Hanuman Lilas

Some Encounters Start with Confusion, Not Clarity.

´Many years ago in Portugal, I was dealing with a frustrating situation—payments I was owed hadn’t come through, and I needed guidance. Someone pointed me toward a meeting in Fatima that might help, though I had no idea who I was going to meet. I assumed it was a business meeting.

Around the same time, Anumati dasi, my wife—already spiritually inclined—wanted to visit Fatima, so we combined the trip.

We arrived early and passed by the hotel where the meeting was supposed to happen. Outside, a huge crowd had gathered, with a long line stretching down the street. I immediately thought, this can’t be right.

My wife remained calm. “Our meeting is after lunch,” she said. “Let’s just relax.”

After lunch, the line had doubled. “This is definitely not it,” I told her.

Then someone approached us and called us forward with priority access. That’s when I realized this was not the kind of meeting I had expected.

Inside, it became clear—it was a spiritual gathering. People wore traditional attire, music was playing, and there was a strong sense of anticipation. I felt out of place and was already thinking of leaving, but I stayed for the music.

Then Gurudev entered. The room shifted. Everyone bowed, and one by one, people approached for Darshan. As newcomers with a child, we didn’t have to wait long.

When it was my turn, He looked straight into my eyes and didn’t look away. What others might call profound, I experienced as deeply uncomfortable. His gaze felt endless, almost intrusive. I remember thinking, please stop.

Eventually, it ended. We returned to our seats, and shortly after, we left.

In the car, frustration took over. I’d expected practical business help but instead had an experience I couldn’t understand.

On the drive home, I kept complaining—unaware it was just the beginning of something much bigger. ´

After that unusual first encounter, his wife invited him to a yoga course.

“Why not?” he thought. “At least I’ll get some exercise.”

He signed up—only to find himself in an Atma Kriya Yoga course, surrounded once again by spiritual symbols… and the familiar face of Guruji. Still skeptical, he didn’t hold back. Early on, he raised his hand and said plainly, “I don’t believe in any of this. Maybe this isn’t for me.”

The teacher smiled and offered a simple deal: finish the course, practice for a few months, and then decide. He liked deals. So he agreed. Back home, he committed—morning and evening, every day.

About a month later, something shifted. A powerful, unexplainable experience shook him. It changed him—but he kept it to himself.

Months went by. Then one night, he had a vivid dream of Guruji. It lingered, working on him in ways he couldn’t explain.

Not long after, he traveled to the ashram for an event. Then came the moment he couldn’t explain away. Guruji called him.

During their conversation, Guruji repeated—word for word—what had been said in his dream.

He was stunned. At the end, Guruji asked, “Do you want to say something?” “No,” he replied. He had never told anyone about that dream. Not even his wife.

And in that moment, he understood: this was no ordinary meeting. He felt seen in a way he had never experienced before—as if Guruji knew him more deeply than he knew himself.

´From that day on, everything changed and I began visiting the ashram more often. One day, Guruji called me. I tried to convince Him to spend winters in Portugal—”Six months there, six months here,” I suggested.

He smiled and said, “I think you should come to Germany.” I laughed it off and changed the subject.

The next day, He called again. “When are you leaving?” He asked. “Tomorrow,” I said.

“You need to come to Germany,” He replied. “This is the second time I tell you.”

That’s when I knew He was serious. “Okay… I’ll try,” I said.

Less than a month later, I called Him with a careful plan—move next year, prepare my child, learn some German first.

“No,” He said. “You need to come now.”

And so we did. Within three months, our whole life moved to Germany. It wasn’t easy—but it felt right.

I started serving, supporting where I could. Still, after about a year, I felt something was missing.

I reached out to Guruji. “I think I need to serve more,” I told Him.

His reply was simple: “Yes, you can serve.” And that’s how I became a Hanuman pūjārī. ´

He began serving Hanuman through pūjā, and at one point also took on the task of dressing Him—a role that proved challenging. The mūrti is large, the space difficult, and nothing seemed to work at first. Over time, he learned through repetition and persistence.

Winter intensified the experience. Serving outdoors in cold, wind, and rain tested his limits—his hands froze during āratī, and once, the offered water turned to ice before it could be distributed. Yet he never felt like giving up his service.

Pūjā transformed from ritual into a genuine encounter. What he thought was service to the deity became a process of inner transformation—the deity was shaping him. He realized that such a connection cannot be forced; it comes through grace.

Gradually, Hanuman’s qualities—strength, humility, devotion, and selfless service—began to take root within him. He became more focused and dedicated, less concerned with difficulty, embracing a simple truth: just do what needs to be done.

His understanding deepened over time. What began as a surface-level connection evolved into something more meaningful. Around 2017, he had been encouraged to read the Bhagavad Gita, but when Guruji told him to “go deeper,” he struggled to understand. He even set the book aside for a long period.

Only later did the meaning become clear—through his growing relationship with Hanuman. As his connection deepened, so did his desire to truly understand, leading him back to Hanuman’s teachings and stories with new insight.

For him, “going deeper” meant developing genuine care—the kind that inspires one to truly know and understand. Today, that connection is part of his daily life. What once seemed unimaginable has become central to his life.

´My iṣṭadeva is Narayana—but this connection was not easy.

At first, Narayana felt far away, like a great authority. Hanuman felt close, like a friend I could talk to. I respected Narayana, but Hanuman felt more real.

Over time, I saw a pattern in service.

At the start, it feels joyful. Later, it can feel routine. The mind starts to doubt and compare. We forget that service is a rare gift.

I learned that service is not a duty. It is a blessing. When I stay present, it feels alive. When I don’t, it feels like a task.

When I lived in Portugal, I loved doing pūjā, sometimes twice a day. But after moving to a new house, I stopped for two months without a clear reason.

Then, on a trip to Vrindavan with Guruji, something happened. One night, I woke up and heard a voice: “I am hungry.” I also saw my Narayana mūrti at home. I tried to ignore it, but it came again, stronger.

So I called my wife and asked her to offer food. After that, everything changed. I started daily pūjā again and did not stop.

Later, I understood what happened. I had lost my connection inside. I also felt less close to Narayana than to Hanuman. The reason was simple: I had spent more time connecting with Hanuman.

With time, my connection to Narayana grew stronger. Now it feels complete. I serve, and I trust.

In a way, Hanuman helped me connect to Narayana. ´

Some encounters do not make sense when they begin. They arrive with confusion, discomfort, and a sense of not belonging. In his case, what started as frustration and doubt slowly unfolded into something far more meaningful. What he initially resisted became the very path that shaped him. The moments he could not understand at the time—those that felt intrusive, inconvenient, or even misplaced—were, in hindsight, precise and necessary.

Nothing in his journey was accidental. Each experience, each hesitation, each unexpected turn played a role in guiding him forward. What once felt like confusion gradually transformed into clarity—not because he forced understanding, but because he chose to remain, to continue his practice, and to go deeper.