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Part 1: The Discipline of Self-Purification: Yoga, Perception, and the Stillness of the Seer It is essential that all information—whether we call it protocol, minute reports, or anything else—is taken deep into the subconscious mind. Simultaneously, the mind brings forth those pieces of information that are delivered through our intellect, which is connected to the conscious level of our being. For instance, whatever you hear and see right now is a collaboration between consciousness and intellect. What is received within the realm of our consciousness, where the intellect is active, is immediately carried by the mind into the subconscious. There, that information transforms into the subject of our interest—we may call it our desires. So, whatever you feel inclined to do arises as information from your subconscious level, brought forth into the conscious mind where the intellect becomes active once more. The role of the intellect is to judge: to assess what kind of wish or desire you have and to which faculty of your existence this subject belongs. You see water. Your consciousness, through the sense of sight, very clearly forms an image, and your intellect tells you, “This is water.” That perception went deep as information and then resurfaced. Now you have a desire—your skin longs for the touch of water, the urge to swim. The intellect then judges: this desire is for swimming, and accordingly, we go and swim. Thus, all actions stem from our own desires, our own experiences, our own perceptions, irrespective of whether you want something or do not want it. In Australia, spiders are very common; worldwide, Australian spiders are well known, and there are many different kinds. When you see a spider, you may become frightened. Your intellect tells you it is dangerous, and this fear travels to the subconscious, carried by the mind. Sometimes, even in a dream, this fear comes out. Meditation, the technique, is meant for purifying our inner fears, anxieties, complications, troubles—anything. There is a saying: Jasī dṛṣṭi vasī sṛṣṭi. The eye with which you see, the feeling with which you look at a place, a person, or the world, determines how you will see the world. If you think positively—“Oh, beautiful Sunshine Coast, so comfortable and lovely, and though people talk about spiders, I haven’t seen even one here, though I have come many times”—that positivity shapes your experience. Then Prakāś said, “No, no, Swāmījī, that’s not correct. Go for a walk in the bush and you will see we have plenty of them. They are very lovely, very good.” Many people make documentary films; they wish to capture a beautiful spider’s nest or web. So there is a different view—film people find it good to film, others perceive it as unpleasant. The scriptures tell us, the theory of the great sages teaches, that all problems surrounding us are innate, created by our own self. A spider spins its web, settles there, and catches small creatures. But one day it may happen that the spider itself is caught in its own web, cannot come out, and dies there. So, although you create something beautiful or something for your own good, sometimes it becomes difficult to emerge, and that is an inner conflict. Therefore, in meditation—especially the self-inquiry meditation we practice step by step—it helps us go deep into our self and open the lotus of our heart. We were meditating on that yesterday. Now, Patañjali, in the Yoga Sūtra, which I trust is well translated from Sanskrit into English, being rendered by a famous translator and author, begins the first chapter with the very verse I taught yesterday: Atha yoga anuśāsanam. The Master says to the disciples, “My dear ones, you have decided to practice and walk this path, but this path requires discipline. If you wish to attain success, you must embrace discipline.” The word “discipline” is now widely used in modern business and commercial life: self-discipline is the key to success. So the key to success, especially on your spiritual path, lies in following discipline—discipline in practicing, in living, in speaking, in eating, in working, and in acting in this world to create positive things. Thus, Atha yogānuśāsanam. “Anuśāsana” means discipline. Discipline makes a person strong, healthy, happy, and successful. Yet immediately afterwards, in this same chapter after the first mantra, Patañjali says, “But my dear, though you lead your business, your practice, your family life, your studies, or anything—take care. You are standing in your own way. No one else. You are standing in your way.” Do you understand what I mean? You are your own obstacle. How? Because here it is said: Yogaḥ Citta Vṛtti Nirodhaḥ. Your citta vṛttis, the patterns of your own thinking—with one small thought you can create a great rock. Your own thinking causes you to suffer and causes others to suffer. Why not turn our inner attitude toward the positive? As soon as we have a negative thought, anxiety rises. When you are negative, uncertainty and fear grow in parallel. It is like planting a beautiful garden with vegetables, fruits, and flowers, but at the same time weeds sprout—and weeds grow quickly and abundantly; they overtake. One flower plant is there, but how much weed surrounds it, ready to overtake it? So when we have a positive aim and positive thinking, be careful: in parallel, the waves of negative thoughts will try to overtake you. Thus, Atha yogānuśāsanam—now I tell you the discipline of yoga, or that yoga cannot succeed without discipline, and to maintain that discipline you face many obstacles, and that obstacle is yourself. What does this mean? Your anger is your obstacle. Your hate is your obstacle. Your jealousy is a thorny fence you cannot pass through. Imagine holding a wire with both hands—you cannot let go because you are stuck on both sides. Jealousy, from the root jalana, means fire, and it will burn you. It will not release you. Greed pulls you back; it will not allow you to move forward on your spiritual path, on your positive path. For the sake of money, people are now ready to do anything—that is greed. So anger, jealousy, greed, and then hate—hate is like a strong wind. You wish to go in a certain direction, but that wind pulls you back; it drives your boat in the opposite direction. These negative qualities, as long as they exist in your citta, your inner space—whether you call it the heart or your consciousness within—they will torture you lifelong. And in the end, nothing will remain; only a little ash. The whole body will be burned, or soon this body will simply return to the earth. The earth speaks: Mati kahi kumar ko tu kya ronde moi, ek din aisa aega, mai rundungi toi. There was once a man making ceramic pottery from clay. He would bring black clay, soak it in water, mix, beat, and turn it. A holy person passed by and saw how this man was torturing the earth, and the earth was speaking to that man. The poet conveyed it: Mati Kahe Kumhār Ko, “Tū Kyā Runde Moī? Ek Din Aisā Āegā, Meṅ Rundūgī To.” Oh clay, the earth says to the potter, “Why are you torturing me? A day will come when I will torture you in my own way when your body turns back into earth.” Therefore, it is said that all negative thinking meant to harm someone or destroy something—we are thereby placing obstacles on our own path. So, Yogaḥ Citta Vṛtti Nirodhaḥ says Patañjali. Through the practice of Yoga, purify your citta vṛtti. Vṛtti means thinking. Mahāprabhujī once gave an example: suppose you are swimming at a beach and you lose your ring; it falls to the bottom, but you cannot see where it is. It lies about four meters deep, and diving that deep takes energy—not everyone can do it. But if you knew exactly where it rests, you could dive, retrieve it, and return. Because of waves, however, you cannot see it from the surface. So Mahāprabhujī advises placing a glass window, a frame with a pane of glass, upon the water. The waves will then break, and you can see clearly where your ring is lying; then you can dive and fetch it. Now, that frame is a frame of protection, and that protection is your discipline, your mantra, your meditation, your prayers, your good deeds, your good thinking. The glass, which is very clear and transparent, represents your pure consciousness. When there are no waves upon it, you can dive to the bottom to find your ring—which means to find yourself, what is called self-realization. This is a beautiful work, and it is a work for our own self. When we work for our own self, then we can work—or work better—to help the world. Therefore, Patañjali said it does not matter what you begin. Perhaps you do not want to practice yoga, or you are doing something else, or you are studying. Many people have trouble completing their diploma because of numerous obstacles; they repeatedly fail examinations simply because there was no discipline to study. If you sit and study, it will help you. So Yogaḥ Citta Vṛtti Nirodhaḥ is the primary teaching: purify all restless thoughts, especially those that are destructive and harmful to the outer world and to ourselves. And then, after that, when the vṛttis are purified, the seer abides in its own form: tadā draṣṭā svarūpe ’vasthānam. At that time, the draṣṭā—the seer—rests in its own nature. Draṣṭā means “here,” the witnessing presence. For example, when you dream, you see the dream. You are sleeping in the same room with your family members, but you dream of a beautiful rainbow. In the morning, you get up and say, “I saw a beautiful rainbow in a dream,” yet others sleeping in the same room did not see it; it was your dream. So you are the draṣṭā—while dreaming you were saying, “I see the dream.” Similarly, you are within yourself to see; you are the witness, the seer. Svarūpa means form. Who am I? I am not the body, I am not the mind, I am not emotion or all these qualities; I am the Ātmā, the pure self. To see this svarūpa and become certain—yes, now I know what I want—your path becomes clear. Then you begin your path. This is a long, beautiful book; you should read it thoroughly. Yet even when the path becomes clear, the vṛttis become active again. Our thoughts will either help us lifelong or torture us lifelong. You are not forced to be angry; you are not forced to cry. You may cry the whole day, scream the whole day, but no one forces you to do so. Therefore, it is said there are two kinds of vṛttis: kliṣṭa and akliṣṭa. Kliṣṭa means problems, troubles. Through our thoughts, we often become troublemakers. There are people who cannot sleep unless they create trouble. At midnight they still cannot sleep; at two in the morning they are wide awake. Then they pick up the telephone and dial a number. Someone answers, “Hello, who are you? Who is there? Sleeping, no?” And the person replies, “You stupid guy, don’t talk like this,” and hangs up. Now a trouble has been created, and the caller can finally sleep. This is the troublemaker—constantly seeking how to create disturbances. And one such trouble can influence vegetation, other creatures, water life, birds, wildlife, human life, and so on. There is a poem about bamboo. You see, I sit on a beautiful bamboo chair made by Prakash for the bedroom ten years ago. He crafted it with great love and said, “Master, this is your holy chair, your holy throne, and I wish you will use it forever.” Ever since, it has traveled with me wherever I go—made out of love. See how good a thought he put into it. Bamboo has many beautiful stories. But the one I am about to tell is not a pleasant one. A holy person was walking through the forest, through bushland among the hills, and he could speak and understand the language of the birds, the language of the trees. Now you might say, “What is Swāmījī saying—nonsense?” We are not so stupid as to think a tree speaks. The tree does speak; the tree is not stupid. It is we who are stupid because we do not understand. One will say the sky is blue; another will deny there is any blue. You can offer no greater proof than that—the sky is blue and clear, but those who refuse to accept simply say no. So you can indeed learn to understand your plants when you are in the garden. This is, in fact, the best therapy. It is called active meditation, creative meditation, and passive meditation. After returning from your work, go to your garden—if you have one, though in big cities you may not—and check your garden, water the flowers with a hose, and tend to them. Speak with the flowers; speak with your fruit trees and everything. It is like meditation; it is like relaxation. Part 2: The Bamboo and the Sandalwood: Forest Parables, Kleśa Vṛttis, and the Maṇipūra Cakra These are anti-stress techniques, meditation, and how plants make us happy. Can you imagine a world without a single green blade of grass? If nothing existed but stones or sand, we could not live here. Trees are our life, a beauty we must protect. A man was walking through a forest, but the forest was grieving; it was unhappy. He stopped and asked, “Why are you so scared? Why are you full of fear and fright?” An elder from the forest, an old tree, replied: Bāns ugā bhūmi par, dukhī huī banrāī, ek din aisā āyegā, sab ko degā jalā'ī. Understand what that means. The old tree was speaking: “On this earth, the bamboo has sprouted. The whole forest is distressed.” When the man asked why, the tree continued, “A day will come when he will burn the entire forest.” For when bamboo grows old and its surface becomes a little dry, and the wind blows, two branches rub together and fire ignites, burning the forest. Australians, living in the bushland, are very expert and knowledgeable about this—they know everything about how a bushfire begins, sometimes seemingly from nothing. So, just as the dry bamboo can bring destruction, when such a person enters society, they create such trouble that the whole of humanity suffers, the whole of creation suffers. Wars break out and cannot be stopped. Yet the man said, “I hope and wish that it will not happen.” What else could he do? Then he walked further, to a beautiful place with rich soil, something like the Sunshine Coast. There, whatever you put in the earth grows. Even in the desert, when not a single green blade of grass is to be seen, as soon as rain falls from nowhere, beautiful plants appear—green and flowers turn into a carpet, a magnificent carpet. Mother Earth does not lose her seeds. Similarly, the Divine Mother within our heart does not lose the seeds of happiness, the seeds of joy, the seeds of confidence, the seeds of freedom, and the seeds of peace that are held within our citta-vṛttis. But there are kleśa vṛtti and akleśa vṛtti. One kleśa vṛtti, one restless thought, can destroy everything. Imagine a peaceful lake, a beautiful serene pond, and you throw a stone into it. Waves arise—restlessness—from that single stone. As they say, one ill fish spoils the whole pond. The man continued his journey for three or four days and arrived at yet another wonderful, beautiful forest. The whole forest was celebrating, like a birthday or a holy festival. All were happy and felt very secure. He stopped and asked the trees, “You seem so joyful, so happy. Has something happened?” Again, an old tree with a long beard and long hair answered, “Yes, my friend, we are very happy. Even I am happy. My life will be prolonged; otherwise I might have had only one or two years left.” When the man asked why, the tree explained with a famous saying: the big tree attracts the woodman’s axe. “I am old, nearly half dry, and the woodman would have come to check me out. But something happened.” And he recited: Chandan ugā bhūmi par, khushī huī ban rāī, ek din aisā āyegā, kīmat degā baḍā'ī. “The sandalwood tree begins to grow here. The whole forest rejoices. A day will come when the price and value of our entire forest will rise high, and we shall be protected—no one will be allowed to cut us down.” Why? Because the sandalwood tree needs the company of many other trees; it thrives in their shade and environment. Therefore, the forest cannot be cut. And so, in our family, in our society, in our country, when a good person is born, we all rejoice, for such a one gives us knowledge, happiness, and joy. Now, these two represent the kleśas—the two kinds of vṛttis. Kleśa vṛttis are like the bamboo: your words become like fire, filled with anger, hatred, and the like. That is why Mahāprabhujī taught: before you speak, weigh each and every word in your heart; see on that scale how heavy it is. Your world should not become a heavy force of one. Do not say, “This person is not good to me,” “I have no harmony with these people,” or “This is not good.” Before blaming others, look at our own selfism, our own vṛttis. If you cannot cope with one, two, or three persons, how will you cope with the whole world? Try to be the beautiful rose flower, though there are many thorns. This is a thorny world, but in it you can be a rose. When you bring a freshly cut rose from your garden to someone, you say, “Look, this is the first flower from my garden; I want to give it to you.” There are long, strong thorns, yet the person takes it carefully and does not see the thorns—they see only that beautiful flower. I often receive many roses; a bouquet is presented at the airport or elsewhere, and as I catch it, sometimes the thorns draw blood. But no one purposely gave me thorns; they gave me flowers. Even the lotus grows in muddy water, which is not so clean, but when it blooms there is no dirt on it at all. If you try to put dirt on its petals, it slides off. So, whatever our duties are in this troubled world, we must remain above the difficulties and perform our sevā to help all people. There will always be difficulties and different kinds of thoughts. But Patañjali said: if you remain untouched, your sādhanā, your practice, will advance. Yesterday we meditated on the Anāhata Cakra—the heart center—and how it opens as a beautiful white or very light blue lotus with a little fiery orange hue. On each of its twelve opening petals sit dayā (compassion), mercy, love, peace, protection, and so on. The Mūlādhāra Cakra has four petals: the opening of wisdom, certainty, love, and solidity. Today’s focus is a very important chakra, the Maṇipūra Cakra, the center of the Hara, the center of Prāṇa, the life energy. It connects with the solar center and nourishes our pancreas. All glands support each other in the body’s functioning, and there are specific exercises—especially in your book Yoga and Day Life—targeted to each energy center to make us healthy physically, mentally, socially, and spiritually. This is yoga and life: a harmony of body, mind, and soul. Yet you may not be able to have harmony with one person because you want to be the boss, to be bossy. It is said that sometimes the wife of a director dies quickly because he wants to be the director at home too. At the office, everyone says, “Yes, your excellency, yes sir.” But when he comes home, his wife does not say “your excellency.” She says, “Come on, please, can you take this garbage bag out?” For that man, it is not easy to come down from that height; he thinks, “I am the president.” She answers, “Yes, I know, darling, but at home you are not the president—I am the president, I am the home minister.” Or the opposite: even though he is a director, strong women may, in a subtle way not even knowing what they are doing, subtly “kill” their husbands. That is why the husband dies earlier, and she sits alone in a big house, unsure what to do. Harmony between both is essential. Whenever one eye becomes weaker, the other eye is not happy. Do you think the other eye celebrates, thinking, “Now I will do everything; my value is double”? No, because the person will take more care of it. In the body, everything is balanced. The right leg may say, “I am the right one, always the best,” but the left leg says, “If I go away, you will see how much load you have to carry alone.” The whole body is balanced—that is yoga. Every limb, every gland, every nerve, every joint, every ligament, every muscle—Mahāprabhujī is operating, He alone is the Self, yet you would like to dominate. When dominating power arises, everything collapses. There is a story about an elephant and a tiny ant. A competition was held to win a prize. People gathered, and they made a game. The ant came forward and said, “I want to win the prize.” The elephant lumbered over and mocked, “This little ant? I will win it.” The competition was this: a small grain of sugar was thrown into the sand, and whoever could retrieve only the sugar would be the winner. The elephant declared, “I am Siddha Pīṭha,” lowered his trunk, and inhaled mightily to take the sugar. He sucked up the sugar—along with half a kilo of sand. The ant then asked politely, “May I please try?” The ant walked carefully, looking here and there, picked up the sugar grain with her tiny mouth, and walked away. Everyone saw that she had only sugar, not a speck of earth. So the point was made: Lagutā se prabhutā mile, aur prabhutā se prabhutā dūr, kīṛī sākar khā gaī, aur hāthī ke mukh dhūl. “Through humility, greatness is attained; through arrogance, greatness is far away. The ant ate the sugar, while the elephant’s mouth was full of dust.” When you are more humble, you rise higher. But if you play yourself as a high one, full of ego, you will not attain the higher things; you will fall inwardly and outwardly. Therefore, whatever happens to us often strikes like an attack on our Maṇipūra Cakra and destroys our prāṇa śakti. There are ten kinds of prāṇas, and among them, prāṇa and apāna are the incoming and outgoing forces. Maṇipūra strongly supports the acquisition of pure energy and also helps reduce toxins and waste from the body. So, prāṇa and apāna, Maṇipūra Cakra. When you meditate, you have this chakra somewhere here [gestures]. In your book Hidden Powers in Humans, you can read about it. Who doesn’t have this book? Oh my God, under the lamp it is always dark; you hold your candle in your hand, and it gives light. Mahāprabhudīp Karatā, Mahāprabhudīp Karatā... This chakra has many exercises, āsanas, and practices that you can do at home or that your yoga teacher can show you. I too learned them, but I have forgotten exactly which āsanas are there. In your yoga book, you have the exercises. Once a day, perform these practices—even just one round—but they are very good for controlling the energy in the body. Food that we could not digest, high cholesterol, and similar imbalances can all be managed by Maṇipūra Cakra exercises, and there is one called Nauli. Do you know the Nauli exercise? We will arrange a Tyāgpuri session for you tomorrow morning, but you must come without breakfast; or, at the end of the course, we can show you the Nauli exercises. It is very, very good for everyone. For the Maṇipūra Cakra, the first and most important exercise is Prāṇāyāma. Prāṇāyāma means training for the prāṇa, prāṇa vyāyāma—exercising the breath, learning how to breathe in a way that helps us profoundly. There are three levels of breathing. Some breathe only from the upper part of the chest. Creatures like rabbits, dogs, and cats breathe that way and mostly have short lives. Breathing from the ribs is also not ideal. Some people stretch their chest and try to breathe only there; it may look like pride, but below, everything is empty—the roots are drying, rotting, attacked by termites. So, breathe deeply. Always feel that your abdominal muscles move when you inhale and exhale. If you have healthy breathing, you will never be depressed. You will have no anxieties and will not be nervous. When you feel very nervous, do one technique: take a deep breath, and you will relax. Sometimes a small child is crying, and the parent takes the child into their arms; the little baby, while crying, breathes deeply. Observe that breath. When you have a heavy suitcase or hand luggage and want to lift it into the airplane overhead bin, what do you do? You inhale, hold the breath, and lift the bag. Try exhaling first and then lifting—you cannot do it. If you try, you may get a back problem like a slipped disc. The breath keeps our spine straight. Whenever you work hard or lift something, take care of the breath. According to Patañjali and Rāja Yoga, there are three kinds of Prāṇāyāma: inhalation, exhalation, and retention. For the Maṇipūra Cakra, breathing is essential, and there are two types of Prāṇāyāma that are very, very effective. It is said that if you practice them daily, you are 75% sure not to become a victim of cancer. Part 3: Light to Light: Teachings on Yoga, Sound, and Self-Discipline After performing these prāṇāyāmas daily, it takes only three or four minutes at most, perhaps just two minutes. Then comes Agnisār Kriyā—Agnisār means the purification of the fire, the awakening of the digestive fire—and it too requires only one or two minutes. It is said that when you practice these regularly, you can be sure that ninety-five percent of certain diseases, including cancer, will not affect you. And if you then add Nauli, the churning of the stomach muscles, you can celebrate a long life. But again, “Atha yogānuśāsanam”—what does that signify? Self-discipline. One prāṇāyāma is called Kapālbhāti, in which the emphasis is more on the exhalation. You can see how: place one hand here, give pressure here, and observe—not like this. So, twenty-five minutes, that is sufficient for the morning. It awakens the dormant energy and fire from our Maṇipūra Chakra. The second is called Bhastrikā. It is a similar technique, but it coordinates and balances both inhalation and exhalation. Is someone unwell there, constantly lying behind a chair? Ah, have you a problem? Did you not sleep during the night? Very well, now you may sleep, lie down. I thought perhaps you had a stomach problem or something; we can do something. Okay, relax. Bhastrikā is balanced—very good, you are very good, well practiced. Its sound is like a saw cutting. A good carpenter cuts with a steady rhythm. The saw cuts in both directions, and so it is not like this; that is too much. When you practice this, you could place a cup or a plate on your head and it should not fall. Yes, you can balance it. Fill it with nice water, put it here, and then do the practice. The same applies to Kapālbhāti. So Kapālbhāti is like a locomotive with coal, starting at a railway station and then travelling through the mountains. You have to go with it. These are the techniques that support our Maṇipūra Chakra. Next comes Agniśāra Kriyā, where you retain your breath after exhalation, hold the breath outside, and move the stomach in and out. There is a specific position: you must bend forward, supporting your hands on the knees. In tomorrow morning’s session, Tyāgpūrī will guide you through some of these exercises. The Maṇipūra Chakra is situated at the navel. “Maṇi” means a jewel, and “pura” means a city—so it is the city of jewels. The jewels here signify happiness, good health, and all excellent qualities. The science of the chakras and Kuṇḍalinī is not only for meditation or higher awakening. ... Purījī, Purījī... Deep interval: you may go to the balcony and take a little air, or visit the washroom if needed, or stand and do some stretching exercises. Others who can sing one bhajan—so that our brothers and sisters on the webcast do not have to arrange a different program, and they might like to continue watching. So, can you? If you turn this camera onto the jyoti, I will move and you can see the picture. Perfect? Sound? Check the sound. Thank you for singing good bhajans. Jyot se jyot jagao, Satguru, jyot se jyot jagao. According to the ancient scriptures, as realized by those great incarnations and saints who understood in their own lives how essential it is to attain liberation, nothing is more important in this life than reaching the ultimate goal, liberation. That means our light should become one with the cosmic light. Tagore’s song, “Jyota se jyota jaga.” Ultimately, when the aspirant, devotee, or practitioner is ready and approaching that level of consciousness, yet the darkness of ignorance remains and there is no certainty, the heart’s longing of the disciple cries out: Satguru Jyot Se Jyot Jagāo. Jyoti means light, and Jyot refers to that which we light—the flame that is a little larger, brighter. “O Lord, light my heart in your light. Jyoti Se Jyot Jagāo.” Swami Śivānanda of Ṛṣikeś writes in his Sādhanā book, “There are two candles. One candle is already lit; the other candle is not lit. The unlit candle cannot give light. You must bring this candle to the flame of the burning candle, and then you will receive that light—and you will also become a giver of light.” Satguru Jyoti Se Jyoti Jagāo. “Please light my heart with the light of your heart, O God.” Timir has several meanings. Timir denotes tamas guṇa—negative qualities, dullness, lethargy—and wherever dullness and lethargy exist, all negative qualities are hidden. Tāmas guṇa, tāmas vṛtti, aggressive thoughts, and timira means darkness. What kind of darkness? If you close your eyes and say, “I want to see the bright light,” well, you would have to purchase special sunglasses—because these eyes you have closed. Now you want to see that? So we speak of the darkness of ignorance and the light of knowledge. Gu means darkness, and ru means light. He or she who can remove the darkness of our ignorance, our tamas guṇas, our krodha vṛttis, and who can bestow sattva guṇa, sāttvik buddhi—positive thoughts—and dispel all the doubts that are the root of all suffering, leads us to the pure light. Satguru Jyot Se Jyot Jagāo—light to light, please light. Mera Antar Timir Mithado—all suffering arises from the darkness of ignorance. In this book, Hidden Powers in Humans, you will read passages written about three principles—or three things. They are obstacles for all of us. My dear, it was time to meditate, but I think a question came and I should answer it. What I am saying is very clear, and the evening will be meditation as well. Antaḥkaraṇa. The Sanskrit language is one of the primordial languages. The alphabet of Sanskrit is known as Devanāgarī. Dev means God, divine, and Nagrik means citizen. The citizen of that divine world—what does it imply? It means that the city of the divine is your pure viveka, your intelligence, your knowledge. You are a member, a citizen of knowledge. Therefore, all śikṣā, all learning—the language and so forth—originated from those ṛṣis who perceived it in meditation. It is said, “Chauda Lok Ikisho Brahmāṇḍa”—yogīs were able to travel to fourteen different worlds around our planet, seven above and seven below, which also exist within our solar system, within this sun. Chauda Lok: fourteen kinds of worlds. Ekiso Brahmāṇḍ: 2,100 different universes, meaning different solar systems. So yogīs were capable of astral traveling to 2,100 different sun systems or universes. In Nāḍī Yoga and Svara Yoga, Nāda means the resonance. The entire endless universe is created out of that one resonance declared by them as “Om.” Om is not a religious symbol, nor merely a cultural symbol. OM is that cosmic sound, and even astronauts who have traveled very far have reported that there is a sound. The so‑called civilized sound we hear on our planet is no longer present after a certain distance—you cannot hear anything. But when they travel thousands of kilometers, there is a beautiful sound. And before they announced it—I have written about this in my book—can we open a little more? It is getting hot. Thank you. Because it is stated in the Vedas that whatever is found there, scientists are now presenting as their research. I would say that, to this day, nothing has been discovered that is not already written in the Vedas. Yathā Brahmāṇḍe Tathā Piṇḍe: What exists in the universe exists in this human body. And so, “Oṁ Kāra Bindu Sanyuktaṁ Nityaṁ Dhyāyanti Yoginaḥ.” The sound Om, Akāra, begins with the Bindu, a dot. How? Like the point of a very sharp, tiny needle. In the endless universe, just one. Ekoham Bahusyāmī—from that, the Nāda awakens. O Anant Brahmāṇḍa, Śāstra Sūryas. The yogī said, “Anant Brahmāṇḍa”—endless universe, and thousands of sun systems. That Nāda Rūpa—Rūpa, as I spoke before from Patañjali, Draṣṭā and Saurūpa. So rūpa is form. Does God have a form? Does truth have a form? Does light have a form? No. Only resonance, and therefore it is declared that Brahman, God, the Holy Father, or Īśvara—whatever you call it—your own Ātmā is only the resonance, the sound. Everything is brought into being, balanced, united, created, and dissolved by that sound. And that sound pervades the entire universe. There the yogī attains, and then you enjoy. Oh my God, no fear. It is like you take off and go. That is it. It is beautiful. It is a beautiful feeling. But before that, we have so many obstacles. Māla, Vikṣepa, and Āvaraṇa. Māla means impurities: physical, mental, emotional, intellectual, social, and so on—impurities. You must think purely, positively. If you think negatively, you produce negativity. If you think of love, you produce love. Purity. Vikṣepa—I spoke for half an hour about vikṣepa, you know, the vṛttis, disturbances. How many vikṣepas do we face? We sit peacefully, meditating, and suddenly someone outside begins talking loudly—not on purpose, but this is a vikṣepa. In this world, there are many kinds of vikṣepa. Okay, nobody is talking; it is very peaceful. The window is closed, and I am suddenly sweating—oh God, this is also vikṣepa. We turn on the air conditioner, we sit meditating peacefully, and suddenly a mosquito comes. These are the three types of vikṣepa: vikṣepa in the universe, certain energies. So purify the vikṣepa, and then the āvaraṇa. Māla, vikṣepa, āvaraṇa. Āvaraṇa means the curtain, the curtain of ignorance. Thus, the mind can be purified through positive, pure thinking. Vikṣepa can be removed by enduring situations and forgiving, and by seeing the positive. And the āvaraṇa of ignorance, the curtain of ignorance, can be moved only through satsaṅg. With good people, you always have good conversation. When negative people speak, one word and a great fire ignites again, as if you poured petrol on the flames. So when the horizon opens, at that time this Nāda comes, and then it is said that a certain protection emerges, protecting you from within the sound. And so the letters of Sanskrit appear to those saints as protectors—symbols, figures, and resonance; it is resonance. Now, these symbols, these figures—how you bring them together—they can be destructive or they can be protective. When you greet someone warmly, “Good morning,” how did you assemble those words? Instead, if you say “bloody one,” there is no “good morning.” This is how we manipulate the resonance of the sound within ourselves. Thus, Tulsīdās said in the Rāmāyaṇa, if you want everyone to be your friend, there is one mantra: give up harsh words, give up negative words—then all are your friends. That is very wise. So this sound arises, and through these words, through this language, the development of the sound continues. And that sound is Nāda Yoga, Nāda Rūpa Parabrahma. But they say the sound they hear is like a resonance of Om. I am not a good singer, you know. When I sing, people think, “Oh God, it is a broken bamboo flute.” But when we chant, the seat of the Nāda sound—do you know where it is? In the navel. The seat of the sound is here. When a child stutters and cannot pronounce properly, you give exercises for the Maṇipūra Chakra. After one month, you will see eighty percent improvement, and with practice it can be trained. Practical experience with the Maṇipūra Chakra. These are the three seeds of the sound: navel, vocal cord, and lips or tongue. Here, Akāra, Ukāra, and Makāra. This is the Trinity: Viṣṇu, Śiva, and Brahmā—the Īśvara, the Holy Father, or whatever name you call God, according to your belief, and the Creator whom you are pronouncing. So the song: Jyotā Se Jyotā Jagā, Satguru Jyotā Se Jyotā Jagā. O Gurudev, please awaken this light. I have been perhaps three times in my life to a cinema hall—Sindhiva Theatre. Several times I gave lectures in that cinema theatre because it has a large podium where thousands of people can gather. Once I watched a film, a second time I saw a film with Gurujī—it was about Kṛṣṇa—and once I saw a film about Mahātmā Gandhi. So as I recall, I have been to the cinema three times. People ask me, “Do you know that film?” I answer, “Yes, yes, I heard about it. It’s very good, I think.” That is all I can say. There is an old black‑and‑white film made in India called Mother India. It is beautiful, very nice. It awakens love towards nature and everything. And it contains a song that I always use in my satsaṅg: Jyot, jyot se jyot jagāte chalo, premā kī Gaṅgā bahāte chalo. Jyoti se jyot jagāte chalo, premā kī Gaṅgā bahāte chalo. Guiding the people, not misguiding. Let the holy river of love, like the Gaṅgā, flow with you—the Gaṅgā of love. As the holy one said, “Father, where there is hate, may I bring love.” So, a person who is positive and has love in their heart for everyone—with each movement, wherever they go, it is as if love is flowing. On the way, when you see someone who is meek, troubled, or suffering, embrace them. Give them a hug—a hug of your kindness, a hug of your love, a hug of your understanding. And it is such a beautiful sound. This is a beautiful life for human beings: to live together in happiness, joy, and love. Yet we want to destroy this. Who is it that speaks of these things? This is a problem in the world: that aiśvarya śakti suddenly comes like heavy waves and hurricanes. But hurricanes cannot last forever. Suddenly, peace. So let peace be everywhere. Oṃ Śāntiḥ Śāntiḥ… Om Sarve Bhavantu Sukhinaḥ Sarve Santu Niraṃayaḥ Sarve Bhadrāṇi Paśyantu Om Śānti Śānti…