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Let’s begin with something joyful. Today we have two round birthdays. Sometimes if I say too little, it goes unnoticed, but now I must mention them. Lakṣmī from Strilky—where is she? She had to leave because her aunt is ill, just as Swāmījī spoke about. Still, we send her all our best for her 50th birthday. Thank you. And Gertrude from Vienna is here. All the best—it is a special occasion that you can be present today. Swāmījī is blessing, so you can look at whichever form you like. They are very different. Quickly, we don’t leave you. Also a round birthday, but we don’t say which. Is anyone else celebrating a birthday? No. Good. Our plan was to finish the morning lecture, but many were not there, and those on the webcast may not have heard it either. So I will first give a brief summary. Please bring the harmonium. We intended to continue the pre-dawn lecture, the bhajan interpretation, but since attendance was small and the webcast may have already ended, we will summarise the topic now. Sādhavī Pārvatī is currently lecturing on the Vedas, which form the scientific background of Hinduism and, of course, of yoga. A question naturally arises, especially when someone receives a yoga name like Gaṇeśa Purī, Śiva Purī, or Kṛṣṇa Purī: what do all these Hindu gods actually mean for us as yogīs? We are exploring this question using the example of Gaṇeśa, the elephant-headed deity. At the beginning of every satsaṅg, every ceremony, every marriage, Gaṇeśa is invoked first, for he is seen as the remover of obstacles. We always thank Gaṇeśa, the protector of the Akhāṛā. If you ask someone in India why this is so, they will answer with a story—usually from the Purāṇas, those great storybooks that convey spiritual teachings in a popular form. Many Indians choose Gaṇeśa as their iṣṭadeva, their chosen deity, directing all their love and worship to him as a channel to God. As I said this morning, Hinduism is the most tolerant religion: you may choose whatever you like, even Jesus or Buddha. However, when we look more closely at our bhajans—the teachings of Mahāprabhujī, his disciples, and Swāmījī—we find that, strictly speaking, they are not Hindu bhajans. Mahāprabhujī’s and Swāmījī’s teachings transcend religious labels. As you know from the Līlā Amṛt, Mahāprabhujī was respected by Hindus, Muslims, and people of all faiths as being beyond religion. When disputes arose, they came to him for his opinion. Yet most of the bhajans address Hindus, taking up their beliefs and then turning them in such a way as to reveal the essential teaching. To grasp this essence, you need a master, a guru. The bhajans do precisely this: they say, for instance, you may go on pilgrimage, to Kumbha Melā, to temples, worship the gods—but then comes a “but.” All of that is not enough; through it alone you will not attain liberation. As we heard yesterday, even strict sādhanā, tapasyā, and fasting are not sufficient without the guru’s guidance and blessing. Therefore, to understand the scriptures correctly, you need someone who removes the obstacles—and that, again, is the Guru. This brings us to the bhajan we looked at this morning: “Padhāro Mere Gaṇapati,” a Gaṇeśa bhajan. But it is dedicated to the Guru. For the devotee, Guru Dev is Gaṇeśa, the remover of obstacles. When you look deeper, you discover all divine qualities within the Guru. Take Holī Gurujī, Swāmījī’s master. In his early days he was a great devotee of Lord Kṛṣṇa, which is why we also call him Mādhava Kṛṣṇa. He loved Mahāprabhujī’s Kṛṣṇa bhajans. Yet the irony is that his guru was Śrī Devpurījī, regarded as an incarnation of Śiva. The Kṛṣṇa bhajans written by Mahāprabhujī were actually dedicated to Śrī Devpurījī. Do not be confused: the Guru is not confined to a single form. Ultimately, the Guru is Viṣṇu, Śiva, Brahmā, Lakṣmī—everything united in one. Holī Gurujī composed a beautiful bhajan, “Kyā pūcho ke sā dīpā dayālā,” which says exactly this. The refrain asks, “You ask, how was the merciful Mahāprabhujī? To speak the truth, he was like that.” Then each verse compares Mahāprabhujī with a divine aspect or saint: like Brahmā, he proclaimed the divine Vedas; like Viṣṇu, he sustained the universe; like Śiva, he was a great yogī and avadhūta, unattached from birth, destroying negative forces. Like Lord Rāma, he was Puruṣottama, the highest personification of God. Like Lord Kṛṣṇa, he perfected all arts, spontaneously answering questions through bhajans and performing peerless līlās—the divine games recorded in the Līlā Amṛt. Like Harish Chandra, he was a great benefactor. Like King Janaka, a Jīvan Mukta, liberated while living. Like Lord Buddha and Mahāvīra, he protected Ahiṃsā, unable to harm anyone because he saw his own form in all beings, having realised Oneness. Like Muni Śukadeva, a Bāl Brahmacārī from childhood, the perfect embodiment of wisdom. Like Gaṇeśa, he bestowed ṛddhis and siddhis. Like the child Dhruva, his bhakti was unshakable; his kingdom extended through all worlds. Like Śaṅkarācārya, he expounded Vedānta and conquered troublesome sects. Like Lord Indra, he showered the rain of divine nectar, Amṛta. Like Chandra, the moon god, his presence brought happiness and peace. Mahāprabhujī, the merciful lord of lords, shone with a light brighter than millions of suns. In the final verse, Holī Gurujī summarises: “In him I saw the formless, countless different aspects—I cannot think of anything that would not be in him.” That is the feeling of a devotee towards the Guru. Whatever we need, whatever we seek, we find in our Guru. So let us now sing this bhajan. Returning to the example of Gaṇeśa, we can identify two approaches. The first is to choose Gaṇeśa as your iṣṭadeva, the God to whom you pray and surrender. The second, which is strongly present in our bhajans, is to see the Guru as Gaṇeśa—the remover of obstacles, the one who explains the essence of the scriptures and, more importantly, guides us practically in our sādhanā. Our sādhanā is yoga. How are these connected? Swāmījī once spoke about the word Gaṇeśa. Sanskrit is a scientific language; simply look at the word. Gaṇeśa, Gaṇapati, Gaṇarāja all contain “gaṇa.” Gaṇa refers to the minor gods—not Brahmā, Viṣṇu, or Śiva, but other aspects of the divine: for instance, Vāyu the wind god, Varuṇa the water god, Bhūmī Mother Earth. The Ṛg Veda is filled with hymns to such aspects. Essentially, the gaṇas are the various elements of creation, the tattvas. “Eśa” is short for Īśvara, the Lord. Thus Gaṇeśa means the Lord who controls these gaṇas, these elements of creation. Gaṇapati and Gaṇarāja convey the same meaning: the lord or king of the elements. Now, what does this have to do with yoga? Consider what Swāmījī always asks: What is yoga? Wherever there is a problem, there is imbalance—in the body, in the mind, in society, in the universe. Yoga is that balancing principle. As Swāmījī says again and again, there is one principle that balances the entire universe, and that principle I call yoga. So Gaṇeśa, the controller of the elements, is the one who can bring harmony and balance. Swāmījī teaches us yoga so that we learn to balance. Through his teaching, we ourselves become Gaṇeśa. An obstacle is an imbalance, a disharmony; what Gaṇeśa does is remove the imbalance and restore harmony, and the obstacles vanish. Exactly this, in a very practical way, Swāmījī teaches through āsana, prāṇāyāma, and all yoga techniques: to bring balance within and around us. As we said before, the Guru is our Gaṇeśa. And in the end, the Guru transforms us into Him, so that we too become Gaṇeśa. That is Swāmījī’s practical teaching. Now we can understand where we stand, where Swāmījī is, and what Gaṇeśa means for us. Do you have any questions? No? Good. Because of the time, let us begin the prayer now. The satsaṅg started late, so we must tighten everything a little. I suggest we take a short break and not finish too late in the evening. Let us start with the prayer.