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Part 1: The Svādhiṣṭhāna Cakra: Between Reality and Illusion Today, we begin again with the topic of the cakras, focusing specifically on the Svādhiṣṭhāna Cakra. We have spoken about it before, but I wish to delve even deeper. For many, it is difficult to imagine what a cakra truly is, how it functions, and what it does. It is challenging to describe with words. It is somewhat like this: a person who cannot speak tastes a piece of sugar or an apple. Although they know the taste, it is difficult to explain. So it is with our personal feelings, which we often cannot describe or express. There is a beautiful poem about a master, a Guru. "Gu" means darkness and "Ru" means light. The Guru is the consciousness, the principle, the tattva—the one who leads us from darkness to light. The light we realize is indescribable. There are no words to express gratitude. It is like someone saving us from death. If a person who cannot swim falls into the water, another who can swim, the rescuer, comes and saves them. The rescuer has acted gladly. The saved person can say "thank you," but not everything is conveyed by that word. It is far greater than words can express. The heart, the inner feelings, the consciousness of this person is millions of times stronger and more grateful than the single word "thank you" can convey. Thus, the Master is the Savior of our soul, our Ātman. He saves us from eternal suffering, pain, darkness—namely, rebirth and death. But for those who cannot fully grasp this, the master is usually seen merely as a teacher: a schoolteacher, a sports instructor, a swimming coach, a riding instructor. A good, kind, and likeable person with whom one gets along well and enjoys learning from. That understanding is too little. Praise is given, but the prize is for the element that stands between a student and a teacher. This is the most important thing: the result and God. The intermediate connection, the invisible wisdom, the invisible love that flows in between. This kind of love, this devotion, bhakti, or gratitude, is hardly describable. There is a poem: I could use the entire Earth as paper, all the trees as pens, and all the great oceans of the world as ink. Nevertheless, oh Lord, it is too little to write what I have received or what it means to me. I can write on paper, with a pen, about the vast ocean, but I cannot write the glory of the Guru. I cannot conclude the glory of my master. That is understood only by one who has realized it. For others, it is only about a relationship—as a friend, as a person, as someone who brings you to Mahāprabhujī Karatā Purījī, Siddha Purījī... But to say whether these cakras truly reside along the spine—if so, then they depend on our physical body, which is located in a specific part. In reality, feelings rise up. They do not come from the lower part of the body, the torso, but from the brain. Yet, they do not come from the brain, but from thought. And they do not come from thought, but from experiences. But they do not come from experiences either; rather, they come from objects. And they do not come from objects, from the external, but from how you accept them, how you perceive them. This is how feelings are developed within you. When one sees a cross, one experiences feelings, devotion, meaning—a symbol of love for God, Jesus, as the Holy Cross. If one sees a pitchfork, or the devil's trident, or a terrible symbol, it awakens feelings of negative things. These feelings then go into certain parts of our body, manifest and store themselves there. In this science of the cakras, it is easier when someone has whispered this word into our ears. Now it is difficult for us. In a bhajan, Mahāprabhujī said that God created the world, but in reality, He created a network, a complex network for living beings. Now all living beings are caught in this network like fish in a net. They will, but cannot do anything. Everyone wants, but we cannot do it; we cannot manage anything. Illusion is like water, O Lord; it binds with the bonds of karma and entangles the jīva. Illusion is attachment. This is a very important point. We know that attachment leads us to sorrow, yet it remains pleasant. If one has eczema and we know that scratching makes it worse and can cause infection, when one goes to sleep, the hand automatically scratches deeply. It continues because the itching is very pleasant. The foolish mind cannot comprehend that these pleasant feelings can also be dangerous. Such is Moha. Moha is a strong attachment, a strong rope that has bound us tightly, extending outward. And then there is Māyā, this illusion. We live in a world where illusion exists. Here, illusion means it exists, but it is nothing, and there we can comprehend nothing. We say it exists, but the one who is beyond these things says it is nothing. That is our difficulty, our problem. I say it is nothing, and you say it is. When driving on dry roads in bright daylight, after a few hundred meters you may see a patch of water. It seems the road is full of water. It is nothing, yet it is, because we see it. We see it very clearly, distinctly. And it is nothing. We come closer and closer, and it goes on and on. What do they say? A mirage, like the horizon. Someone asked, what is a horizon? The horizon is such that the closer you get, the further away it moves. You can never reach a horizon. This mirage is like that too; you come closer, and it goes on and on. In Austria, there is little to experience this. Whoever wants to experience it must go somewhere like the Sahara. You sometimes see it in the summer in Hungary at the Pusta. I know it very well because in Rajasthan we have many deserts. There, when it does not rain much and it is very hot, many animals die because they have no water to drink. A deer sees water; it sees a lake. It is so thirsty that it runs and runs there to drink. It cries out, runs and runs, but does not reach it; there is no water. It can no longer continue; it stands up, falls down, runs again until its last strength, and dies. Therefore, this word, in our Sanskrit language, in Hindi, means Mṛgatṛṣṇā. Mṛga means a deer, Tṛṣṇā is a desire, a longing that runs and runs and runs, but does not find. So this is Māyā. In reality, our body is Māyā. It does not truly exist. It is over. It is like that, a mirage, unattainable. It is gone. Nothing there at all. And if there is absolutely nothing there, that means there was nothing. And when it was, there was only disappointment. But to accept that is difficult for today’s civilization, and also back then. This is an eternal struggle between a sage who sees reality and not unreality, or knows the differences between reality and unreality, and us. That is where we got stuck. On one side, our pride, our intellect, does not accept this. And that is why many people cannot realize it. Or one reaches a point called Kuṇḍalinī. When the kuṇḍalinī rises, energy moves upward or downward. Power is considered, but you can no longer control it. So these are things that cannot be verified; they are unprovable. It can be an illness, psychological disturbances, many things. One can solve that with one thing: well, you meditated incorrectly or did something, or, of course, suddenly your kuṇḍalinī has awakened, a certain cakra has opened. For me, that is only a consolation. This consolation is like a small child crying for its mother. The babysitter says, "Well, look through the window, there comes Mama, do you see?" The child says, "Yes, there, there, I see you, there you are around the corner, here you come, do you see?" The child believes, "Yes Mama, come," but in reality, nothing comes. That is only a consolation, a reassurance. Kuṇḍalinī is a wisdom. This wisdom is an experience of reality. So it is difficult to prove exactly which cakras are where. But these feelings have been distributed according to the qualities of specific cakras. They have been distributed to various organs or parts of the body where approximately these feelings radiate or act, or where such feelings are roughly comparable to these things. Thus, one cannot simply say, "Well, now I will focus on the Svādhiṣṭhāna-cakra." It is said the Svādhiṣṭhāna-cakra is located just above where the spine ends, or at the last vertebra, near the legs. This center is associated with our passion. Why? Because this center is also below. But passion cannot awaken anything, nor concentrate from there. Passion must first enter your thoughts, enter your brain. When you see your mother, you do not have these feelings. But when you see your wife or your girlfriend, then you have these feelings. It is your mind that transmits these feelings and then sends them in certain directions; it could also be the heart. When a beloved person sees God, then you rejoice in your heart. When you see someone you do not like at all and it feels like a burden, then you torment yourself inwardly. But if someone loses consciousness or memory due to an accident, then it does not matter who comes. He sits there, looking blank. Sometimes an animal can recognize the farmer who tends the fields every day. But this person, who has completely lost memory, finds the entire world empty. It is like a shadow image; there are no images there anymore. It is just a canvas, not standing on its own. For this person, no cakra seems active anywhere. So that means they are automatically bound somewhere. Everything we hear, see, read, realize, describe—it is a manifestation of your mind. I often use these two words: mind and state. The state of the body, the state of the mind, the state of consciousness, the state at home, in families, at the workplace—the entire atmosphere you create has been created through your mind. This mind has manifested over several lifetimes. Once he was a king, once he was Indra, Brahmā, and once he was a little mosquito. He has persevered, continuously moving forward. Thus, the state has been created by the intellect. But if the state goes too far, then the human mind cannot endure the state, cannot master anything. When the state runs on like wild horses and the mind remains as a rider but has no reins and cannot catch the horses, he stands there with empty hands. When the state is no longer controlled by the mind, dangerous situations arise. Each cakra has a specific aspect, a particular connection with our daily life and experiences. Every day, we are confronted with things that make a great impression on our mind. This mind further guides impressions into our consciousness: unconsciousness or subconsciousness, consciousness or highest consciousness, or cosmic consciousness. A scientist of cakras cannot describe everything with a small notation and then realize it. We can write a lot, but when reality comes, it is difficult. We have reached the stage where for us there is a question: it is, or it is not. All of humanity suffers from this. All living beings suffer, but humans are particularly affected. Because if I say, "Swāmījī is not here," everyone will say, "He is lying. He sits there, he is there." But the one who knows the transcendental reality says, "It is not there." And so, you are sitting here as well, but you are not present. This cannot be comprehended. That is a difficult point. As long as we cannot comprehend this, we will not be able to understand any of it. One side, thank God perhaps, is that we cannot comprehend anything. Because when we understand this, something else will happen. Other serious things can happen. One gives up on everything. One says, "Why should I eat? Why do I drink? Why do I not want to drink?" This means one is ready to give their life. That would then be wrong again; that would be schizophrenia, a state of diffusion, explained as illness. To consciously hold life and this body as a tool, to use it as a tool, and not to feel that "I am a tool." No. Your body is a tool for you. You are not a tool. Because without this body, we cannot experience this reality. If there is no person, then there is no horizon either. Or there are no sense organs. It is you who is perceiving. Thus, it is difficult for us to say with one hundred percent certainty, "Yes, now I have cleansed my Svādhiṣṭhāna-cakra, now I have awakened my Svādhiṣṭhāna-cakra, now I know exactly where my Svādhiṣṭhāna-cakra is, what it looks like, and what I can do with it." These are very beautiful words and things, but in reality, it is something entirely different. I would like to tell you about the Svādhiṣṭhāna-cakra, but I did not want to disappoint you again. Because on one side it is, and on the other side it is not. Now we stand between two chairs; what shall we do? No, it is there and yet nothing is there. So, what is there and what is not there, we should discern for ourselves. Then one becomes a master. The master means the one who has everything under control, whom he has mastered. A driver is the master of a car, which he can control. And so the Svādhiṣṭhāna Cakra appears. I have already spoken about its significance in a previous lecture. I hope you were all present. "Sva" means self, like in Swāmī. "Sthāna" means place. I can also see: there is Pakistan, Afghanistan, and many -stans, Registan. Also, Russia was the Ṛṣi Land, the land of the Ṛṣis. The word Russia comes from Ṛṣis. Back then, during the time of the Rāmāyaṇa and Mahābhārata, in this region, it is mentioned in the Mahābhārata that all the ṛṣis lived there. Sthāna, Svādhiṣṭhāna—our own place, where we now exist, where we are. We are now in this situation, this state. We have stayed here now. And this is the Svādhiṣṭhāna. The Svādhiṣṭhāna is the center where everything now begins to reflect. The Mūlādhāra is more or less the frozen one. It is like a block of ice. When the ice begins to melt, it becomes fluid, it moves, it flows. So, our existence here means that now we are immersed in feelings. It flows into feelings. And these are the karmas, the impressions that exist on our level of consciousness. It is like a disk of a computer where everything is stored. With the press of a button, you can trigger everything. Through technique, we know we can keep everything inside for a long, long time, for as many years as it will exist. Thus, we try to find a button to dissolve all our karmas, but it is difficult. That is Karma. Therefore, "Mo Māyā kā jāl Prabhu nirachāyā." "Jāl" means net. I have already explained: Māyā, "Jāl" is a net. A net means one cannot escape. A common metaphor always used in India is a spider. A spider weaves a nest from its own saliva and then gets stuck inside it. Whether it wants to or not, it cannot do anything. It is stuck. It is its own creation. So our karma, our moha, our attachment, our error, our suffering—all of it we have created ourselves. And we have stayed inside. We hang there and we die in this net. "Mine, mine, mine." One can see what a great error it is. For example, today you can see in the neighboring country Yugoslavia that they are fighting over land. Yesterday, we saw in the Mahābhārata that the Rājaguru, the royal guru, told the king: "The land does not belong to you; you belong to the land. Land will always remain, and land belongs to God. We are here only as guests." How beautiful it would be if we could live peacefully with this wisdom. All those poor soldiers who die on the battlefield have lost this homeland forever. How is it that someone who dies here is born in another land where they have fought against someone? And then he fights back again on the other side. In reality, one does not know whether one is truly fighting against one’s own brother, mother, sister, or father. Because you only know this life; you do not know the other life. The Ātman changes the body just as this body changes clothes. This is the reality. When someone experiences this reality, then nothing else remains. To kill someone, to take a life, just for that—such a possession is an illusion. We believe, "It is my possession, I own that." Yes, for everyday language, we use these words. But in reality, it possesses you. And one day it will release you. And it remains as it is. Like this little tale of two brothers, I can repeat once more. It was in a small village where a farming family lived along with two or three houses. They were very poor; it did not rain, there was too much snow and cold winters, dry summers and cold winters. They had nothing at all. Both brothers, two strong brothers, decided: "We will go to Vienna or the big state and we will work there and earn some bread, and when we come back, we will bring something to eat." Both brothers, they had a small horse or, let’s say in today's time, a moped. They rode a moped. They were driving through the forest when someone came towards them on the path—a saint, a monk, a yogi—and said to both of them: "Do not continue on this path. Why? Because there sits a spirit, a Ghost. And this mind, the devil, will kill you." Well, for all of us, the devil has become a fairy tale. They say, "Do not go through the dark forest, for the devil sits there." Every day on the highway, many, many cars travel. Why doesn’t the devil stop every car? Whether the devil exists or not is difficult. Part 2: The Parable of the Two Brothers and the Net of Māyā Today, there are people who do not believe and who have no fear of this devil. Two brothers said to a yogi, "You poor yogi, does the devil not exist for you? The devil cannot kill us. We both have a rifle with us. We are experts, we are strong, we are warriors. Please, give us way; go away and let us pass." He said once again, "I tell you once again, please do not go; the devil will kill you." They replied, "Very well, then we want to see how strong your devil is, and you will also see that we make it through." Hardly had they driven half a kilometer further through a dense forest when suddenly they saw something. There lay a safe—a huge ark filled with much gold and jewelry, worth millions inside. The two brothers looked at it and laughed. "You see, that was the saint's trick. He went to fetch transport because it is very heavy and cannot be carried by oneself. This is a trick meant to distract us from our path, which we must not allow. But what he thinks now belongs to us. It is ours, and we will carry it." Both brothers parked their moped and were very happy, embracing each other. They kissed each other on the cheeks and said, "How rich we are! We truly set off under a favorable constellation." Mahāprabhudīpa Karatā Mahāprabhudīpa Karatā. "Watch out," they said, "what does the saint believe? Whoever comes is before my rifle; no one can come here." The younger brother, who was kind, took a gold coin and rode the moped to a village. Throughout the journey, he saw only the precious gems and gold they had found. He came to a village, sold the gold coin, and bought something good to eat. But he constantly thought of how rich he was now and of all the fortune they had found. Now his Buddhi, and now this Māyā, confused him completely. Bāp Kabāb Lob—yesterday I spoke of Bāp Kabāb Lob. The father of sin is greed, selfish greed. Where there is greed, there sin dwells. And now greed came and took possession of his Buddhi. That means his mind became completely confused. "Yes, so much gold," he thought. "But I must share that with my brother. If I could possess everything alone, then I could say I am the richest. Well, why not? My brother is also rich. Yes, but still, we are two then. I am not yet the richest. It may be that the eldest brother says, 'You are the younger brother, you get the smaller part.' What can I do?" He thought and formed an image. Now he became wiser in his thoughts. "Yes," he thought, "the sages say life is nothing. One dies anyway. Whether it is a brother or a father, one must die one day, sooner or later. Well, my brother must die someday too, so why not today?" And so he bought poison and mixed it into the food. "I will give the food to my brother; then without pain he will fall asleep. And I will say to my sister-in-law, 'Well, unfortunately he has passed away,' and I will give her something so she can also live well." Before, both brothers loved each other so much; it was like two in one, like legumes sharing a pod. So he bought poison, mixed it in, and set out on his way. On the other side, the eldest brother stood beside the safe; he could not sit, he was restless. He stood up, sat down again, and again. He was completely hypnotized by this whole Māyā and had the same thoughts: "If I could inherit everything alone, I would be a king. But unfortunately, I have to share it with my brother. Well, they say one day you die and everything is left behind. Surely my brother comes unprepared; he comes to me completely relaxed. I have a rifle in my hand; I just need to press a button. With that, my brother is already in the happiest state." He resolved, prepared his rifle, and waited. The younger brother came, poison in his pocket, measured into the food. He arrived, and the eldest brother killed him. So there he lay—on one side the moped, on the other side the brother. The eldest brother cried a little. "My beloved brother, forgive me, but it couldn't be otherwise," and so on, a little more animal-like. And now the brother said, "Well, it's also very good that I don't need to share with my brother, so that I might continue with the whole safe using this moped. But I am weak; I must eat first." So he said, "Brother, I am sorry," and so forth. And he reached into the food, took something, and ate. While eating, he started to walk and then lay down. Hario, broken. And now both are dead. The saint came by again and said, "Oh God, I told them this devil would kill them, and they did not believe it. Now I have to bury the two of them. How many people has this devil killed?" And then he continued, burying them and so on. And thus is Moha. Moha is this attachment, so strong that it confuses even the fully enlightened Buddha. Then one cannot think so purely and clearly. And unfortunately, Rāga (attachment) supports us very strongly. And so this Māyā is the devil. Mo Māyākā Jāla Prabhunirachayā—it may be that God created this world. But that means this complication, this web, was indeed created by God. Mo Māyākā Jāla Prabhunirachayā, Diyā Karamakabandha—He who has tied the knot of karmas to this net. Jīvako Pāśayā—all individuals, all abundance, are in this net; it cannot be out. A fish lies in the ocean, yet trapped in a net. Sooner or later, the fisherman will come and cast the net. Whether they want to get along, they cannot, because they are not themselves. Then he says, Prajñādvayā Gurudeva Param Upakārī. That is why the manifestation, the incarnation of the Guru, the Master—the Tattva is manifested in this world. The supreme benefactor, the highest benefactor, is virtue. The one, they say, is virtuous. Guggenhaft, thank you. Momāyā Kājala Kāṭa Diyābhārī—and then he cut through this knot, or this net, of that Momāyā. And once again, all the fish are free, happily swimming away quickly. And so we are trapped; we are caught in this net. These threads are so invisible, but they are there; they are so strong. Cutting through them is not our task nor within our power. We need a wisdom that can cut through, that can dissolve. When light shines, then darkness disappears. And so these elements or feelings in the cakras are the invisible network—as qualities, as feelings. And so now it has begun, in Svādhiṣṭhāna Cakra. Svādhiṣṭhāna, where one has now become aware in this phenomenon: "Yes, I am. But you are trapped." As long as the fish lives in the ocean, free, it does not know what life means. It gets its nourishment; maybe it eats a small fish or something, and it lives without pain, swimming gently back and forth. But as soon as it is caught in the net and pulled out of the water, it now knows what life means or what my free portion means. And so, as long as one has not attained this consciousness, the human consciousness lives in ignorance and does not know what God means. But then, as soon as a person becomes conscious, unfortunately, they find themselves caught in a web. This phenomenon is a strong web, and we cannot cut it out. Of course, we have many techniques, many theories that tell us how we can do it. But again, this foolish mind cannot accept anything. So Mahāprabhujī said, even he himself does not know; if one does not believe the words of the Master, what can God do with that person? And so arguments always arise: when a mantra comes, when a prayer comes, when a technique comes, then yes. But why not this, or why not that? Also, discussion would be a waste of time, a loss of time. It is very important, if we wish to free ourselves from this net, then how can it be consistent to practice it daily with discipline and reflect upon it? And not to fall back into this Māyā again. So Māyā is, and Māyā is also nothing. Essentially, we are ourselves. We disappoint ourselves. And so, in the Svādhiṣṭhāna Cakra, there are certain qualities that are very strong, pleasantly good. And then I will continue speaking; let us take a short break for 10 minutes. Harjo. Please? The mind creates the state. The mind creates the state. Is there anyone else in the anteroom? So the second part of it would then be consciousness. Consciousness is an important part of our existence. Consciousness is the light of the soul that guides us, that keeps us attentive. Consciousness is the state, or consciousness is the field where the soul abides. Consciousness is the womb where the soul develops, just as an embryo develops there. Consciousness has several levels, but this consciousness passes through multiple stages. Consciousness is consciousness; light is light, dependent on the light screen—how dense it is and what color it has. And so one can say consciousness is also in a stone; also a crystal grows. Consciousness is everywhere. And consciousness is called subconscious, unconscious, consciousness, highest consciousness, divine or cosmic consciousness. Unconsciousness is like sleep; it is a state of sleep paralysis. Just as in this hot piece there is also fire, but this fire is no longer active; it is sleeping, dormant fire. And consciousness is the canvas on which everything exists. The entire frequency or vibration of our karma exists on the canvas of our consciousness. From stone to plants, consciousness is very low; it is unconsciousness. From the fish to the animals is the second part: consciousness, subconsciousness. And human consciousness is a consciousness. And the consciousness that can be attained through meditation, through prayers, and so forth, is the highest consciousness. That means a consciousness of a certain kind. And then, when this consciousness unites the individual phenomenon with cosmic consciousness, it is called unity, cosmic consciousness. Now, although we are so divided as humans, we are here, yet still, our roots are very deep like stones. Our portion of our unconsciousness is all of our past lives. All impressions from the previous life are in the unconscious. Simply forgetting it is not enough. It is there, and one cannot simply overcome it just by forgetting or trying to forget. You cannot stray from the path. You can run as fast as you want, but the sack always comes along. The shadow moves just as quickly as you do. So, whether this life or another life, one cannot escape from one's śikṣā or one's karma. And consciousness is a part of our Svādhiṣṭhāna Cakra. Where do we become aware now? Why do we become aware? We are human beings. We know the differences. We know what problems are. That means human consciousness is a brighter consciousness, a vigilant consciousness. The more vigilant one is, the more one awakens, the more problems one will notice. As long as one sleeps tiredly in their room, one does not notice anything lying around and so forth. Unwashed dishes lie in the kitchen, and the laundry and all that are there, but you are so tired and you enjoy your sleep. Nothing disturbs you; you are asleep. But as soon as you wake up, you say, "Oh God, Strilky, I have to clear all this away." Then you begin to purify things. And so now, from human consciousness, we have awakened; we have become aware from our subconscious. And this subconscious consists of animalistic qualities. These are the qualities that always pull us downward, that always want to lead us to other planes. And these are our difficulties as problems. And there are three important things, which are called Mala, Vikṣepa, and Āvaraṇa. And these three principles—Mala, Vikṣepa, Āvaraṇa—are very important for cleansing. Mala means impurity, dirt. Vikṣepa means disturbances. Āvaraṇa means curtain. So, for example, in this glass or in a hall there is liquid inside, and at the bottom lies a coin or something, a ring or anything. Now, this liquid is not pure. It has waves within it. The waves are constant; can you not read or see what is down there? And on top of that, they are covered. It is there, but you cannot see through it. This curtain has covered it. When you remove the curtain, there are the disturbances, the waves, so that you cannot see clearly. And even one who is calm cannot see, because impurity is present there. And these are the things from the Svādhiṣṭhāna Cakra for the purification of the path. Mala means impurity. And this impurity has two types. An impurity, as we say, always dust—it must move. Clothes will wear out; our body becomes dusty; it must wear out. This is very easy to wash. This impurity is easy to cleanse. The second type of impurity lies very deep in the mind, in the mind. And this mind is not easy to purify. Our thoughts—how do we know how pure they are? Our feelings—how pure they are. Our experiences—how pure they are. So this impurity means dishonest thoughts. And this dishonest thought darkens the light of our consciousness. People believe that no one can read their thoughts. For that, I have my freedom to think. We have the freedom to think, but we must know that this thinking has a repercussion on our own Self. And so the man destroys himself. The man stands on his own path. The self is an obstacle on its own path. To cleanse the body, to cleanse things, we may need an hour, a day, a week, perhaps a month or even a year. But to purify this consciousness, we may need several lifetimes. One can be materially poor, but in thought one should not be poor. Think wisely, think positively, think fully with your love, devotion, grace. And this is the one who will guide us further. Outer purity is important for society. It is love first and foremost. Love your neighbor. Always listen, often there. Alright, it doesn't bother you if you don't wash your socks for one or two months. But it is not love at first that actually brings others close to you. It disturbs one. So that is not love, to begin with. Disturbance, Vikṣepa. Vikṣepa means disturbances. Now, there are also two types of disturbances. A disturbance is the sound tone, a sound or a discord, a noise. And sound has multiple forms. Noise from the car, noise from the children's playground, noise from the neighbor, from the radius and various noises from the kitchen, from the woman who is always making noise while washing dishes, ironing—the man cannot sleep or meditate. Or noise that the man is working in the garden. All these kinds of traveling, whatever comes from outside, is like Vikṣepa. But these kinds of travels can be more easily avoided. If you have no opportunity to avoid it, then you can take a little earwax and refrain from these kinds of travels. Or in the park, it happens as one walks in the forest. But there are other kinds of journeys that lie within ourselves. And these are the Vikṣepa. And this type of vikṣepa is very difficult to remove. And these vikṣepa are personal feelings, fear. It is fear that makes us restless. It is our insecurity that leads us into fear. Fear, insecurity, anxiety, fear of anything—illnesses, of people, of existence, no matter what kind—inner fear is a powerful disturbance. This vikṣepa is very difficult to remove. Distracted, restless thoughts, sleeplessness, anger, hatred—these are the inner disturbances. And as long as these waves are present, what Patañjali said in his theory, in the Yoga Sūtras—the vṛttis, the citta vṛttis. The vṛttis are the waves, the thought waves, that come and go, come and go. And when the waves are there, one cannot dive in clearly. Although water is very clear. Now, we come to clear water. The water is completely clear. Something of you has entered the lake from the ground. But it is quite clear. And you want to dive deep because it lies a little deeper. And you cannot hold your breath for that long. You want to know exactly where it lies. Puri Jī Puri Jī... Amitābha Amitābha... Explain everything to people, according to Yoga, what this is and that is, and say, "Okay, you can do it, but please, I do not want to hear about it; I have nothing to do with it. Do not leave me; you must not influence me." So this is an Āvaraṇa. And there is a little story about a lion cub. In the wild, a lion cub, completely fresh, a newly born baby. The mother is chased away somewhere, runs off, and comes to someone—a goatherd—and he takes this little baby with him. He immediately gives milk from the goat to drink, takes it home, and again gives milk from the goat to drink. He locks it up in the same stable where the goats are. Other days he takes it along again, so to speak. He raised this lion cub like a goat. It also ate the grass, ate the leaves, and so on. Now, although he was a lion, he thinks he is also a goat. A bird suddenly flies from somewhere into the tree, and the goats get startled. And so the lion is now frightened as well. Once a different lion came, a real grown wild lion, and he wanted to have a goat for breakfast. All the goats ran away out of fear, and even this lion, who is now grown up, quickly ran away with the goats. The goats also made the small spheres, and he did something as well, apart from fear. Only the wild lion thinks, "Why is my relative there? Why is he running away? Is he afraid of the lion?" So he ran quickly, handed over the goat, and then wanted to catch his lion. And so he has already captured him. And he screams and closes his eyes and says, "Please don't touch my hand; please leave me alone. I am a poor goat and so on." And the lion says, "You are not a goat; you are a lion." He said, "Do not lie; I am not a lion. You are a foolish, dangerous lion; please let me go." He says, "You are a lion." "No, I am not a lion. I am afraid and run away with my people." He said, "No, you are a lion; you will set me free. I cannot see that you walk around as a lion among the goats." He took him along and came to a puddle of water and said, "Now look into your own face and then look at me. Whether you look like me or you look like a goat." And then he sat down in the water, and he sees small ears, lots of hair, and so on. No horns and no long horns and so on. And he says to the lion and then back again and again. "Do you really say I am a lion?" He said, "Yes, you are a lion." "No, why am I wandering around with these goats? Why am I afraid?" He said, "This is a misconception. This is a society. Society has brought you this far. And now you are a lion; come with me." And he returned to nature in freedom. So, this breath is the essence, a part of God. But we believe that God is there and we are just small people somewhere. And we cannot do that, and we suffer, and we are afraid, and all of that. So, through our wisdom, we are to awaken the fact that we are lions, that we are breathers. But there are many people who draw the curtain. They do not want that, even though you want to show them. But they say, "No, I do not want to have anything to do with it. Leave me alone; I am content with where I am and how I am." And so are the veils, also the veils of the Śikṣā. These types of curtains are easier to open, but the curtains of Śikṣā are difficult to open.