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Our entire endeavor is this: we wish to develop ourselves in a positive way, so positively that we overcome all suffering—karmic, physical, mental, emotional, and intellectual. We aspire to reach a state where there is no more birth and death, no more karma, and no more suffering. Only everlasting bliss. Two principles exist. One is called God, or Truth, Cosmic Self, Reality, or the Divine. That is one. The second is the individual, which is yourself. The individual has many aspects, connected to the five bodies: mind, emotion, ego, and attachment—where you feel "this is mine," "I would like," "I am," and so on. Individuals have their qualities, and the Cosmic One has its qualities. To become one with that Cosmic One—whatever you name it: God, Reality, Ultimate Truth, Cosmic Self, Divine—you can only do so if you give up your individuality. Otherwise, it is not possible. There is a parable. A large salt statue asked people, "How deep is the ocean?" Some said ten meters, some said half a meter, some said two hundred, some said one thousand meters. The statue was confused; no one gave a definitive answer. Each was right according to their own limited experience. Someone finally told the statue, "The best thing is for you to jump into the ocean and find out for yourself. We will wait here for you to return and tell us." The mighty salt statue jumped into the ocean. We are still waiting; it never came out. Do you know why? It melted. And that is why the ocean is salty. In this example, the salt melted; its solid form changed into liquid. But steel does not become one with water. Here, the salt did not fully give up its identity, for we still say "salty water." The water itself has no salt, but the salt remains within it. The physical form dissolved, but the identity remained. Only when the salt gives up its very principle, its nature, its quality of saltiness, can you no longer identify any salt within the water. Then, true union occurs. Similarly, yoga means union. This union is between the individual—the person sitting here, whether you call it māyā or kāyā—and God. When one becomes one with God, there is no more māyā or kāyā. Consider rivers. Many rivers flow and sooner or later join the Danube. Upon joining, a river loses its name; it becomes the Danube. When the Danube enters the Black Sea, you no longer call it Danube; it is the ocean. As soon as the river merges into the ocean, it loses its identity completely. You become one with the ocean. Now, ask yourself: do you want to remain Mr. X, Y, or Z, or do you want to become one with God? If you wish to become one with God, you must surrender to God completely. Nothing is mine. A river does not keep a part of itself separate from the ocean for security, thinking, "In case I don't like it, I can flow back." We often say, "Lord, everything is yours. I surrender to you—my body, mind, consciousness, intellect, and soul." But then we add, "But Lord, let me be happy. Let me be healthy. Lord, guide me." If you have truly given everything to Him, who is left to ask for guidance? This is a crucial point. This should be our aim: to one day become one with that Cosmic One. That is the end of all suffering, all problems, karma, rebirth, and death. To achieve this, we must be disciplined. A river always flows toward the ocean. Even if the ocean is very salty, the river does not turn back. Have you ever seen a river flow backward? I have not. Why? Because the river has its direction, its path, its discipline. Nothing can stop its disciplined course. Similarly, a seeker of God must have discipline. You must be faithful to your path, your practice, your way, your master, and your mantra. Once you have begun, it is too late to turn back. The river has no reverse gear. To follow discipline, we must reach a point where we satisfy our mind. Patañjali says, "Yogaḥ citta-vṛtti-nirodhaḥ." Through yoga practice, you pacify all the vṛttis (modifications) of your mind. Yoga truly begins when you can control your breath. The mind has countless thoughts. The mind is like the moon, which never appears the same; it changes daily. The moon represents emotion, which is like water. Water must flow; if it remains stagnant, it begins to smell foul. When you dream of water—clean or dirty—it is all māyā. This is not bad; it is simply the nature of the mind. The mind operates on two principles: saṅkalpa and vikalpa. Saṅkalpa is to make a resolution, to decide something. Vikalpa is to dissolve that decision. You decide to eat an apple, but then you see a beautiful melon and change your mind. As the melon is served, you see a mango and choose that instead. The mind is always changing between saṅkalpa and vikalpa. It is the mind that leads you astray, and it is the mind that leads you rightly. It is your mind that takes you away from someone and brings you to someone. Conflict between partners exists only in the mind. When husband and wife align their minds in oneness, they are happy together. When the mind has peaceful thoughts, there is no depression or schizophrenia. All desires and intense longings reside in the mind, not the body. The mind can destroy your spirituality, and it can help build it. It is said that negative thinking is like poisoning yourself. When you think negatively, you poison your psyche. Healthy blood cells die from negative thinking and multiply with positive thinking. It does not matter what you are thinking about—your leaking bathroom, your car, your food, your bed, your shoes, your hairstyle, your skin, your children, parents, partner, job, money, traffic, the weather—anything. Whenever you become angry or negative, you damage your health. This is what we call stress. To free yourself from such feelings and thoughts, to calm yourself, is called relaxation. Therefore, Patañjali says to master your mind, to control the vṛttis, so you are not disturbed by your thoughts. Imagine a peaceful pond with no wind, clean and still. If you throw a small stone into the middle, circles and waves form. This one-gram stone creates not one, but many waves, radiating in every direction. Similarly, any thought that enters your mind creates more thoughts, more waves. A negative thought about one person spreads to all people and influences every level of your consciousness. All five of your bodies are affected. Patañjali warns that you may not be aware of how much you can harm yourself with your own thinking, nor how much you can help yourself with your way of thinking. Thus, he emphasizes discipline and control of the mind from the very beginning. We must cultivate discipline in thinking. We know things make us angry. You may not wish to be angry, yet you feel forced. There are two kinds of anger: the anger of a wise person and the anger of a foolish, ignorant one. The anger of a master, a saint, or a wise person is like striking water with a stick. The water parts but quickly comes together again. The anger of parents, masters, and the wise toward children, disciples, or others is not everlasting; it is healthy anger. But the anger of a foolish person is like a line etched into stone. That mark remains as long as the stone exists. Such anger remains in the heart; the wound endures. A physical wound from a knife may heal, but a wound inflicted by thoughts and words may never close; it can last a lifetime. So, control your thinking. Observe your mind. This is what we do in self-inquiry meditation, which you can practice anytime. Ask: What am I thinking? What did I think? Why did I think? Why should I think? What should I think? Master your thoughts. Why am I thinking like this? Perhaps because the weather is bad. Maybe God made this weather, thinking it is good. Only I think it is not. God's will and my will differ, and this weather will not last forever. Tomorrow will be different. So why become angry at the weather? There are different "weathers" at home, in the office, in every situation. Yogaḥ citta-vṛtti-nirodhaḥ: through the practice of yoga, you control your mental activities, your mental waves. This makes your path easier; otherwise, the mind can destroy you. The mind always needs work, like the farmer who met a ghost. The ghost was strong and threatened the farmer on his own land. The farmer, embodying love and humility, tried to reason, but the ghost declared such thoughts cowardly and stupid. It demanded a fight, promising to serve the farmer if defeated but to kill him if it won. The farmer won. The ghost agreed to serve but imposed a condition: "You must give me work constantly, day and night. If you stop, I will kill you." The farmer was initially delighted to have a free, incredibly efficient worker. The ghost completed every massive task—building fences, cleaning fields, milking cows—in minutes. Soon, the farmer ran out of work and grew terrified of the ghost's demand. In desperation, he sought a master. The ghost could not enter the master's holy space. The master listened and gave the farmer a solution: "Tell the ghost to bring the largest tree in the world and plant it firmly in the ground." The ghost did so instantly. Then the master instructed, "Now tell the ghost its perpetual work is to climb up and down that tree, without rest. If the tree breaks, it must fetch a new one." The ghost was trapped in endless, pointless labor. This body is the field, and our soul is the farmer, the owner. Unfortunately, the soul has created the ghost of the mind. The mind always wants work. If you do not give your mind work, it will destroy you—through suicide, depression, schizophrenia, stress, craziness, aggression, crime, drugs, and countless distractions. The largest tree in your field is your spinal column. Therefore, whenever you have time, concentrate on your breath—the ingoing and outgoing breath through the spinal column, the ascending and descending breath consciousness. Give your mind this work. When finished, repeat your mantra with the ascending and descending breath through the spine. Your master in this is your viveka, your discriminating intellect and wisdom. Thus, Patañjali says, "Yogaḥ citta-vṛtti-nirodhaḥ." You can only practice yoga properly if you have controlled your mind, and you can only control your mind through the practice of yoga. The mind is a mighty elephant with two wives: Saṅkalpa and Vikalpa. They give birth to twenty-five children, representing the Prakṛti within you. This is connected to your five karma indriyas (organs of action), five jñāna indriyas (organs of perception), manas (mind), buddhi (intellect), the pañca prāṇa (five vital breaths), the upa prāṇa (five subsidiary breaths), śakti (energy), citta (consciousness), and awareness. All these work together. Observe your mind. Do not let it blackmail you. "Blackmail" here means no negative listening and no negative talking. When you say something negative to someone, you damage that person's spirituality. They may dwell on that negativity, and it becomes a fixed idea, very difficult to remove. The mind is mighty. You must be very careful and friendly with it, but do not become its slave. The mind should be your slave. Citta-vṛtti-nirodha. Nirodha means control. You must be able to control the modifications of your mind. Then, your yoga practice will be successful.