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Sultan’s nature is so stable, so smooth, so relaxed. With children, he is amazingly soft. But there is one thing with Sultan: he cannot eat wheat. If somebody would go and feed him just one chapati, then for the next day you can see from fifty meters away—someone fed him a chapati. His eyes are wide, and he is completely on tension. I don’t know how many kilos he is, but five, six hundred kilos—one chapati, one purī, anything to do with wheat, and he is gone. His mind is completely off. I also remember another incident, with a mare outside the workshop in Jadan. She was basically at her last stage. She would get these cramps and just fall over because she was in such pain, and eventually she got to the point where she couldn’t stand up anymore; she was just lying there. We were taking turns trying to take care of her. In the middle of all that, she suddenly got up. The boy who was with her was one local boy. And then there was the time we were shoeing Sultan. There is a point when you put all the nails in, and the sharp bits of the nails are sticking out; then you cut them to make sure they are not dangerous. But at that moment, when they were still sticking out sharp, Sultan decided that he didn’t like me holding his foot anymore. He managed to get his foot out of my grasp. I was wearing the thick workshop overalls, and he managed to just cut them—he made the pants into shorts, basically. But I don’t know, Guru Kṛpā; I didn’t get hurt at all, it didn’t cut me. I can’t forget Gurujī’s, Gurujī’s, Durgapurī’s expression. He kind of just looked, and he was completely speechless, and he just went, “Oh.” I really learned something at that moment. Exactly what Āśā Rāmjī said when I was telling that story about not letting go. When the horse wants to get its foot down, that is not the moment to let go. You just hold on as tight as you can. It is also a mental game, a test somehow. A horse wants to see if you are firm, if you are solid in your conviction. And it doesn’t last long, and then they calm down. If you do let go at that point, of course, you are going to get kicked because they will be moving and you will be in the way. But at that moment, if you just hold on for a moment and their energy is released, then they soften, and you can put the foot down. It’s very clear they are normally not kicking because they are angry, but because you have taken too long and they got tired of standing on three legs and want to put the fourth one down. But for that moment, you really just have to hang on with everything that you have and stay there. For me, that’s really… take that spiritually. When you have an issue or something that is completely shaking you, it is not the time to let go. Because then that issue is just going to have a very good swing to kick you like crazy. It is the moment to hold on. To hold on to your practice, to stay with your mantra—to do whatever you can at that moment, to just stay with it. And when that initial drama has settled down, then you can look at putting that issue down, leaving it to the side, or changing your approach towards it. But in that very moment, it is just so dangerous to let go. To just throw your hands up and leave yourself floating there. The same in boxing: a boxer, when they are tired and they want to get away from being hit, they just have a cuddle—they hug the other fellow. If you try and go back, then you are just leaving yourself open to a really good hit. It’s those moments when it’s really hard, but it’s important just to stay with it. As Asa Ramjī said, as I was saying the other night: don’t let go, don’t let go, just hold on to that foot. That’s horses. So now we have one more. I don’t know what lesson is going to come from that one. I don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl. I asked Avatarpurī if he could please tell me some more information. And what is the name? Such a wonderful animal to learn from. And the penalty for feeding him chapatīs is that you have to put the shoes on. Śrī Dīp Nārāyaṇ, Bhagavān, Kī Jai. Yesterday, in the bhajan lesson, we tried as a group to learn the bhajan “Mīṭhī Satsaṅg,” so let’s try to sing it now, really together as a group. Paramparā, Payārī, Sattā Gurū Kī Prasāda. Prasāda means prasāda. Holi Gurujī says, “I achieved the highest state of consciousness, the Paramparā, just as the prasāda of my Gurujī.” Today I got prasād from Gajānandjī. Gajānandjī has a secret for singing. You know when you get this in the throat, when it starts to be from the cold or something. He has one cough lolly that’s from Australia called Butter Menthols. So today I was asking for some prasāda. It reminds me of childhood. The ad for Baddha Menthols, I’ll never forget from when I was a boy on television. There’s this person who’s just about to give a concert, who’s just about to go and sing on stage. And we have this expression in English: when you have this problem in your throat, it’s like having a frog in your throat. So just as he’s about to go onto the stage, and he’s got this—he’s singing some opera, I think—so he has on a bow tie and white shirt and black suit. And suddenly he turns into a frog. Of course, there’s panic. But then someone hands him a butter menthol, and he eats it. And he came back in the form of a human. I was just thinking, as I was eating at Gajanandjī, that Einstein could have used one of those. How many people saw the webcast when I told the story about Einstein’s driver? You were there. I’ll tell it again; it’s good fun. Especially as Lakṣmaṇ is here, and he’s a scientist. It’s hard to know if this story is true or not. It was written on the internet, on Wikipedia, that it may be a myth. But Einstein had arranged a conference. Everybody here who knows about organizing a conference, a world peace conference, knows that it’s a big event. He had organized a conference in Switzerland where he would speak about his theories. So the day came of the conference, and as Einstein got into his car, his driver noticed that he was particularly agitated, and he was normally not. He said to Einstein, “What’s wrong?” Einstein said, “Everything’s wrong.” He could hardly speak because he had a very, very bad cold. And he said, “Today I have to give this conference—I have to speak, and everybody has come from all over the world, and today is the day.” The driver said, “Yes, yes, I will speak instead of you; we look almost the same.” Einstein said, “Yes, maybe we look similar physically, but how will you speak what I have said? This is the highest science; how can you possibly talk about it?” The driver said, “I listen to you talking about it every day; I know it off by heart already.” Einstein thought he was joking, but he thought, okay, let me listen, how will you speak? And the driver started off giving the perfect speech, just like Einstein would have given it, about his theory. So Einstein listened and thought, “Yes, this may work.” They stopped the car, changed dresses, and Einstein started driving. The driver, wearing Einstein’s clothes, sat in the passenger seat, and they went to the conference. Of course, Einstein’s driver got out of the car as Einstein and marched up to the stage. Einstein parked the car and then went and sat at the back. The conference started, and it was announced that now Einstein would speak, and the driver got up to speak. And he delivered that speech absolutely perfectly. There was a standing ovation for minutes—from all of the greatest minds in science around the world, they were all giving a standing ovation to Einstein’s driver. Then things settled down, and the announcer of the conference said, “And now I’d like to ask if anybody has any questions.” Of course, the driver starts to go, “Oh no, now we have a problem.” It’s one thing to repeat something, it’s another thing to understand it. And one American scientist stood up and asked a very technical question about what Einstein’s driver had just said in the speech. Of course, he had no idea, and he was silent for a moment. Then he looked at that fellow and said, “Are you ashamed? Such a stupid question. Even my driver could answer that question. I refuse to answer it. Drive up here and give the answer.” Śrī Dīp Nārāyaṇa Bhagavān, Kī Jai, Ho Gayā. I’m going to sing the same bhajan as last night. But I promised to give a translation first. I learned this bhajan from one man in Jaipur. People who have been in Jaipur for a long time will know Shankir Lodzi, particularly for his ear hair, which comes out very far. And he cultivates it; he actually twists it and serves. But he was with Swamiji—sorry, he was with Mahāprabhujī in Bolā Guḍā. As a boy of ten, eleven, or twelve years old, he spent time there, because he is from a village just near Balaguda. And his mother was one of Mahāprabhujī’s closest bhaktas. He still tells stories of sitting with Mahāprabhujī while Mahāprabhujī was eating. And Mahāprabhujī actually did not let people give him chapatis, but they gave first to Mahāprabhujī, and he was giving to him, as Mahāprasād. Every time you speak to him, you get one new story out of him, and it is just so special that it just brings Mahāprabhujī alive—that direct connection and that direct being there. He taught me this bhajana and said that it was one that his mother always used to sing. For me, it’s so special that the whole scene and the whole vibration that goes with it, it really just vibrates for me. The refrain means: when I heard the words of Rāma and then of my Guru, then it struck me as being incredibly beautiful. That word Suhāvanā is such a beautiful word. You could use it here when you sit outside in the nighttime or in the early morning for the sunrise. It means something so beautiful that only God could have made it. Something that is just, whatever it is for you, something really special, some smell or some atmosphere, that just rings completely inside you. For me, it’s one of those things, like when it rains on a very hot day and you smell the earth when the water hits it. That smell is so special. Or the light of the full moon—whatever it is that vibrates for you. And then he says, “It struck me so beautifully because I found my Guru.” Then the scene is running of the Satta Guru coming to the village. He came down on the earth, and then he brought the rain of knowledge, and when it rains, it rains for everybody. It’s completely up to us how much of that we collect. If you have your hands there, or if you have a bucket, or if you have a bathtub, or a swimming pool, or a talāb—it catches the water that will fall on that area. That knowledge which the Guru gives, he just gives it to everybody. Why don’t we turn that light off? Webcast off, lights off, how do you om tattva? No, really, we can turn the lights off for a minute. No, really! Who cares about the webcast? We’ll keep speaking. Možemo govoriti. Wow! So, he’ll come to the computer now. Put a picture of Swāmījī on it, and then he can have darśan. So the Guru comes down to Earth, and he gives us that knowledge—or gives us a chance to have that knowledge. And then he awakens the sleeping swan. That potential which is within us, that which is already there, but it’s dormant, it’s sleeping. It’s an image that’s so much in the bhajans. And that is what the Guru awakens within us: that inner knowledge. And then Mahāprabhujī, who is writing this bhajan, says, “And then I was filled with bliss.” Bliss. In the second part, it describes when he comes into the village, and it says, “Hiṅguliyu Ḍoliyā Sehe Je Savāru.” If you’ve been on a function with Swāmījī when he goes to the village, then there’s always decoration in the village. They’re always playing the drums. They are decorating the house and putting these colored patterns outside the door. And then he is coming, and they are giving him a flower garland. And putting him on a special place to sit, Mortiyā Chok, which is a place that is shining. Physically, many of you have seen that scene when Swāmījī comes to a village. And there’s such excitement, and they’re dancing in front and have this Kalaśa on their heads. But in this bhajan, Mahāprabhujī is describing what happens inwardly for us. It is not about preparing a house, the physical house that the Guru will come to; but it is preparing a place for Him in the heart. You’re cleaning it, purifying it, decorating it with your sevā and with the good things which you do. And then also offering those to him when he comes through the flower mala. And that shining seat, which Mahāprabhujī is writing about, is actually made by a process of constantly grinding chūnā, the lime. Lime? Limeta. You know, this is what is in the old type of cement. Before cement, they used to make walls with lime. Anyway, the process is like this: you have this type of powder, and you wet it, and you constantly grind it for days and days and days. And this is a very old technique, and when it’s done for a long, long time, what is left is a plaster, but it’s completely shining like a pearl. Which is why they call it morti achok. Morti is the pearl. If you have ever been to Jodhpur Palace, Jodhpur Fort, the one on top of the hill, there is one room in that called the Mōrtī Mahalā. And that’s entirely made by that process. And all the walls, still hundreds of years later, are really, really shiny, and it just looks like pearl on the walls. But this process takes ages to do. And that is our sādhanā. Constantly doing the same things again and again, constantly doing our mālā, constantly doing that practice. And through that, we are making the place within ourselves which shines. And that’s the āsana on which the Guru can come and sit. On which that knowledge, on which the words of the Guru can start to unfold within us, so that our understanding can sit there. So the Gurujī has come down onto the ground, and he has given us the knowledge, and we have started to use it and put it into practice, and that is creating a place where he can come within us. And then in the next verse it talks only about food, and basically all sweets. First is laḍḍū, and then gevā, barfī or perā. Barfī everybody knows; perā is a small white sweet about this big, which you get often in the village when they are giving prasāda—each piece, they squeeze a little bit with their finger, and it has a little dent inside. And gevur is something you see in the markets, it’s big and round like this, and people sometimes think it’s pizza. It looks from a distance like pizza, but it has nothing to do with it. It is a sweet that is completely syrupy. Sīrā, pūrī, or mevā, gerā. Sīrā is halvā. Halva, sira, puri—puri, you know. Or a Mela Ghera, and Mela is another sweet, like a condensed milk type of sweet, and Ghera means deep, so a lot of it. Then a very big pot of kīṛā, in order to feed to the Prabhu, to the God, to the Guru. Why is everything sweet? Because what would you offer if Satguru came and sat in your heart? What would you offer? What we have to offer there is all of the things which we’ve done which are good, which are positive, which were done with love, which were done with compassion. There is no physical food to give when the Guru is sitting in your Anahat Chakra, but those actions which we have done, that is what we give. It’s like when at Guru Pūrṇimā you just offer to Gurujī what you’ve done last year with your saṅkalpa—mentally offer it at his feet. And those things we give for Jīmāvna to feed. Then it says, “Kanchan is gold.” So on a golden thāli, we offer that food. And at that time, Mahāprabhujī says, “Mera Dilabhara Me Haro So,” my heart was filled with complete joy, with complete happiness—overflowing with the chance to offer that. Then he says, “Ap Hari Parashād Arogo,” please, God, take this which I’m offering, this humble thing which I’m offering. It’s the best we can do, that’s what we offer. And when it’s done with that genuine feeling of sevā and of giving, then how can he refuse? And the last part of that śloka is “Paṅkā Paonā Dulaonā,” that I’ll sit there with a fan, this small fan which they have that goes around on a stick—you do it by hand like this, and just it goes around. Mahāprabhujī would be standing beside to make sure that the wind would be flowing, that the flies don’t come while he’s eating, or that he won’t be disturbed. I don’t know if anyone else had the joy of doing that, but I can remember sitting there beside Gurujī and doing that when there was no electricity. And if I’m in the right mood when I’m singing it, it just makes these little bumps on your skin, thinking about being with Gurujī there. Mahāprabhujī is describing that scene, which must be him and Devpurījī being there. But internally, if we’re with the Guru sitting here in our heart, that line means for me this is our concentration on our breath and just keeping that flow of air going and keeping the purity there while we’re offering those things. Constant awareness of the present, of that breathing, and of keeping a purity to our thoughts while we are offering. Then Mahāprabhujī says, “Parabrahma Puruṣottama Swāmī, Śrī Devapurīṣa Antarayāmī.” He is now describing Devapurījī, that he is that Puruṣottama, that ultimate being. He is that master, he is my inner master, and then he says, “Śrī Svāmī Dīpā Kaheyāvā Sajjanon,” and Mahāprabhujī says, “Please, everybody listen.” And the last line says, from every small village, from everywhere, please listen, hear what I have to say, hear about this joy, about this glory. It’s something that everybody can partake in. Everyone can participate, everyone can experience, but we have to make that place. That’s our job. We make the place, that knowledge, that understanding, that words of Gurujī and His presence will come inside. So that is, I will not say a translation, but my interpretation of the bhajana. Śrī Dīp Nārāyaṇ Bhagavān Kī Jai. Swamiji is giving us that knowledge, that rain. But we just have to make the space for it, so that we can hear it, accept it, and understand it. Make that place where it can unfold and develop. It’s so beautiful—the teaching is so beautiful, the mantra which we have is so beautiful. It is full of everything that we need for development. But we have to make the place.