they start to see the outside world as weird, and they’re own carefully crafted insular culture as “normal.”
The messages from Lochan Das have always been essentially the same: always cryptic, always mentioning “The Illuminati.” Here’s the latest I received a week ago:
It is a fact however that the great sinister movement is within our Society.
[Srila Prabhupada Letter to: Hamsaduta 2 September, 1970]
Srila Prabhupada makes it clear there are evil elements, a cabal of demons, who have infiltrated his society. After the beginning of ISKCON the demons knew of Prabhupada’s potency to destroy them, they infiltrated our movement at that time.
The Illuminati pawns poisoned Prabhupada, then through mind-control and bribery, gained control over some of ISKCON’s leaders and installed them as absolute rulers over ISKCON, FORCIBLY TAKING THE CROWN FROM PRABHUPADA’S HEAD AND CROWNING THEMSELVES GODS ON EARTH.
Your Servant
Lochan Das: Demon Killer
Along with the correspondence, I receive strange looking medallions made of what appear to be silver. On one side is a crude engraving of a half-man, half-lion, and on the other is a series of letters in a language I don’t recognize—although it looks to be like a combination of an Indian dialect like Sanskrit, mixed with the cuneiform of ancient Babylon. The only difference between the medallions are the unreadable letters.
Of course I’ve heard of a Narasimha Kavacha, which is what these medallions appear to be, but the language is usually Sanskrit, which is not what appears on mine. Until recently I thought I wasn’t the type of person who believed in amulets that can ward off demons, nor did I consider myself the type of person to believe in “demons taking birth for evil deeds” conspiracy theories, like the one Prabhupada promoted. Nor did I think I was the type to believe in witches or warlocks, or the sinister all-controlling Illuminati, like I know many Gaudiya Vaishnavas believe in. But with all the events of the last few weeks, I have to confess, they were right.
Happy New Year goys and goyls! I’ve been kinda busy over the new year (not hung over), so I’ve handed off the first post of the year to our Uzbekistani correspondent Azamat. He’s actually from Kazakhstan, but had to move after you know what with his sisters. His English isn’t perfect, but he works cheap and he’s devoted to Prabhupada. Isn’t that all that counts? Hope your year is full of fun and happiness.
It was 1933, during the height of the Great Depression, in a one dog town in northern Mississippi just south of Memphis, goes by the name of Clarksville. It was a hot and dry day, as days tended to be in the deep south during the Great Depression, seeing as they was hurtin so bad they couldn’t even afford to keep their traditionally humid climate from being repo’d up and out of there, sold off to carpetbaggers from the north for a song.
It was bad times for all, but especially for the po sharecropper black folk. Negroes, or coloureds, they called them back then, that is when they was being polite and all. Dickwood “Fatback” Johnson had mouths to feed and a failing crop. While he was “a no account shifty middling musician,” as his wife liked to call him when describing to her friends about how they met, he was a desperate man in desperate times, and in playing his harmonica he felt a sense of letting steam off. It let him vent his frustrations in the music of the Delta negro, blues they called it, (the Delta Blues it would later be famously known) because it was about releasing their blues, their blue mood, through music. Which was a healthier way than a more destructive course of events, of which there were a many.
As Dickwood’s crop had failed because of the intense dry heat and drought conditions, he set upon the idea to head down to Yazoo where he heard there was work “for bucks who ain’t afraid for a hard days work” in rebuilding the shipyards—after the Great Mississippi Flood of ’27 had wreaked it’s unholy vexification on the good folks of Mississippi. As he set out on foot towards the center of town, towards the crossroads where he could hitch a ride down south, he took one last look at his young bride and mother of his 9 childrens. A strange feeling came over him as if his previous life with his family had all been a dream, that it was as ephemeral as a mirage in the heat of the Clarksville sun.
When he got to the crossroads he put his trunk down and stuck out his thumb; he had left early, hoping to get a ride before the heat of the day swallowed him up whole. It wasn’t to be. He stayed in that spot for pert near 12 hours before deciding to give up and go back home with hat in hand, dejected, a failure at even getting a ride. But that also was not to be, not on that hot and dusty summer evening at the crossroads in central Clarksville, Mississippi 1933. What Dickwood “Fatback” Johnson didn’t know, was that he was being watched (just like all of us, folks). Read the rest of this entry →
A chatter robot, chatterbot, chatbot, or chat bot is a computer program designed to simulate an intelligent conversation with one or more human users via auditory or textual methods, primarily for engaging in small talk. The primary aim of such simulation has been to fool the user into thinking that the program’s output has been produced by a human (the Turing test). Programs playing this role are sometimes referred to as Artificial Conversational Entities, talk bots or chatterboxes. In addition, however, chatterbots are often integrated into dialog systems for various practical purposes such as online help, personalised service, or information acquisition. Some chatterbots use sophisticated natural language processing systems, but many simply scan for keywords within the input and pull a reply with the most matching keywords, or the most similar wording pattern, from a textual database.
अन्तर्यामिन् antaryAmin
1. regulating the soul or internal feelings, soul; Providence, Supreme Spirit as guiding and regulating mankind. Brahman; (according to the Bṛi. Ār. Up. अन्तर्यामिन ‘the internal check’ is the Supreme Being and not the individual soul
