Kailasa Candra dasa is a spiritual and occult teacher, sidereal astrologer, and author guiding a small number of uninitiated disciples and followers. In 1972, he joined the International Society for Krishna Consciousness at its short-lived center in Madison, Wisconsin. In late 1975 through early 1976, he served the Society as president for the Big Island in Hawaii. Presently working out of the South, in the Seventies and the Eighties, he traveled throughout India. He is co-founder of the Vaishnava Foundation, and its director and treasurer. An early nemesis of the zonal acharyas, he remains an exponent of untainted transcendental, devotional teaching, opposed to what is today pushed by the fabricated, so-called “ISKCON” confederation.
Kailasa was born out of wedlock on January 9th, 1951 to an Irish father and Austrian mother, and was given his mother’s surname. Only briefly an orphan, he was adopted nine days later by Robert and Gladys Barber, who shared the same ethnicities. Kevin R. Barber was informed of his adopted status early by his foster parents.
He was raised as a middle-class, suburban child in Glenview, Illinois, where his father, a decorated WWII veteran from Merrill’s Marauders in Burma, was a reliable bread-winner, a successful plumber running his father’s business. A somewhat distant authoritarian, he was also Glenview’s assistant fire chief and City Commissioner. Kevin’s diminutive and protective mother was a dedicated housewife but not close to her husband. She instead centered her love on her boy, summer vacationing with him for three months every year in Door County, Wisconsin. He was raised Catholic, although his mother was not a believer and his father only erratically attended Church services.
Kevin was a short, sickly child, who, early in childhood, suffered from severe asthma and autism, before it was recognized in America as a medical condition. He did not attend kindergarten and first grade only intermittently. Nevertheless, he was not held back. He loved comic books, becoming a healthy child after experiencing the physical and emotional benefits of a two-week train trip with his parents to Fort Lauderdale at the age of six. In a comfortable, middle-class home designed and built by his father, the boy lived with his parents, his doting maternal grandmother, and his younger half sister. Just a block away was the large Church complex known as Our Lady of Perpetual Help, where he attended elementary school.
After Illinois law prevailed during his parents’ divorce, the young boy, along with his half sister, left a devastated father and accompanied their mother to Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin. She remarried soon after, as did his father. Then the oldest of four siblings, Kevin lived in the Badger State with his mother, stepfather, that man’s two children, and the aforementioned half sister. Since the Church excommunicated divorced couples, he was initially denied parochial schooling. However, due to his mother’s determination, he was enrolled in St. Joseph’s Elementary School in January, 1961. Not well-received by his male classmates there and tagged with a derogatory nickname, he was stunted in his development. He was also often beat up on the playground during recesses, and this further contributed to his becoming reclusive.
His upgrade to secular Sturgeon Bay High in September, 1965 led to a transformation. Even as a freshman, at the insistence of his mother, he was one of few students who worked after school. Kevin was an above-average student and became interested in writing as a sophomore. During biology class, he bought into Dawinism and became an atheist, renouncing all connection to the Catholic Church.
Awarded a journalism scholarship to the University of Wisconsin, he was unable to maintain a B-average during his freshman year at Madison in order to maintain the grant. Nevertheless, State residency compensated with reasonable tuition. In order to continue higher education, by day he worked during the summer for the City of Sturgeon Bay and, at night, he was an umpire for Pony League. Attending U. W. during the other months, he became an accomplished sportswriter for the Daily Cardinal, one of the top collegiate newspapers in the United States. He was appointed its Sports Editor in October, 1971.
However, particularly in college, Kevin led a dual life, as interest in a career waned, replaced by a haunting realization that there were occult forces constantly at work within everyone—and most of them were very inimical to human beings. He wanted to know what such conditioning was all about, as well as the real meaning of life. He realized that he was suffering, and he wanted to know why. Although he did not, at that time, use the term in his own mind, he was seeking Absolute Truth.
Beginning in early 1972, for thirteen months he engaged irregularly in hallucinogens. Attendance at classes slackened during that time, although his grades did not dip accordingly. He drifted toward the counterculture, but not in all ways, as he was not inclined to become either a liberal or a leftist. Cold Sturgeon Bay was not a progressive environment and, along with being raised in a conservative family, his propensity for pessimism about life in general--and for humanity in particular--remained intact.
Only partially adopting the hippie ethic and lifestyle, his demeanor was anything but sexually attractive. He opted instead for internal deliberations via heavy message music, without any interest in attending raucous rock concerts. In November, 1971, he abandoned any desire for higher education and resigned his post at the student newspaper. Dropping out of college gave him liberation, and, although money was dwindling, he was finally no longer part of conventional American culture. His psycho-physical suffering increased, but so did his commitment to TRUTH OR BUST.
He became a vegetarian, much to the dismay of his hippie roommates and his mother. This did not mean that he was at all inclined to the mode of goodness, however. His stepfather, a welder at the local shipbuilding enterprise in Sturgeon Bay for the Defense Department, became inimical due to the young man’s opposition to the Vietnam war. Barber’s birth date assigned him a low lottery number, which made him a certain inductee, but, he fell through the cracks, never contacted by the draft board. His former materialistic tendencies having disappeared, he developed a new, meaner set, including interest in the dark occult, in biker gangs, and in picking locks for a career that could segue into cat burglary. He was convinced that he must choose one of these options sooner rather than later, but Destiny had other plans.
In the late fall of 1971, after his stepfather struck him with an open-handed roundhouse, that instant karma pushed him from the family circle. He returned to Madison with no direction home. On a cold, drizzling afternoon in December, on State Street, he leaned atop a parking meter and admiringly gazed at a dancing performance by brightly robed men chanting wildly across the street. He thought they were Buddhists, and he appreciated their defiance.
Just previously, one of his hippie roommates had handed Kevin a copy of the first edition of Be Here Now by Baba Ram Dass. The book had a unique Eastern vibe, and its shape and texture were also different. Its contents represented a foreign version of Western avante-garde. He liked what he read in it, and he appreciated the Appendix, which featured biographies of gurus from India. One of them particularly attracted him.
One January evening soon thereafter, rocking on the couch in the living room where he also slept, he determined that it was that night that he would put all of the pieces of the puzzle together. However, his quasi-meditation sessions always depended upon rock music as an adjunct. This evening, he knew which vinyl L. P. would be the key. About forty albums were scattered on the floor in the adjoining room, but, when he went there to secure the one he needed, it was gone! This put him into a state of internal turmoil, as the breakthrough he was convinced he would attain was now bollixed. Then, within his despairing mind, two unexpected words from an inner voice spoke to him: “Become pious.”
Important realizations flowed immediately. He intuitively realized that this was but the first step—the first test of many--which, if he passed them, would culminate in the realization he craved. He was willing to pay the price. In order to transform his lifestyle, he decided to join the Eastside Madison Coop, about a mile away, and upgrade his eating habits completely. He would also volunteer to work there as part of its membership requirement.
While sweeping the floor on his second Saturday of duty, he noticed a different kind of poster on the bulletin board. It featured a silhouette of a solid, dark figure holding a flute. It advertised a Sunday love feast the next day. Most conveniently, this event was located only two blocks from where Kevin domiciled on Ingersoll Avenue. He knew this had to be the next step.
It was also a test. Just as he was preparing to depart for the temple, an aloof, ultra-confident, flaxen, waxen, red-haired mystic living on the floor below him, having climbed the rarely used back stairway, opened Kevin’s second floor kitchen door. Weeks previously, they had seen one another at the armory on adjoining basketball courts, appreciating each other’s skills. Barber wanted to get to know this unflappable fellow, who needed no one and nothing from anyone, who had his trip really together with reel-to-reel recordings, the best electronic equipment, exotic plants hanging from his ceiling, and a projected aura of hippie perfection. It would be up to that young man to decide the date they would face off.
They both balled well, but Kevin knew that he could and would beat him, a belief not shared by this good-looking, well-built fellow from the ground floor, representing counter-cultural advancement. Finally, here was the cherished opportunity, but Kevin opted for the love feast, concisely explaining his reason for being unable to accept the challenge at that time. To which the hippie of sophisticated excellence derisively replied, “Oh, so you’re into that.” Both before and after, Kevin never even knew his name.
Mid-February nights come early in Madison; they are windy and cold, and this evening was especially so. A young man, not oblivious to the pain he felt, walked darkened blocks to a two-story house on Livingston Street, knocked on the front door, and, when Rudra das came down the hallway to open it for him, it was all over! Kevin Barber knew immediately that this was what he had been searching for his whole life.
The fundamental lecture given by Rudra confirmed it. That talk answered some questions, of course, but much of the lecture simply confirmed what he had already realized on his own. A life-long loner knew that he had to join this cult, as much as he did not really want to do it.
He moved in the next Sunday. During the interlude, he visited the temple once in mid-week along with a new buddy from France, who, with his girlfriend, had just moved into their now crowded apartment. The French drifter and his new male friend ate prasadam that Wednesday while on L.S.D.; it was Kevin’s last flirt with intoxication.
His roommates, along with the girlfriend of his hippie mentor from early 1971, were all against his decision to join the Krishna movement. They did not try to impede him, however, despite knowing that he could be leaving their lives forever. The young man listened to George Harrison’s triple album “All Things Must Pass” constantly throughout his last week of freedom on desolation row.
His stay at the ISKCON center in Madison was brief, as the governing body commissioner for that zone decided to consolidate all operations to his headquarters in Detroit. This policy was reversed soon thereafter, and, in the late spring of that year, the Chicago temple was re-opened with Bhakta Kevin sent there along with four other celibate students and two initiated leaders. From Chicago, he was asked by the temple president to hitchhike to the St. Louis yatra, which was in dire need of manpower. At both of these centers during his early life in the institution, the uninitiated bhakta was primarily engaged in magazine distribution, preaching at Sunday love feasts, and street chanting.
Although the temple president of St. Louis did not like him personally, he could not deny the young man’s sincerity, seriousness, and dedication to the transcendental cause of the Founder-Acharya of this movement, His Divine Grace A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, the guru in Be Here Now who had attracted him. Bhakta Kevin was recommended for first initiation six months after joining the Hare Krishna movement. That he would have to endure suppression and contempt from most of the presidents he worked under during his ISKCON years would become a pattern that hardly any exceptions.
He was initiated in September, 1972 at the rural ISKCON compound just outside Moundsville, West Virginia and given the spiritual name of Kailasa Candra dasa (hereinafter, Kailasa). This particular initiation ritual featured a very large number of new bhaktas and bhaktins, and Prabhupada was personally present for it. His Divine Grace only spoke to two of them during the long ceremony, in which he handed all of them their japa mala beads from the Vyasasana. To Kailasa, Prabhupada said, “So, your name is Kailasa Candra dasa. This is a name for Lord Shiva. Vaishnavanam Yatha Shambhu: Lord Shiva is the greatest Vaishnava. Dasa, Dasa, Dasa. Not God. Dasa. Servant. Servant.”
In the mid-Seventies, Kailasa distinguished himself by leading a successful Midwestern college preaching program throughout Wisconsin, Illinois, and Indiana. He acted as a peon of his spiritual master’s message, and this produced results. Such was the case particularly at the University of Illinois at Champaign-Urbana, where five students, regularly attending his bhakti-yoga classes, moved to the Evanston center (Greater Chicago temple) and became initiated disciples of Srila Prabhupada. This college preaching effort was referenced by His Divine Grace in a letter to the temple president of the Evanston center in April, 1973: “Your university program has given me much satisfaction, so you try to continue it.”
In1973, Kailasa was amongst the first devotees to open the O’Hare Airport for book and magazine distribution, previous to the plainclothes pick. During the Rathayatra festival in July, 1974, he received brahminical initiation from his spiritual master and a private darshan. The temple president of this large center, however, undermined Kailasa’s university preaching program, and he moved on.
In the spring of 1975, he arrived at the Honolulu center. While serving there, he arranged for a tense but fruitful face-to-face conversation between Prabhupada and Yogi Bhajan, the most famous meeting between the great theistic guru (Prabhupada) with a well-known (in America) representative of a well-known, basically impersonal philosophy.
In Honolulu, Kailasa accompanied his spiritual master on morning walks, played mrdanga and kartals for him during guru-pujas, and, as a play’s director, served as a key actor in it, a performance which pleased His Divine Grace very much. When a new president took over the Honolulu center in late 1975—more favorable to him than previous managements—Kailasa was deputed to be temple president of the remote cabin ashrama near Mauna Kea on the Big Island of Hawaii.
In mid-1976, he traveled throughout Europe, leading a preaching and collection party before flying to India, in February, 1977, for the first of three pilgrimages there.
In 1978, after the disappearance of Bhaktivedanta Swami, he became personal secretary for the governing commissioner of the southeast U.S. zone, who, that late spring, decided to run for political office. Appointed as his campaign manager, Kailasa accompanied him to Miami just after the zonal acharyas imposed themselves on the movement. Kailasa refused to worship any of those new, so-called gurus, being privy to confidential transcripts and documents shared with him by the commissioner.
An obvious disdain for the new regime led Kailasa to soon become persona non grata. He spotted and the glaring flaws in the new system and considered it unauthorized. The senior devotee he worked under abruptly demoted Kailasa and selected a personal friend as his new campaign manager; soon thereafter, abandoning the campaign entirely. Ordered to sell drug paraphernalia at the behest of that commissioner, Kailasa questioned everything connected to the changed Society. After making some traveling sales in the Midwest, he experienced that his spiritual life was not being helped by that engagement nor by any connection to the new “ISKCON” cult. He cut loose from it in the early summer.
In October of 1978, he flew to India for the second time. Traveling from Bombay by train, he arrived at the gorgeous Vrindavan temple, known as the Krishna-Balaram mandir, where he soon became aware that it was the last center in the world resisting worship of the zonal acharyas. A rear-guard attack against that zonal concoction was being formulated there by senior devotees, and Kailasa let it be known that he was with them.
Along with a couple of godbrothers, he then ventured to the Punjab, where an accomplished Bhrighu astrologer in Hoshiapur informed him that, sometime in the future, he would become a great sadhu. Kailasa then decided to pilgrimage to Varanasi, where he studied the Fifth Canto of the Bhagavat Purana along with one of those godbrothers.
In January, 1979, one of those godbrothers searched him out in Benares, informing him that the chief resident sannyasi at Krishna-Balarama requested his association and assistance on the issue of the zonal acharya imposition. Kailasa complied. He was bivouacked in one of the hotel rooms connected to the main building where, in consultation with that leader, he compiled a lengthy position paper. The overwhelming majority of male devotee residents at the complex then signed it.
In meticulous detail, it pointed out massive deviations that had entered the ISKCON movement and requested a debate on the legitimacy (or lack thereof) of the zonal acharya scheme, along with its lavish worship of eleven pretender mahabhagavats, which polluted the whole movement. The paper and its following confrontation marked the emergence of another level of resistance to the “new gurus.”
In the early Eighties, Kailasa combined with a prominent female disciple in Prabhupada’s movement, a fiery and accomplished artist, preacher, book distributor, and collector. During that time, they produced and published a treatise, along with numerous tracts exposing what had become of the so-called Krishna movement. In the late summer and early autumn of 1981, the pair preached their message throughout the Bay Area of California. Soon thereafter, it became a hotbed for devotees opposing the mother ship.
In 1983-1984, Kailasa made his third to India, returning to the United States via a one-day layover in Moscow and a month-long stay in France. He wound up in Houston, and, in the late spring of 1985, was contacted there by a malcontent, Sulochan dasa, who was in dire need of an editor for his tracts that were meant to be combined into an eventual book.
Kailasa traveled with him throughout America in the fellow’s converted van during the summer and early autumn of that year, completing that much needed editing for his godbrother. In May of 1986, by a hitter on behalf of one of the most notorious “ISKCON” zonals, Sulochan was assassinated in Los Angeles while chanting japa in his van.
In the early spring of 1986, just previous to the assassination, the resistance movement had, to some extent, even worked its way into upper echelons of the international organization. In March, Kailasa was invited to link up with the most promising of these efforts, a developing situation in Berkeley. In one sense, his joining that group could be considered a return to ISKCON, but, judging by the results, such a conclusion would be mostly inaccurate. The chief leaders of ISKCON of the Bay Area were its governing body commissioner, who lived with his wife in an opulent apartment nearby, and one of the movement’s original sannyasis, who lived in the temple. Both were elder godbrothers to Kailasa. Another godbrother, a Vietnam vet, also welcomed Kailasa to Berkeley. They would eventually become inimical to one another.
Nevertheless, in the beginning, there was strong camaraderie amongst these four men, but Kailasa was a no-compromise fellow. As it turned out, the two chief leaders of that complex were not. Kailasa had traveled to NOCAL in the hope that they would accept the message and interpretation he carried and preached, but, as time wore on, it became clear that such would not be the case.
Indeed, during that later spring, at the annual conclave of the Governing Body Commission, those two ambitious men compromised, accepting appointment from the Commission as institutional, initiating spiritual masters. This was a direct affront to what the four had agreed upon before news of this betrayal reached Berkeley. By the time that those leaders arrived back in America, Berkeley was a hornet’s nest. Over three-quarters of the devotees there had turned against them, signing a declaration (created by Kailasa) in which all of them unequivocally and completely rejected the authority of the “ISKCON” governing body.
Then came the assassination of Sulochan. The transformed movement in California, especially in the Bay Area, was thrown into turmoil, especially since both Kailasa and the aforementioned elder godbrother (still favorable) had been close associates and friends of Sulochan. The so-called reform movement in Berkeley was now exposed for just what it was: A milquetoast bluff used as a vehicle for the personal ambitions of two second-echelon men.
Kailasa was driven out, most of the declaration’s signers were turned, but five who were not accompanied him to an eastern suburb. It was a six-week trying period for him, but Kailasa was secretly keeping close to the vest a long-shot hold card that he thought just might pay off--and it did.
The temple president of a rural outpost two hours north of Berkeley—loosely referred to there as “The Farm”-- previously had been affiliated with the city temple since its inception. In 1986, it consisted of a skeleton crew, some of whom were disciples of the absentee zonal acharya, who had previously made it his headquarters since the beginning in the late Seventies. Its current president was also his former disciple but no longer a believer in that guru who had initiated him. Torn between a former ethic and a superficial reform movement in the Bay Area, he had boldly signed the aforementioned declaration.
That beleaguered president (hereinafter, Vern), one of only three directors for the “The Farm,” was respected by the few devotees serving there, but they all also knew that the board was not of one mind. Vern figuratively needed the cavalry, and Kailasa represented that. Just as importantly, Vern had been influenced by The Guru Business, but he intuited that Sulochan could not have possibly produced that writing by himself. Vern wanted to know who was the man behind it, and now he did. He invited Kailasa to his ashrama, located in the western foothills of Lake County. Ironically, the place had become known as New Mount Kailasa (hereinafter, MTK).
In the fourth week of August, despite stiff resistance, Kailasa moved on from the Bay Area to a new country environment more to his liking. Berkeley had their own people residing at MTK, and one was on the verge of being appointed to its board. That would have put MTK completely under the thumb of the governing commissioner. However, when Kailasa arrived, MTK underwent a radical transformation unfavorable to Berkeley. Those loyal to the Commish soon left, with prejudice.
The MTK saga, both before and after the mid-Eighties, had been chock full of intrigue and treachery integral to its fabric. Kailasa, figuratively left for dead just weeks before, unexpectedly emerged with a chance to secure a new platform of influence in NOCAL. He did not squander the opportunity. Soon enough, he became MTK’s de facto president and was appointed, under contentious circumstances, to its board of directors, which was expanded to four. During the two-year MTK odyssey, he, along with Vern, created The Vaishnava Foundation (hereinafter, the VF), which was incorporated in January, 1988 at Sacramento.
Previous to this, Kailasa located a diligent attorney in Ukiah, who discovered a long-forgotten insurance policy at Berkeley; this enabled MTK to escape otherwise certain liquidation as a consequence of a molestation suit set into motion during the previous regime. After that, the aforementioned former zonal, who had now lost his Lake County playground to a new set of directors (two of them former disciples), filed suit in State court, based on a promissory note that favored him.
The plaintiff’s case appeared insurmountable, and former members of MTK testified on behalf of his claim. The confrontation led to a drawn out, costly battle, involving numerous depositions along with inflammatory and scandalous testimony. It could have gone either way, but MTK won, mostly due to having kept possession of the note in its safe at the property.
However, despite that legal success, MTK’s board was philosophically and personally at irreconcilable odds. MTK was also deeply in debt due to egregious mismanagement in the early Eighties. It went into receivership, and the only alternative for corporate survival was to sell. Kailasa located a realtor in Ukiah, and, in 1988, the property was sold to a business entity which had been a client of the Santa Rosa attorney who had represented MTK against the former zonal.
The directors split amicably. The VF was forced to take less money, half of the cows, along with a rambunctious bull. Its cows were then driven and given to a godbrother of Kailasa in southern Oregon, along with substantial funds to cover their maintenance. After costly protection and upkeep at Petaluma, the bull was relocated the next year to a free animal sanctuary in eastern Texas, where he spent the rest of his years in expansive pastures perfectly suited to his needs.
Kailasa wanted out of NOCAL, and two VF members joined him in South Texas in late 1988. He then decided to domicile in San Antonio. One of the VF members returned to Sacramento but remained a friendly. A used Ryder truck had previously been purchased by Vern, and it was dovetailed to great effect in winding up MTK. After that, it aided their transition to a new State and a new avocation and lifestyle for the two men.
Vern had run his own moving business during his hippie years, so he trained Kailasa, and, for about a year, the two made a living working together. After this, Vern traveled to Portland and Kailasa, in 1990, accepted an offer from a godbrother, a casual contact, to attempt an alternative paradigm to “ISKCON” in Los Angeles. It flopped badly, never even getting off the ground, thwarted in no small part due to too much proximity with “ISKCON” at Watseka Avenue.
There was no love between Kailasa and the mother ship, which was now an irreconcilable enemy. Having come to grips with that fact, he needed to get his trip together while still maintaining some semblance of progress with the VF. He had to play the cards he had been dealt, and it was now his organization to manage, although Vern still remained a member.
In late 1990, Kailasa sojourned to Jacksonville, Florida, again hooked up with a devotee woman who had briefly domiciled with him in San Antonio earlier, and, in early 1991, Vern joined them. The moving business was thus rejuvenated. In early 1992, Kailasa purchased the truck from Vern, who had decided to return to Portland for a higher-paying avocation linked to his degree from a Midwestern university.
In December of the previous year, Kailasa, on behalf of the VF, had traveled to the Ozarks and purchased a make-shift cabin and forested acreage in order to attempt a mountain ashrama there. It was advertised in New Age magazines, and two seekers briefly joined him in the summer of 1992, after he had wrapped up his interests in Jacksonville. For the next few years, he would bivouac in the Ozarks for four months in the summer and run his moving business in San Antonio during the rest of the year. While at the cabin, he studied Surya-siddhanta and ascertained, in the process, a most accurate ayanamsha for sidereal calculations, one which no other American astrologer has either realized or today utilizes.
By the mid-Nineties, he decided to reside year-round in San Antonio. It was during this period that Vern again visited him with a recommendation that the VF establish an online presence. It did so, with significant difficulty. After his moving business was unable to overcome a perfect storm in late 1996, Kailasa moved on to enroll in a ten-month business training school. He completed all of the courses with a 4.0 average and perfect attendance, the only one in his class to do so. In the immediate aftermath, in order to make a living, he worked various temp jobs with the skills he had just assimilated.
After 9-11, he could foresee security work as being in increased demand, so he segued to that line of work in October, 2001. He worked for security companies in San Antonio from 2001-2006, during which he became a commissioned officer and operations manager, as well as a payroll master. Although there were many close calls, he never had to pull his handgun.
Just after that, the VF was joined by Bhakta Ernest Dras (hereinafter, Bhakta Ernest), an IT expert, who has become a pillar of the organization over the last two decades. Kailasa was barely eking out a living until his mother unexpectedly died early in 2002, leaving him a substantial inheritance. In due course, the VF expanded to three websites. On them can be found a great number of stimulating articles written by Kailasa, along with his video presentations.
After a brief stint driving a flatbed over the road in 2006, Kailasa decided that it was time to plant long-term roots and simplify his lifestyle; he utilized his inheritance in order to do so. He returned to the Ozarks, where he now lives in a cedar cabin (finished in January, 2008) on seventeen acres, deep in a mountainous forest on a logger road. The property is off the grid with no running water, depending upon a cistern. In June, 2015, Kailasa took the stringent ham radio test, which featured thirty-five complicated multiple choice questions. He aced the test, a rare feat for anyone, and now has a beginner’s ham radio license. He gets a strong tower signal at his property, and, as such, remains in constant contact with those close to him via cell phone, cell texts, and e-mail exchanges.
The VF has been no stranger to attrition over the years; in the late summer of 2012, Vern resigned from the organization, somewhat inimically. In 2017, as the result of a close vote, the VF resolved to have a presence on Facebook (FB). As of 2019, it has three FB pages, with Kailasa and Bhakta Ernest the administrators. None of Kailasa’s godbrothers are members of the VF, which has an international reach, boasting members in the U.S., Canada, Slovenia, Oman, India, and Australia. The VF has two directors and a President. Kailasa is its Secretary-Treasurer. It also has two FB allies.
Literary Works: 1975-2008
Vyasa Puja Homage (ISKCON Honolulu), 1975
Vyasa Puja Homage (ISKCON Honolulu), 1976
“On the Measure of Our Conviction” treatise, 1980
“Guru is Never Appointed” tract, 1981
“Overall Considerations of the Bona Fide Spiritual Master” tract, 1981
“Shastric Considerations Concerning the Monitor Guru” tract, 1981
“The Appointment That Never Was” tract, 1981
“The Spiritual Master Never Deviates from Shastra” tract,1981
“When You Hear Someone Say” tract, 1981
Bryant, Steve: The Guru Business (book) editor, 1985
Reclaiming the Lost Tarot, (book), 2009
Advanced Primer of Sidereal Astrology, (book), 2009
Messages From Nostradamus Revealed, (book), 2009
Buddhi-yoga and System Ouspensky, (book), 2009
Tattva-viveka, translation into English, 2011
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