A Renunciate Order for the New Age

Preface

Renunciation has ceased to command the respect it once had. Spirituality is on the rise, but many convents and monasteries stand empty. What people want now is a path where Spirit and Nature work in harmony, not in opposition to one another.

Timeless principles, however, are not created by popular vote. Truth simply Is.

Renunciation remains the heart and soul of the spiritual life. The problem is not with the principle itself, but the way it has been misunderstood and wrongly practiced. Renunciation has become defined by what you give up, or, even worse, by what God takes away.

True renunciation is not a loss, it is an expansion to Infinity. Joy and renunciation are two sides of the same coin. To suppress the ego is not the same as transcending it.

The origin of this book is auspicious. A miracle healing was needed before it could be written.

There has always been something mysterious about Swami Kriyananda’s health. His body seems to be a battleground where the forces of Light and Dark meet. The battle is not about him personally, but for the work his guru, Paramhansa Yogananda, has commissioned him to do. The only way to describe it is Satan tries to stop him. Often his most creative periods are paired with enormous physical challenges.

Swamiji cheerfully dismisses the trials of his body as merely the tapasya needed to establish his guru’s work in this world. (Swamiji means respected teacher; tapasya is a Sanskrit word meaning both austerity and devotion.)

Still, the effort has taken its toll. No physical body lasts forever. It is of no consequence to Swamiji whether he lives or dies; long ago he surrendered his life to his guru.

Especially since he moved to India in 2003, Swamiji has had one health crisis after another. Often he has told his Indian audiences, I’m not going to live much longer, hoping to inspire them to act quickly to build the work while he was still there to help them. Certain readings, including the ancient Book of Bhrigu, implied that his eighty-third birthday, May 19, 2009, might be his last.

Two days after that birthday, he was scheduled to fly from India to Europe. That morning he had some symptoms of a stroke: difficulty breathing, speaking, and so weak he had to be fed like a baby.

Ordinarily, no one would travel in such a condition. But persevering against obstacles has always strengthened Swamiji rather than weakened him. Once a project or transition is completed, usually health returns.

But this time it didn’t happen. Even weeks later, at home now in Ananda Assisi, the crisis continued. Rarely had he been so weak for so long. Someone had to be with him twenty-four hours a day.

It was June 6; I was on the afternoon shift. A few friends were coming over in the late afternoon, so when Swamiji went to take a nap, he asked me to wake him in time for their coming.

At 3:00 he was still sound asleep. Reluctantly I woke him and helped him sit up on the side of the bed. Traditionally, swamis wear orange, but I chose for him a blue shirt instead, thinking the color would lift his spirits. As I was doing up the buttons I said casually, This blue is so exquisite. You should change the swami color from orange to blue.

With great seriousness, he replied, I am thinking of doing that.

I helped him into the living room, then went back to get something from the closet. When I returned a moment later, he was stretched out on the couch, hands folded across his heart, looking up at the ceiling. I thought he might be dead. In fact, that may be when the miracle happened.

To my great relief, he began to speak, introducing the ideas that are now this book: A Renunciate Order for the New Age. After a few moments, he paused, then quietly, with great force, declared, "This is what Satan was trying to stop."

From that moment he began to get well.

In the evening he called a group together to talk about the new order. Already he had written most of the first chapter of this book. Just hours before he couldn’t button his own shirt. Now he was launching a revolution in renunciation for the New Age.

I entered a state of intense bliss, Swamiji said later, about this sudden change. I told Divine Mother, ‘I’m ready to go and I am happy to stay, if You have more work for me to do here.’ It didn’t matter at all to me. When I came out of that state, I began to get well. When he left Italy a few weeks later, he didn’t even bring his cane.

I feel ageless, Swamiji says. I don’t identify with myself in any way now. It seems God has extended my life in order to do this work. It was a miracle healing.

In the forty years that I have known Swamiji, his prodigious creativity has been nothing less than awe-inspiring. Books, music, communities, schools, retreats—a spiritual network that spans the globe. Often in my enthusiasm for some particular expression I have been tempted to declare: This is it! This is his spiritual legacy.

Of course, to say that is like defining the ocean by what you can see from the beach.

Still, folly though it may be, I dare to say that, in its cumulative effect, A Renunciate Order for the New Age may be one of Swamiji’s most important contributions to the bringing in of a New Age. For it gives to truth seekers everywhere the courage, the clarity, and the way to open their hearts to God.

Nayaswami Asha

Chapter One

My Intention

My intention in these pages is to propose a new model of renunciation for this age of energy. Swami Sri Yukteswar Giri, my paramguru (guru’s guru), described it as such, giving it its ancient Sanskrit name, Dwapara. Having explained this matter already in several of my other writings (notably in Religion in the New Age), I’d rather proceed here at once to my main subject: renunciation in this age of energy.

The monastic order of swamis in India was founded, or rather reorganized, many centuries ago by the first, or adi, Swami Shankara. The age in which he lived was known as Kali, or dark (literally, black) Yuga (age). It was far more materialistic than the age in which we live today. Shankara wrote rules and ideals for his renunciate order that were appropriate for those times, when society faced a different set of realities.

People weren’t nearly so mobile then as they are today. Travel, by present-day standards, was very slow. There were no motorized vehicles, no airplanes, no steamships. People’s mental horizons, too, were narrowly circumscribed. To accomplish anything, one’s self-definition, too, had to be narrow.

To find God, or to realize the Divine Presence in one’s life, was almost impossible for those whose lives were not specifically devoted to spiritual progress. Those who lived in the world, who engaged in profit, and particularly who were married and had families, simply could not expand their horizons to include the divine search.

In the Christian world, renunciates sometimes went so far as to have themselves walled up in cells, with only little openings through which food was passed. To find God, renunciation of all distractions had, in fact, to be complete, for every attachment to the world needed to be shattered. In India, renunciates were told not to find enjoyment in anything, even in a beautiful sunset. They were expected to go by foot from place to place; never to stay in one place more than three days; and be careful not to regard anyone or any place as their own. "Neti, neti—literally, Not this; not that"—was the common practice for the spiritual seeker. It was a way of rejecting everything in the manifested universe as false.

In both East and West it was common—indeed, the practice was honored—for monks to beg their food from house to house; to accept only enough food for one meal; and to carry no money in their purse.

Jesus Christ was a renunciate in this sense. So also was St. Francis of Assisi. And so also have been many Christian saints, who have dedicated themselves to the imitation of Christ. St. Francis used to say that he was wedded to Lady Poverty. Paramhansa Yogananda, who spoke of St. Francis as his patron saint, said, I prefer the term, ‘Lady Simplicity.’ Sri Yogananda’s view of renunciation was much more moderate than what was practiced in Kali Yuga. The old way had been right for those days, when mankind’s awareness was much narrower. Kali Yuga was a time of rigid dogmas amounting to dogmatism, rigid social codes, and a rigid concept of matter itself, which was considered fixed, solid, and essentially immutable.

In modern times, matter has been found to consist of subtle energy vibrations. People’s thinking is more fluid, more intuitive, more centered in principle than in outer forms.

The swami order (unlike Catholic monasticism) did not include women. Indeed, it would not have been appropriate for women in those days to roam the roads freely, as swamis were supposed to do.

Nowadays, although lip service is still given to the ancient practices, most swamis do in fact own a little money and even property. They are not criticized for doing so, provided they use their possessions for the benefit of others. Swamis no longer live in stark poverty. In keeping with our times, their renunciation is, outwardly speaking, more moderate. Inwardly, it is more focused on right attitudes. In this age, mental discipline is understood to be more important than outer, physical austerities.

At the same time, the need of the hour is to deepen this attitude. Freedom from anger, hate, pride, and desire is more important than renunciation of outer, material involvements.

Most of the ancient restrictions are viewed today in the light rather of sacred tradition than of actual reality. Many swamis, if they own property, emphasize the importance of inward non-attachment to it. Few renunciates today wander the highways, where they’d anyway face the risk of