Willow Leaf Banyan. Botanical name: Ficus nerifolia, a top tier choice among masters of the craft.
Imagine five-years living in a shallow pot and still able to look flush and happy!
The roots tell their story of a lifetime of adaptation to limited conditions.
The shape is guided methodically by the Bonsai Sensei, using pliable copper wires on roots and limbs.
Close up of the leaf shape. Notice the small berries.
This is the Wax Leaf Banyan, Ficus microcarpa.
Such intelligence, to be able to create the root system below that will allow the branches above to spread and reach the Sun.
“Gnarly” is the word that comes to mind. How about “twisted,” “knotty,” “rugged,” “heroic”?
The PhD of Plant Cultivation
With the temple pool retiled recently, Tandu Sivanathan was inspired to bring two of his amazing bonsais to grace the rose granite pedestals. They are, he tells us, about 50 years under his cultivation. the one on the left is a Wax Leaf Ficus (banyan) and the gem on the left is a Willow Leaf Ficus, with unusually narrow leaves for a banyan tree. The Willow Leaf is a favorite of professionals, due to its general grace and beauty and unusual leaf structure, but also to its robust growing habits, it’s adaptability (it can endure severe root pruning better than most). Now the pool feels complete, its two stoic sentinels on duty.
Today we explore Tayumanavar a bit more, the 16th century Saivite poet and mystic who authored the book the Ganapati Kulam is working on intensely and which contains his 1,454 songs. For those unfamiliar, when Yogaswami was a boy he learned by heart many Saivite hymns, including those of Tayumanavar. The saint’s deep understanding of the core truths shared by Vedanta and Siddhanta resonated with him throughout his life. And below we share one time he sang such a song for a senior devotee. The slideshow shows artist S. Rajam’s take on the meeting of Gurudeva and Yogaswami and also a couple of the works of art that ChatGPT and the monks are working on for the book.
Cover of the book about our sampradaya.
Yogaswami serves grape juice to the young visitor from America who would become his successor one day.
Yogaswami loved to sing and Tayumanavar’s songs were a favorite, full of spiritual passion, human frailty and deep love for God Siva.
Tayumanavar’s message of samarasa was a call for goodwill and religious unity. Here he addresses Vedantins seated to his right and Siddhantins to his left. With clarity and warmth, he urges them to focus on their many agreements rather than their few differences.
His foot bandaged from months of walking barefoot, he scolds Siva for not appearing in his inner vision.
Tayumanavar climbs up to the Murugan temple where he composed many of his songs.
From “The Guru Chronicles”
It was about 7 pm when they arrived at Yogaswami’s hermitage. The sun had set, and a full moon illumined the landscape. The lamps were lit, and the evening had brought devotees to Swami. The atmosphere was electric—charged with the presence of the satguru. About fifteen people were sitting with him. No sooner had the screeching of the cart wheels stopped than Swami’s voice from the hut was heard loud and clear, “Come, come, come. I am waiting for you.” Vinayagamoorthy recalled:
As soon as we opened the gate and entered the ashram, Yogaswami asked Robert in a loud voice, “Did you see me anywhere?” Robert replied, “Yes, at the Nallur Temple,” and the following conversation took place. Yogaswami: “You are in me.” Robert: “You are in me.” Yogaswami: “I am in you.” Robert: “I am in you.”
The devotees present were astounded. No one had ever talked in such a way with Yogaswami since the days of Chellappaguru. Usually if he said to a devotee, “I am in you,” the person would respond humbly, “Yes, Swa- mi.” Or he might begin singing a song that Swami had composed. No one ever responded the way Robert had. He spoke as confidently as Swami himself, and he echoed Swami’s very words.
At that point Swami eased the intensity of the moment and asked his visitors to enter. “Come and sit with Jaffna’s old beggar.” Robert knew the protocol and once Swami was seated moved forward to prostrate. But Swami indicated he should not, and invited him to sit on a nearby mat that had been laid down for this unusual visitor.
Yogaswami was in a jolly mood that night, smiling and laughing as people came before him. It felt like a special holiday. There were large bunches of grapes on a tray in front of him. He called to a devotee, Pundit
A.V. Mylvaganam, and asked him to take them and make some juice for the three visitors.
While awaiting the refreshments, Yogaswami asked his guest if he had read it. In fact, it was the only book he had really studied during his early training. He had read and practiced it for years. Yogaswami tossed a few penetrating questions about the pithy classic. Robert answered quickly and clearly. Recounting this experience later, he said that the answers came immediately, not as an intellectual memory, but from within.
Then Yogaswami asked about the difference between advaita and dvaita. Robert answered that both are true, depending on one’s perspec- tive. Yogaswami smiled, obviously enjoying the way in which the disciple had grasped that it is not one and not two. Swami, well familiar with the controversy between the two schools of philosophy, was satisfied. Dr. S. Ramanathan later provided the following insights:
Swami once told me that the mahavakya “Aham Brahmasmi” is not correctly understood by people who criticize Advaita Vedanta. He had high regard for the Advaita Vedanta of Sri Shankaracharya as well as for the Siddhanta Shastras. One day when I was going to the ashram at Columbuthurai, I was thinking of the debate between Vedanta and Sid- dhanta. The minute Swami saw me he sang a line from the work of Tayumanavar: “We belong to the group of learned mystics who have understood the complete agreement and equality of Vedanta and Siddhanta.” Then he placed his hands on his chest to indicate that it was the firm truth.
Lotuses once filled our ponds with leaves and flowers
Recently we received a gift of a special lotus from China
There was a time that the lotus was so dense you could not see the water in this pond.
Sprouted seeds of ther lotus flower
We are creating a minature lotus pond near the Stone Bell.
These are tiny lotuses growing from sprouted seeds from Ebay.
The leaves are just an inch in diameter.
This morning a pink water lily gave five blossoms!
Often mistaken as a lotus, it is a beautiful water lily.
It seems Siva is calling for lotus flowers to once again grace His Sacred Garden.
Recently, the Prajapati family gifted the monastery a rare and exquisite lotus from China. That offering rekindled our deep love for this sacred flower. Inspired, we began preparing a 100-gallon aquatic pot—not only for the gifted lotus but also for a new collection of sprouted seeds we found through a dedicated vendor.
If you’ve ever tried to sprout a lotus seed, you know it’s no simple task. These seeds are encased in a hard shell that can preserve life for centuries. The oldest recorded viable seed, discovered in a dry lake bed in northeastern China, was over 1,300 years old—and it germinated successfully in the 1990s. In this same spirit of renewal, we brought 20 young lotus sprouts to the monastery. They now bask in the sun, growing in a warm pot that receives 4–6 hours of bright sunlight each day. They will later be transferred to our large pot.
Years ago, we had an abundance of lotus—so many that one 60-by-200-foot pond was completely carpeted in green leaves and pink blossoms. But in time, bottom-feeding tilapia devoured them all, and our attempts to regrow them have failed—until now.
This time, our approach is different. We’re planting the lotuses in large, protected pots, safe from fish, and placing them around the monastery grounds. One such pot—a 100-gallon black tub—is being buried near the Silpi Pavilion, where devotees can once again marvel at the sacred beauty of Nelumbo nucifera.
As Gurudeva once said:
“Visualize within yourself a lotus. Have you ever seen a lotus flower? I’m sure you have. Now visualize this lotus centered right within your chest, right within your heart. You have read in the Hindu scriptures that the Self God dwells in the lotus within the heart. Let’s think about that.
We all know what the heart is, and what happens when it stops. Now try to mentally feel and see the heart as a lotus. Within the center of the lotus, see a small light. You may have read that the Self God within the heart looks like a brilliant flame the size of your thumb. That light—call it your inner effulgence, your atomic power—is what motivates and illumines the mind.
The Self God is deeper still. The lotus is within the heart, and the Self God dwells deep within that lotus of light.”
Let us cultivate these sacred flowers once again—not just in the soil, but in the soul.
This is a photo from 2023, showing the need to renovate the tank, built in 1959 and painted once since then.
After draining the water, workers grind off the old concrete
The rains slowed the progress, so a tent was installed.
A shot of Sambandar dancing with delight.
He seems to enjoy the new fountain.
The large Kamachi Amman Temple tank in Kanchipuram
Projects can be great teachers of patience and persistence. Behold the Teacher of Tolerance, the Preceptor of Perseverance, the Lecturer of Long-Suffering, our very own Kadavul Temple Pool.
It was three years ago that we began retiling the 1959-era pool. It had served us well and was ready for a new life. In our February 2023 contract the company estimated in writing that it would take 2 1/2 months. Here we are 2 1/2 years later and it was just completed. For all that time tens of thousands of visitors saw just a green construction-site barrier that concealed the work, and hid from view the fact that workers were not showing up and progress had stalled. Karmas held back the team, and we had to let them go.
In February of this year we hired another team and their first work was to demolish all of the inferior work of their predecessors. But they did it efficiently and work proceeded apace. Turns out to get a big project done it helps to show up every day! And they did. Completing it a few days ago. It is quite beautifully done and visitors can once again enjoy the presence of water near the temple, an important element in temple sacred architecture. Jai to Josh and his team, especially the ever-jolly Chico who made us some three-star Michelin hot sauce. A small celebratory party is planned for the completion.
In the sacred geography of South India, temple tanks are not just water reservoirs—they are portals to the divine. Called pushkarini, theertham or kulam, these tanks invite the heavens and cleanse the soul. They are places where pilgrims bathe or just wash feet and hands before entering the sanctum, where festivals come alive with floating lamps, and where lotuses are encouraged to grow.
Water is a symbol and necessity for life. Temple tanks in India hold centuries of devotion and the blessings of countless rituals. With our new tile installation, we restore not only beauty but sanctity—inviting reflection, reverence and return to the sacred cycle of nature and spirit. As the sun rises over the newly laid tiles, the tank once more becomes a living mandala of worship and wonder. Ours has a small murti of the child saint Sambandar, dancing playfully and blissfully as he beholds God Siva. It is said that later in life he lead processions of devotees, singing and dancing through towns and temples, awakening people’s faith and love of God Siva.
The rare fragrant Hawaiian hibiscus blooming by our entry gate.
Making copies of a nice agave that bloomed last month.
Worlds smallest orchid, the flower is 1/4-inch wide.
The three Hawaiian sandalwood trees recently gifted to the monastery by Lyons Arboretum in Hololulu. To be planted in our sandalwood grove.
Potting up calatheas that will later be planted on San Marga.
Dark red pentas for Hanuman’s mountain
The monastery has tens of thousands of botanical species, some humble, some stunningly proud, some edible, some poisonous, some not so pretty. But they all add to the special spaces here, hundreds of little microcosms, each with a different amount of light and water and wind and minerals and predators. Those who work in the gardens, growing and nurturing, soon learn to listen to the plants, watch their reactions and respond in order to help them survive and flourish. Of course, our teachings tell us that the entire universe is aware. A molecule has awareness, a protein shows intent. Siva is aware and Siva is the life/existence in all things, so it is no surprise to us that plants would exhibit awareness. Theirs is different from ours for sure, but it is awareness nonetheless.
Science is just now catching up to that little fact. Witness the latest New York Times bestseller on plants:The Light Eaters by Zoë Schlanger. It’s a deep dive into the secret life of plants. According to her research, far from passive greenery, plants see, smell, remember, decide and communicate. Schlanger presents five fascinating reasons to think of plants as having awareness: they sense light direction, emit chemical warnings, store memories, respond to touch, and even adjust their behavior. This, she insists, is hard science and she tells it well. She is not as talented as Michael Pollan in his books about food, but she does reveal that science about plants is evolving quickly.
One of the most compelling anecdotes Zoë Schlanger shares in The Light Eaters involves the mimosa plant (Mimosa pudica)—a sensitive species known for folding its leaves when touched. Hawaiians call it hilahila which means shy or bashful. Scientists dropped mimosa plants repeatedly from a short height—not enough to harm, but enough to provoke the leaf-folding reflex. At first, the plants reacted as expected. But after just a few drops, they stopped closing their leaves—having “learned” that the drop wasn’t dangerous. Even more astonishing, weeks later, the same plants still remembered not to react. No brain, no nerves—yet they showed signs of learning and memory. Consciousness? Maybe. Awareness? Undeniable.
We took these photos this morning and look forward to a few ripe oranges.
Showing the entirely hollowed out base of the tree.
The orange is near our newly planted Nepalese Rudraksha Grove.
You are looking at a box of six Hawaiian heirloom orange trees, saved from extinction by the high-tech Terra Nova Nursery in Canby, Washington, about 200 miles from Seattle. Of course, it comes with a monastery story.
About 70 years back Uncle Manuel (who for decades was the manager of the water system that flows through the land that is now Kauai Aadheenam) received a gift from a Hawaiian clan. They gave him a special orange tree, one whose sweetness and low acidity made it rare and valuable. Manuel carried the tree in a gunny sack on horseback from the mountains about 20 miles to the monastery and planted it himself in a field. There is grew and gave its fruits for all these decades.
About 15 years back it began to age. The bottom trunk rotted out during a wet winter, then our cows sped up the process by munching on the sweet leaves and fruits. We put a fence around it, but a year later the cows overwhelmed the fence and ate every leaf. We though it was dead.
But it is a brave orange, and it grew strong branches right out of the rotting trunk. We tried to propagate it. And failed. We enlisted local tree grafters. Who failed. Finally, in desperation to save this legacy fruit tree, we reached out to Harini Korlipara, General Manager of Terra Nova Nursery. She had visited the monastery three years back and said she would try, so we sent her cuttings following her directions.
It worked! Yesterday we opened the box with six very healthy orange trees. We will give one to the living relatives of Uncle Manual in honor of his bringing the mother plant to our land, a couple to local botanical gardens and collectors and the rest will be planted in our own fruit groves. Orange trees can live 70-100 years, so a couple of generations of monks will have sweet oranges for breakfast.
Oranges and other citrus fruits were introduced to the Hawaiian Islands by European explorers. British Captain George Vancouver is often credited with bringing orange seeds or saplings around 1792–1794 as gifts to King Kamehameha I. Hawaii was for a short time the premier supplier of oranges to California until the citrus farms developed in the state.
