Forest of Desire

Though physically distant, I walk the dusty tracks of Vṛndāvana in the theatre of my mind, holding last year’s parikramā journal as my companion. Wonderful memories that may become a book one day. My working title was Circling Eternity, since parikramā literally means “to walk around.” Still, it lacked resonance—to “circle” could mean to skirt the periphery, observe from a distance and hold something back. My new title is Entering Eternity, for to ‘enter’ is to close that gap, leave all else behind, and become a participant in the mystical drama. Now that resonates. Into the twelfth day of parikramā, the pilgrims reach Kāmyavana, and I share my entry from the mystical “forest of desire.” I invite you to walk with me, wherever you are. Perhaps you will feel what I felt, and maybe even more.

We’ve arrived in beautiful Kāmyavana, the forest of desire. No struggle is as profound as the struggle with our own desires. Ironically, desire also sits at the essence of our being—it gets us up every morning. The secret is not to chase the loudest desires, but to listen closely, attentively, patiently, to the deepest ones. We stay focused on what we truly seek, rather than the empty promises of immediate gratification. Easier said than done! Kāmyavana, however, invites the prospect of a unique solution: what if we could amplify our deepest desires so they become our loudest desires. No more battles, no more struggles—every desire that shouts to us also leads us to spiritual joy. Go with the flow. This is real spiritual life—it’s not meant to be a fight.

Our wandering brings us to Caraṇa-pahāḍī, the beautiful (and steep) hill transformed by Kṛṣṇa’s touch. One day, his enchanting flute-song held everyone spellbound, compelling them to stop, turn around, and rush back towards the unearthly melody. In that sound, natural laws fall away, unsettling the predictable movements of man and matter. Witnessing the transcendental commotion, the hill itself was overcome with ecstasy and softened, causing Kṛṣṇa’s divine footprints to sink deep within its stone. In the surrounding area, other stones experienced the same, and now mystically preserve the clear impressions of cowherd companions and calves that grazed there, visible even millennia later. Krishna’s flute stuns, and then invites the world to dance.

The sweetness is interrupted by scepticism. Stones bearing Kṛṣṇa’s footprint? Circular monuments within which he danced? Trees from which he jumped? How seriously do we take it all? Are these fanciful claims, perhaps even strategic embellishments, intended to boost tourism and economy? Maybe. Maybe not. Ultimately, every worldview is anchored in some epistemological framework, and those who ascribe to one interpretive lens will almost inevitably regard other perspectives with a degree of scepticism. These landmarks serve less as empirical proofs to validate faith and more as spiritual stimulants, capable of igniting bhāva. The genuine aspirant’s focus isn’t on historical verification but on allowing these encounters to deeply nourish their unfolding inner spiritual journey.

The evening progresses, the sun gracefully disappears, and I write alone here at Vimala-kuṇḍa. We are nearly at the halfway mark: What learnings do I carry with me? Is the spirit of Vṛndāvana hijacking my heart? Yes, we are restless pilgrims and we are eagerly seeking breakthrough! People have heart attacks in Vṛndāvana—not just physical ones, but spiritual ones too. These forests are imbued with a divine potency which defeats material desires and draws the seeker, imperceptibly and unexpectedly, toward transcendence. Only two weeks left. Will it be a heart attack or will this stubborn, steel-framed heart return home intact? Fear not, there is hope; sacred impressions are seeping in. Even if my material defences resist a heart attack, the consolotion prize is a heart attract.