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Part 1: The Central Task of the Spiritual Path This marks the conclusion of our Guru Pūrṇimā celebration, and I believe it is still beneficial to speak a little more about this central point. It is not merely the main theme of this weekend; it is the central theme of our entire spiritual journey. This concerns a Guruvākya from Swāmījī, spoken perhaps twenty years ago during an introduction to a yoga teacher seminar, I believe in Hungary. He stated that whatever we practice—mantra, meditation, kriyā, and so on—aims at one single point: to understand the Guru. At the time, I could not comprehend this. In such instances, I put it on hold, thinking, "Alright, perhaps this is for later." Later, after I became a swami, Swāmījī sent me to India, where I underwent many different processes. I realized that whenever I passed through a certain experience and looked back, I had gained one more glimpse about the Guru. Therefore, we must strive to understand our master—his actions, his guruvākyas, and whatever transpires. The crucial attitude to maintain is: "I want to understand." Yet, there is a danger. How often, instead of trying to understand, are we quick to judge? This is similar to visiting a country with a completely different culture as a tourist. It is very easy to judge everything as strange or bad. It is an entirely different task to accept and seek to understand it. That might take many, many years, even many lives, to develop a feeling for that foreign culture. When we begin judging the Guru, we essentially kick ourselves out of this process. That is, fundamentally, the end of our spiritual path. In this context, I would like to share a story. It is about two holy men, both great prophets. One is Moses, known from the Old Testament of the Bible. The other, whom you may not know, is the prophet Khiḍr. You see, even in the lives of holy men, it happens that they sometimes become proud. And God takes care. This happened to the prophet Moses. At one point, he thought he was the only one in the whole world. So God instructed him to go to the other side of the river and meet a yogī there, and to follow him, obeying whatever he instructed. Moses was commanded to endure and carry out whatever he perceived as evil from the yogī. Moses did as God instructed. He easily found the other prophet, Khiḍr. With a humble mind, he approached him and asked to be accepted, explaining that God had instructed him to follow. However, Khiḍr was not inclined to accept him as a disciple. He said clearly, "I do not think you are truly fit to be accepted as my disciple." This was like a needle to Moses's ego, and he was truly upset. He promised, "Whatever you do, I will never doubt it, and whatever you instruct, I will surely follow." Then Khiḍr said, "That is fine, but please never forget what you just told me." They journeyed together. When they came to a river, several boats were lying there. Khiḍr asked the people to whom the boats belonged. They said, "The boat on the left side belongs to a very rich person on the other side of the river. If you need a boat, you can use that one. The other boat belongs to just a few poor orphans, some boys. You can use it if you need." Without further commentary, Khiḍr took the orphans' boat, turned it upside down, and forcefully stepped on it, breaking parts so it was no longer usable. Then he walked away. Moses became truly upset and angry at his guru. "How can you do that? If you had destroyed the rich man's boat, he could easily replace it. But it is cruel to destroy the boat of poor orphans." Khiḍr looked at him and said, "Do you remember what you promised me?" Immediately, Moses realized his mistake and apologized. Khiḍr accepted. They went further. The next day, they came to a village. There was a house that was already half in ruins, with one wall especially reduced to rubble. Khiḍr stopped and said to Moses, "We must stay here for some time and rebuild this wall." No one was living there. He instructed Moses to bring water. They improvised and worked hard the entire day to restore the wall. It was hard physical work under the shining sun. By evening, both were exhausted. The house was empty, so no one came to thank them or bring food. Again, Moses was unhappy. He said to Khiḍr, "Why did we restore the wall of this uninhabited house? No one benefits, and we do not even get any food." Khiḍr again looked at him with a strong gaze. Moses understood; again, he had not followed the Guruvākya. Again, he apologized, and they slept with empty stomachs. The next day, they came to another city. On the marketplace, several children were playing. Khiḍr stopped and asked the people, "Who are these children? From which families do they come?" They pointed to one boy and said, "He is the son of the mayor." They pointed to another: "He is the son of a wealthy merchant around the corner." Then they pointed to a third boy: "He is the only son of a man living a truly spiritual life, meditating the whole day." At that time, people carried personal weapons like swords for defense. Khiḍr also had such a sword. Without any commentary, he drew his sword and, with one swing, seriously cut the leg of this last boy. This was too much for Moses. He was furious. "Why did you cut this boy?" Now, Khiḍr would not accept any apology. He said, "I told you from the beginning that you are not fit to be my disciple. Leave." Moses was so upset that he readily accepted this. "Yes, I do not want to follow you anymore." He was so confused he said, "I do not want to listen to you anymore." Yet, he remained curious to understand what lay behind all this. Then Khiḍr explained. He said, "All that I did was on the instruction of God, by God's will. When I destroyed the boys' boat, it was because in a few weeks, a large army with a king will come here and confiscate all usable boats—except the boys', because it is not usable. Afterwards, there will be no boats left. Only the boys will have one. Within a few hours, they can repair it. Then they will earn good money because everyone needing to cross the river will rely on their boat. "When we repaired the wall of the ruined house, the reason was similar. This house belongs to a group of orphans. When they grow up, it will be their property. Inside this wall, there is a hidden treasure that belongs to them. The problem was the wall was so broken that the treasure would soon be exposed. If we had not repaired it, the treasure would have become visible, people would have stolen it, and it would have been lost. We had to restore the wall so the treasure would remain for the boys. "The boy whose leg I injured has very bad karma and a very bad character. His karma destined him to become a thief. He would cause great trouble for himself and his father. His father's sādhanā would be completely disturbed. But a thief can only be a thief if he can run away quickly and escape. I injured his leg so he cannot run quickly; he cannot fulfill that destiny. In this way, I prevented the boy from this bad karma and spared his father from so much suffering." This was his explanation. I think each of us can very much identify with Moses. It is often not easy to understand the actions of a Guru. But we should never judge. So often, a Guruvākya is not clear, understandable, or acceptable to us. Put it on hold, as I did when Swāmījī spoke it. You can leave it for later. By going through many experiences, slowly, slowly, understanding ripens within us, and we will comprehend more deeply. Thanks to the experiences that come to us, reflected within, we will reach that understanding. This discussion pertained more to worldly matters, the external acts and behavior of the Guru. Now I will tell a second story, which some may know, as I have shared it before. It is about Kṛṣṇa and Arjuna, guru and disciple. According to tradition, the guru travels around giving satsaṅgs and receiving invitations from householders. He came to a city where a rich merchant lived. The merchant was very happy and immediately came to welcome him, inviting him for a meal and to stay in his house. Kṛṣṇa accepted. In the evening, the meal was not just a meal but a feast—tables laden with the most delicious food, the whole house decorated, with music and dance beautifully arranged. Kṛṣṇa, and of course his disciple Arjuna, enjoyed themselves and stayed overnight. In the morning after breakfast, as Kṛṣṇa was leaving, he turned to the merchant and said, "I thank you. Everything was arranged very nicely. I give you this blessing: whatever you possess now, within one year you will have double." The merchant was overjoyed. He began counting in his mind: "Now I have one house, soon I will have two. Now I have fifty cows, soon I will have one hundred." His mind was exhilarated. Kṛṣṇa departed. The next day, they came to a small village where an old woman lived alone, leading a simple, spiritual life. She performed her sādhanā, meditation, mantra, and prayers most of the day. She lived alone with only one old cow, which no longer gave milk, but she cared for it with love. When she heard Kṛṣṇa had come, she was overjoyed. She prostrated to Kṛṣṇa and said, "Please, I have only a humble hut, but please come; I would like to invite you." Seeing the bhakti of this woman, Kṛṣṇa, of course, accepted. She tried her best, but it was only a simple meal due to her poverty. She even had to borrow dishes from her neighbors to serve Kṛṣṇa properly. But it was done with love. Kṛṣṇa enjoyed the meal and stayed in her hut overnight. The next morning as he left, he told her, "I thank you very much. You did everything with great bhakti. I must tell you one thing: tomorrow, your cow will die." And then he left. Now, Arjuna began to struggle internally. He started to ponder, "What is my guru saying?" He could not understand, and after some time, it burst out of him: "Gurujī, why are you so unjust? To this merchant, because he gave you a grand feast, you gave such a blessing? And to this woman, because it was only a small, simple meal, you gave such a curse?" Kṛṣṇa smiled and said, "I see you do not understand the way of a guru. This merchant is my devotee, certainly. But much more, he is devoted to his money and wealth. You see, he already has so much, yet he is not happy. He thinks, 'If I had much more, then I would be much happier.' So what can I do for him? I can only give him more and more and even more, until one day he will realize: however much I have, I do not find happiness or peace. "This woman has enjoyed all worldly things and has renounced them. She has no desires or attachments left. Half the day, she is already thinking of me, of God. Her only problem is that the other half of the day she thinks of the cow. That is her only attachment, her only obstacle. So now, when the cow dies naturally tomorrow, she will be sad for some time. Then, slowly, she will forget the cow. Then there will be nothing left to distract her mind. Her entire awareness, her entire love, will go to me, to God. And where your mind goes, there you go. She will attain enlightenment." The way of a guru is truly different from our usual thinking. If we do not understand, it is not the mistake of the guru. It means we are not yet fit to accept or understand. It is not only that we must try to understand the acts of the guru and the guruvākya, but even deeper, to understand what the Guru is. To understand who the Guru is—that is truly our life's duty. That is why Swāmījī said that whatever we practice aims at understanding the Guru. And holy Gurujī emphasized the same point; it was the last sentence he spoke in his life. After Gurujī's Mahāsamādhi, Swāmījī spoke repeatedly about it. Does anyone remember that last sentence of Gurujī? I think Swāmījī Śrī Purījī would know, but he is not here. Is there anyone else? When someone understands the Guru, they become the Guru themselves. Yes, exactly. Guru parichalita he, vāsvayaṁ Guru bhanjata he. That means exactly as you said: whoever truly understands the Guru, he himself becomes the Guru. That is what Swāmījī always emphasizes, and why the symbol of the philosopher's stone (paras) does not quite fit. The paras transforms iron into gold, but it does not transform the iron into another paras stone. The guru, however, can transform the disciple into another saint, into another guru. When we contemplate this, it is obvious it is no small task. It is not something requiring mere intellectual understanding. It is something we cannot speak of but can realize. That is why yoga is a practical path, not merely a path of philosophy. Through our sādhanā and by opening our hearts through bhakti, this wisdom grows within us more and more. As it is my own experience, when we go through our life experiences and different training phases, more and more we get glimpses here and there of what a Guru is. Sometimes, rarely, the Master speaks quite openly and clearly about this. For this, I especially love Swāmījī's old lectures, many of which are found in the book Meetings with a Yogī. I discovered there is no Czech edition of it yet. I strongly suggest translating that book into Czech and Slovak. There, you will find a chapter titled "What is a Guru?" It is a lecture from 1983, before my time with Swāmījī. Nowhere else have I found Swāmījī speaking so clearly about himself. Swāmījī says you need to recognize a Guru, a Guru like Mahāprabhujī. "You call me a guru, but I am nothing. I do not possess as much power as a speck of dust from Mahāprabhujī's feet. But his light, his message—that inspires me and lives within me. Therefore, do not call this physical form the Guru. Do not call this human mind the Guru. Do not call me the Guru. But what is the Guru within me? The Guru within me is that power." I believe with this, Swāmījī gives us clear guidance on what it means to understand the Guru. Part 2: The Guru's Operation and the Inner Light To truly understand the Guru is to truly understand ourselves. I feel a closeness to Buddhism and find inspiration there. In some Buddhist texts, the term "Guru Yoga" is used. I love this, for when you consider Mahāprabhujī’s bhajans, it is difficult to choose any in which he does not speak about the Guru. If you deeply understand Swāmījī’s teaching, it all revolves around this one point. They say the Guru is your spiritual friend. That sentence is quite acceptable, but the next sentence immediately follows: "And the duty of your spiritual friend is to attack you." We must reflect on this. It means not to attack me, but to attack our ego. That is the duty of a guru. Now, put yourself in the position of a guru. How would you do it? Essentially, the master must constantly find a way to help us without offending us so much that we simply run away. When the guru attacks you to remove your ego, it hurts. Sometimes we cannot accept it. We may turn against the Guru, blame the Guru, and go away. It does not matter for the Guru, for he knows anyway. But it matters for us. It means a chance lost. Swami Sivanandajī, who was a medical doctor before becoming a saint, expressed it similarly. Just as a doctor removes a diseased organ from the body, the guru performs an operation to remove the ego from the disciple. Sometimes he forgets the anesthesia. Sometimes it hurts. This is the process we are in, but once it is done, we will be happy, healthy, and our life will change. That is a promise. The promise we gave to Swamiji was to follow him until the end. The promise he gave us was to guide us until the end. We should not stop halfway. Hari Om. Śrī Dīp Nārāyaṇa Bhagavān Kī Jaya, Śrī Śrī Devapuruṣa Mahādeva Kī Jaya, Dharma Samrāṭ Paramahaṁsa, Śrī Svāmī Mādhavānanda Purījī Mahārāja Kī Jaya, Viśvaguru Mahāmaṇḍaleśvara Paramahaṁsa, Śrī Svāmī Maheśvarānanda Purījī, Satguru Deva Kī Jaya. Before, Gajananjī and I were discussing the topic. I told him we would proceed like in ballroom dancing: he would lead, and I would follow. This morning someone asked me a question about the difference between worshipping God with form and the formless God. Theoretically, I think you can attain mokṣa even without a guru. But it would be the equivalent of performing that operation on yourself without anesthesia. If you think you can remove your own organs by looking in a mirror with no painkiller, I will choose the guru. I would rather take the Guru and ask for narcosis, for he has the medicine. Gajānandjī also spoke about the Pāras stone, the stone that turns lead into gold. I find that when you become a disciple—when you manage to become a proper disciple, a real spiritual seeker—that is when a power stone operates. Every event, even those where nothing seems to happen, becomes gold, for they all teach you something. When you become open as a disciple, all those things that were merely part of mundane daily life become golden chances to learn something for your spiritual power. I wanted to think for a moment about Guru Pūrṇimā. Gajanandjī has been talking about recognizing the Guru. There is relevance in the word Pūrṇimā. It is the time when the moon is full, the time when we try to make our understanding full. The moon is always there. We may see half of it, a quarter of it, or it may be dark. But it is always there. The same is true: the Guru is always inside us. That light which Gurujī lit inside us when he gave us the mantra will always be there. I was thinking this morning: imagine that Guru Vākya, that Guru Tattva inside all of us, is like a loudspeaker. Constantly, its sound is there; it is constantly singing. We do not have to do anything to make it sing. The Guru helps us remove the covers from on top of the speaker. In the beginning, the speaker is so covered you cannot hear a thing. Slowly, the Guru begins his operation, removing those covers one by one. As he removes them, the sound starts to come through very faintly. Then, as you start to hear the sound, hopefully we all begin to help him remove those covers. Every day, in every part of our life, we must try to keep removing them so we can hear the full sound, while ensuring we do not put them back on top every time he tries to remove them. But no matter how much cover is there, that sound is still there, and it is in all of us. I have a spiritual name. Its meaning is "to be." Its appreciation means "just." When Indians translate it, some say it means you will get lots of appreciation. I actually think the meaning of the name is to appreciate everybody else. It means I should give recognition to everyone else, for the beauty that is in all of us—in every single disciple who sits with Swāmījī, in everyone who has that mantra. To see that is an indescribable beauty. There is a story from the Jewish tradition about a rabbi. His students were sitting with him one morning, discussing a prayer. They asked, "When is the proper time to say this prayer?" It is supposed to be done just at sunrise. But the problem is, when is the first light? What is the definition of that first light? The students asked their master. One said, "Is it when you can see the color of the leaves on the tree?" He said, "No, that is not it." Another said, "Is it when, in the distance, you can see if an animal is a dog or a sheep?" He said, "No, that is not it." Another asked, "Is it when there is so much light that when I stretch my hand, I recognize the lines on my hand?" Again, no. They said, "Gurujī, when is it?" He said, "It is the point when there is enough light that you can see that everybody who is around you is your brother and sister. All those around you are your brothers and sisters. That is the right moment for pūjā." If we could all see that, not just here but in the whole world, what a place it would be. As they say in Sanskrit, "Vasudhaiva Kuṭumbakam." The whole world is our family, but who realizes it? To see that beauty in every single person. Next, Gurujī, Gajānandjī was talking about the Guru giving you repair. I sometimes have unusual examples. This one involves boxing. I always used to think that Gurujī’s love was so strong. He would draw me in so close, not physically but mentally, as if he had his arm on my shoulder and we were walking closely together. Because when he had you like that, ready, with a hold on your shoulder, he could give you some spiritual repair. Here is where the principle of boxing comes in. When two boxers fight and get too close to each other, they grab each other with both hands. If you try to pull away at that point, it is easy for him to get a good swing. But the closer you come, you are just stuck, and he can only give small taps on your chin. So, when Gurujī is giving you the hardest time, do not try to pull away; get in closer. It is safer there. When you are surfing and big waves come, the quietest place is in the middle of the wave, deep inside. You do not try to run away from a big wave coming towards you. You do not run backwards or try to jump over it. When the huge wave is approaching, we do not try to run away or jump up. We go in. In the same way, when the waves are high, when the Guru is challenging you so much, the safest place is to go into your heart, into your practice, and to go close. I wanted to tell two short stories, one about Swāmījī and one about Gurujī. They are not incredible spiritual stories of amazing events, but small things that show that love. In February, we were at a function with Swamījī in a small village between Jodhpur and Kathu. We came in the evening to a village where a function was organized. It was not well organized. There were few facilities: a very thin tent, a very loud loudspeaker, and no other facilities for staying. We had all planned that Swamījī would stay nearby in another town, where there was a very good place, only three or four kilometers away. He would stay for the satsaṅg, then go there to rest and return in the morning. The man organizing the function was very old. Although he was the head of the village, he was not wealthy. He had been Gurujī’s and Mahāprabhujī’s disciple. When he found out Swamiji was going to stay elsewhere, he began to weep. He said, "Swāmījī, if you do not stay here in my house, then I will kill myself." From the moment Swamiji saw him weeping, he said, "I will stay here." It was so cold. Swamiji was also sick. But he just said, "Look, this is my bhakta. What can I do?" We spent half an hour trying to talk to the bhakta and to Swamiji, pleading for his health. But there was no question. Swamiji slept in that tent, very close to the loudspeaker. I am quite sure he did not sleep a single moment that night. There were many mosquitoes, it was very dusty, and he did not have a tent—just one curtain between him and the satsaṅg. But from the first moment, there was never any question or possibility to negotiate; he would stay. The other story is about how Gurujī cared. I was thinking last night after the satsaṅg. It was a very good deal for the sevak and an amazing experience. Before we go, I wanted us to do a small meditation together. I always like to think when we sing the bhajan "Jyota." They say "Jyota jyagavo," of my own spiritual light. When Gurujī gave us the mantra, he lit that light inside us, that deep light. Although he can keep relighting it for us, it is our job to protect it, to keep it burning, and to let it shine. On the altar here, we have glass around the flame to protect it from the wind. It does protect it. But if the glass is not clear, we do not see the light. That does not mean the light is not burning; it is just that from outside we cannot see it because of our māyik covering, the āvaraṇa, that curtain, those impurities. How did you feel that mantra within you in the first days after you took it? Try to keep a small amount of that wonder alive every day, for that same wonder is still there, burning. The same blessing, the same glorious joy is there. When you have things with you all the time, you tend to become ambivalent, to forget about them. At Guru Pūrṇimā, it is always important to come back and notice again what we truly have. When mental disturbances and external situations are shaking you, our mantra and Guru Bhakti protect that flame. It does not matter how long a candle has been burning—whether for five minutes or five hours—it can still go out if we do not take care of it. We must take care of it at every moment. Swāmījī can give us everything. But if you have a small child and constantly give them toys, if they keep smashing them, after a time you get a bit frustrated. Swamiji gives us the ultimate gift, and we should just take care of it. So I ask everyone to close their eyes for a short while. It will only be for 10-15 minutes. Please sit, and if you can, close your eyes. Chant Om three times. Try to be still and comfortable. It is good that the wind is blowing. Be aware for a moment that although the wind can blow everywhere outside, it cannot have any effect inside your body. Your hair may blow, your clothes may move, but inside, one can always remain still. Just be relaxed. Relax your face and shoulders. Try to sit comfortably and straight. Try to make your breathing as soft as you can, as if, when your breath moves in and out, it would not move a flame inside your Anāhata Cakra. It is so soft it would not disturb the flame. Breathe as softly as you can, with no sound. What is the most delicate, without any sound? Breathe normally, not a big breath. Your breath is natural; do not deepen it. It is soft, delicate. Be aware of your Anāhata Cakra. Be aware of that light of knowledge burning there, which came from Swāmījī with our Guru Mantra. It is part of our inner relation with our Gurū Dev, with the Master. Feel it still and steady within you. Breathe so softly as not to disturb it. Let your mantra and your bhakti be the protection that surrounds that flame, just as the glass protects the flame on the altar. Be aware that the light from that flame is not just for you. Let it shine out so that everybody can share it. Let yourself be just a small part of that prasāda, which is Swāmījī’s love, his compassion, and his blessing towards us. In our own small way, we give whatever we can of love and light to the world and to all our brothers and sisters whenever they need it. Just for a few minutes, enjoy the presence of a spiritual family, sharing each other’s light and the blessing it is to be able to sit at Gurujī’s feet, whether he is physically here or not. Just be showered by his blessing. For a moment, remember the saṅkalpa you have taken for this year and reaffirm it within yourself. Take from Swāmījī the strength that you will be able to fulfill it. Make the conviction that within the next year you will come with the fruits of that to place at his feet. Internally decide that next year you will bring the fruits this Saṅkalpa has brought you to Swāmījī’s feet, to offer it as prasāda, as dakṣiṇā. Jyot se jyot jagāvo Satguru, jyot se jyot jagāvo. Mera antar tī, mera mīṭabo Satguru, jyot se jyot jagāvo. Śrī Śrī Dev Purīṣya Mahādeva Kī Jai, Dharma Samrāṭ Paramahaṁsī Svāmī Madhavānandapurījī Mahārāj Kī Jai, Viśvaguru Mahāmaṇḍaleśvara Paramahaṁsī Svāmī Maheśvarānandapurījī Satguru Devakī Jai, Om.