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Om Śrī Dīp Nārāyaṇ Bhagavāne Kī Jai, Paramahaṁs Śrī Svāmī Maheśvarānandajī Gurudeva Kī Jai. After a beautiful bhajan, the speaker began: Mera Satguru Diyo Isaro, Mam Satya Sarupa Vicharo. “My Gurudev gave me the hint to know thyself, the Truth, the Ātmā. It is a very nice bhajan about Ātmā Jñāna or Vedānta. That Ātmā is everywhere, in everything. It represents myself—that is, the Ātmā, your very own Ātmā. Like fire latent in alcohol, in stone, in iron, like fragrance in flowers. In the temple, I am that God in the temple, and I am the priest, I am the pūjārī. I am celebrating myself—which means the Ātmā, above your ego. So here ‘I am’ means not your ego, not all this, but pure Ātmā. I am the lightning in the clouds, I am the sun, and I am the sparkling light in the stars—that light. Mahāprabhujī said, ‘It is a glory to the Self.’ I am the one who is singing the glory, and I am the listener. The glory is mine, so it points towards the divine, the Self. Thus, in everything is the Self. In your every action, there is a Self. But to understand that Self is not easy.” To illustrate this subtle truth, a story was told. A master lived in the forest with his disciples, one of whom was a sādhu. The master used to say, “In everyone is God, everywhere is God”—echoing God Kṛṣṇa’s words in the Bhagavad Gītā: “I am in everyone—elephant, buffalo, cow, dog, humans.” So God is in everyone, and God is doing everything. One day the disciple went to a small village to get food. He found the people hiding behind big trees and houses. Confused, he asked what was happening. They warned him, “A mad elephant is coming—a mighty, mad elephant that can kill you. Hide yourself!” The disciple replied, “No, that cannot kill us. Gurudev said, ‘Everyone is God.’ How can God kill me?” He kept on going. The elephant seized him with its trunk. Though not completely crushed, some ribs were broken, and he was flung far over a house. Luckily, he landed on the grass kept for the cows, but he was in great pain. Now doubts arose about his master. How to believe the master’s words—Guru Vākya? The master’s words are truth, and one should do as he says. Yet the disciple was confused. “I trusted the master’s words that in everyone is God. I saw God in the elephant too. But how could God do this to me? I might have been killed.” After a few days of treatment, he returned to the master and said, “Master, I have a problem; I need a consultation.” The master, knowing well what troubled him, replied, “The big problem is that your ribs and everything are broken. First rest. After one month, we will have our consultation.” A month later, while sitting together in the same small hut, the master asked, “What do you want to speak?” The disciple poured out his love and trust: “Master, you know that I love you so much. I trust you. My life is yours. Anything you say or do for me is my blessing. And you said, ‘In everyone is God.’ But see what happened to me. People told me to run, but I trusted your words, not theirs—because you said God is in everyone. I trusted the elephant, but unfortunately, the elephant did not act as god.” The master replied, “Yes, that is true. Is that elephant God? Yes. Can he do this? Yes. But you did not trust my words. You did not follow my words—Guru Vākya. You didn’t understand.” The disciple protested, “What, Master? I am sorry, but I think I trusted you; I see God in everyone.” The master corrected him: “No, you didn’t see God in everyone.” The disciple asked, “Then tell me, what was my mistake?” The master asked, “People were warning you?” “Yes.” “Why didn’t you see God in those people? That God was warning you.” The disciple realized, “Oh, this I didn’t think.” The master said, “If you didn’t think this, then suffer. That’s it.” It is easy to say, “I am Ātmā, I am Supreme, I am everything.” But we are still very far from that knowledge and the use of viveka (discernment). The path is long, yet the first bhajan reminded us: Dheere Dheere Chaal Mana Gigan Ghar Chadnare Dhīre dhīre chāla mana gigana ghara caḍhanā re – walk slow, my mind, oh my mind, slowly, slowly. You have to climb up to the peak, the cosmic house. The streets are narrow and very slippery, and there are big holes and darkness. If you fall down on the slippery path in the darkness, you will fall into a deep hole and never come out again. Darkness is ignorance; the narrow street is the spiritual path we walk. Many temptations are like that slippery ground. Everyone around may say, “Are you crazy? Why are you doing this… that?” – these are temptations. If you fall into temptation, you drop into that deep hole. Therefore, walk carefully, walk slowly. Then the bhajan describes how powerful inner forces conspire to mislead us: Pāñca pacīsa bhelī hokara mohani rāga sunāī. The five elements, ten indriyas, five prāṇas, five upaprāṇas – these are twenty-five. They all come together and sing a sweet melody to you. What kind of melody? Desire. Longing. Such a sweet melody that they attract your mind and misguide you from your real path. You lose your way and go in the wrong direction. It is like a tactic from the Second World War: at night, armies would turn signposts so that the enemy, trusting the signs, would march in the wrong direction. Similarly, these temptations, these feelings, these bad associations (kuśaṅgas), these talks – all mislead us toward distraction. Mohanī means attractive. Moha is attachment, and mohanī is that kind of attraction that pulls you away. You like something, you look at it, and you walk away. Then you turn and look again. You walk ten meters and come back. What is that called? Window shopping. Mahāprabhujī used to tell a story. Once, a hungry, strong fox was searching for food. Some yogīs led by Dayālpuri from Maribor had gone to a meadow for yoga practice. Devpurījī, as you know, loves prasāda, so people had brought a big coconut to please him. They ate all the prasāda but could not open the coconut, and eventually they left and forgot it there. At eleven at night, the hungry fox came. He smelled the coconut and tried to bite it. The coconut was big, the fox’s mouth small. He tried from every side, rolling it, biting, sitting below it, jumping up – but he couldn’t open it. He went away five meters, but his nose pulled him back by the aroma. Again he tried and failed, and walked away. After twenty meters, he returned. Until three in the morning, he was going and coming back. In the end, he got nothing. Thus the saying goes: Rāma narel hai, mana syāra gurayoṃ le jāta, phoṛyoṃ to phūṭe nahī̃, girī kāna se khāta. The name of God, or self-realization, is that coconut. The mind is that fox, rolling here and there, trying everything. But it cannot open the nut. Unless it opens that nut, it cannot taste the sweet fruit inside. Spirituality is like that coconut. And the temptations of the world are also like another coconut. Neither this one nor that one opens; you remain suspended in between. Temptations and misguidance abound. Do you understand the Guru Vākyas? It is said that the master loves you a thousand times more than your parents. More than parents, God loves you. And more than God, the master loves you. If you understand this, you are already there. But again, our fox-like mind fails to realize this and cannot attain self-realization. The bhajan continues: Āca pacīsa bhelī hokara moha niraga sunāī. Five and twenty-five together come and sing you a sweet melody. Five Tattvas, five Jñānendriyas, five Karmendriyas, five Prāṇas, and five Upaprāṇas – these twenty-five elements constantly try to pull us in the wrong direction. Gathered in this body, they sing such a captivating melody that we lose all other preferences; we even turn against our dear ones – father, mother, grandparents, best friends. Intoxicated by those attachments, we are misled. Rastadega Bhulai – the path will be lost. Without knowing exactly the address, exactly what it truly is, and exactly what you really want, if someone tries to climb up, Pade, Dharan Parai – he will fall back to the ground. A mountain is beautiful: snow, glaciers, rocks, caves, waterfalls, lakes. Oh, let’s go! We feel drawn to Mount Kailash, Pūrṇa, or Everest. But without knowing the path and without knowing how, very soon you will fall down and have an eternal rest. So in Kuṇḍalinī awakening, meditation, any higher aim, we must know the path and go slowly, slowly. They say, “Walk like a mountain farmer.” City tourists rush about like monkeys – quickly, with sore muscles, heart trouble, sweating, even heart attacks. But mountain people walk slowly, with solid, balanced steps – slowly but surely. We move quickly but unsurely. So the refrain: Manava dhīre dhīre chala bhāī – O mind, slowly, slowly, step by step. Mahāprabhujī said, “My Gurudev, Śrī Devpurījī, gave me this knowledge. He gave me the hint, showed me the path, and gave me the advice on how to get there.” And as the bhajan says: Svāmī Dīpa Sannyāsī bole, guru kṛpā se pāī. “Only by guru’s grace can you realize this. Manvā dhīre dhīre chal, gigangar chadnā revay – walk slowly.” There are thousands of occasions to be misguided, and very rarely are you truly guided. The same happens on the spiritual path. Every day someone appears like a mushroom, suddenly teaching this kind of yoga, this exercise, that. Oh, beautiful. But for how long? These are water bubbles, soap bubbles on water. Children play with them; a nice ball forms. Try to touch it – as soon as you touch, it bursts. Nothing is there. That is māyā. It looks beautiful, but touch it and it’s finished. Better to look from afar. “Touching” means engaging, giving your interest. Therefore we need a solid spiritual backbone. That solid backbone is our spiritual heritage, the paramparā – the spiritual lineages that survive. That is authentic. The other is called Swayambhū – self-made. Self-made may be fine for a while, but one day it will be a big problem. You can write on your t-shirt, “I am the president of Hungary,” and it’s a nice shirt. But try to enter the parliament with that t-shirt. So playing guru and being a real guru are different. Many people mislead others out of commercial interests, for money. They don’t care what happens to the people after they disappear, and many don’t even have proper addresses – only a post box. As an old Indian saying goes: drink filtered water and choose your relations only after knowing their background. Spiritual heritage, lineage – that is a strong backbone. Everywhere you need a strong backbone: in politics, in your company, at home. At first in marriage, the husband seems the strong backbone, but after a few years, slowly his backbone bends, and the woman becomes the strong backbone. Finally, the winner is the woman. Even as a great-great mother, she is the strong backbone of the family; everyone consults her, and she gives good advice, good guidance. We need one leader with authentic power, knowledge, culture, and traditions. Yoga is not acrobatics or circus art. If you wish that, the best teachers are those in the circus training the artists. But what we want is different. It is Yoga in Daily Life, a complete system that builds up from the grassroots, from the first foundation stone to the skyscraper – step by step. Yet the aim is one: self-realization. Do not let yourself be misguided. Always know your aim, your vision, your destination. Like a dancer on a rope, walking, sometimes even dancing, while we look and film. The artist’s concentration, awareness, and alertness are on the balance of the rope. Even placing a slippery plate underfoot, concentration brings balance. So an artist must walk very carefully. Mahāprabhujī concluded: Āyi Siṅgh, again chaḍhanāre āyī, manavā dhīre dhīre, Jaya Siṅgh. Śrī Śrī Dev Purīṣa Mahādeva, Kī Jaya, Dharma Samrāṭ Śatguru Svāmī Madhavānandajī Bhagavān, Kī Jaya, Paramahaṁśrī Svāmī Maheśvarānandajī Gurudeva, Kī Jaya.