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Part 1: The Guru’s Surgery: Purifying the Ego in Kali Yuga Good evening, everybody. A special welcome to those who arrived only this afternoon. Now the hall looks a little fuller; yesterday it was half empty. For me, it is always nice to be with so many bhaktas. You are my family—just to make you aware of that. And it is very nice to be together with so many friends. Welcome also to those friends who join us through the webcast all around the world. We are continuing our celebration of two events: Diwali, which is at the same time the incarnation of Mahāprabhujī, and the Mahāsamādhi of Holī Gurujī, Svāmījī’s master. Diwali was actually two days ago, but we are still celebrating it. All Indian festivals are celebrated for several days. Holī Gurujī’s Mahāsamādhi, according to the Western calendar, will be on Monday, the 31st of October, and according to the Indian moon calendar, I think, two days later. This afternoon we watched the lecture that Svāmījī gave yesterday on Dīvālī. It was truly a comprehensive lecture, filled with Mahāprabhujī’s light. I was thinking this evening that we might go a little deeper into certain points that Svāmījī touched upon. But before we do that, let us sing a bhajan. In his Dīvālī speech, Svāmījī spoke about many different aspects of the Guru’s incarnation in the world—about Mahāprabhujī’s incarnation and what it means for us. In the end, he came to a point that I think is quite important. We live in a special time, the Kali Yuga. Svāmījī spoke about what Kali Yuga means. We know there are four Yugas, huge time periods, like four seasons. Kali Yuga is the last, and by its qualities, unfortunately, the worst. What we learned in history was basically a history of wars. That is actually very poor. That is Kali Yuga. When we look at the newspaper, the internet, the TV news—what is the news? At least 90% of the news is negative. And we are already accustomed to that. That is the news, but that is Kali Yuga. Now, more importantly, what does it mean for us? What we experience now in this world is not by chance. Nothing is by chance; it is karma. All this destruction—the ecological catastrophe, the economic catastrophe, and all these things—this is karma, collective karma. And the fact that we are here means we have something to do with it. It is our karma to be here in this Kali Yuga. That means, practically, we have contributed something to these Kali Yuga karmas. The point is, we do not know our karmas. They are like a backpack we carry on our back. It always goes with us; everyone else sees it, but we do not see it. So we have contributed to these Kali Yuga karmas, which means we have Kali Yuga karmas. That means, practically, we also have Kali Yuga qualities. And as disciples of a Guru, we are Kali Yuga disciples. Let us really see the point that Svāmījī made so nicely; I will try to make it a little clearer. Think about the Guru. First of all, when he comes as an incarnation in this time, he also has to live under the physical conditions of the Kali Yuga. When everything is polluted, the Guru has to breathe this polluted air, drink the polluted water, eat the polluted food, and deal with Kali Yuga disciples. That is a hard job, is it not? So I think we slowly become clearer about what it actually means when the Guru incarnates in this time. The Guru comes to help us purify ourselves and achieve liberation, but it is obviously a tough task. In a Buddhist book, I once read something I like: “The Guru is your spiritual friend.” And the next sentence says, “The duty of your spiritual friend is to attack you.” That is an interesting statement! Did you ever think from that point of view? It is the duty of the Guru to attack us. What does that mean? He is not attacking us with a knife; he is not hurting us for the sake of hurting. He is attacking our ego, because that is the whole point of our qualities, of our karmas. Svāmī Śivānanda said—he was actually a medical doctor before he became a saint—that just as a medical doctor performs surgery to remove diseased tissue, in the same way, the Guru performs an operation on the disciple to remove the ego. But he does it for a purpose: to remove the impurity. That is a way of healing. Now, when the Guru wants to help us in Kali Yuga with Kali Yuga karmas, that is not an easy operation. Therefore, sometimes the Guru has to use, I would say, unorthodox methods. Mostly, the Guru guides the disciple by giving guidance: advice and general instructions. These are all the lectures that Svāmījī gives, and of course the yoga and daily life system he developed. But he is also here, very personally, and that means there is personal interaction. And be sure, whatever interaction takes place with the Guru, it has something to do with us, with our karmas. That is now a problem for a Guru. When he “attacks” us—attacks our ego—we easily blame the Guru. We project our problems onto him. That would be like blaming the doctor who wants to remove a part of my body. But when the same thing happens on the spiritual level, it is not so easy to recognize. Let us remember what Svāmī Jasrāj told us when he was here a few weeks ago. He spent quite a long time in personal seva for Holī Gurujī, Svāmījī’s master. Two things were quite clear from what he said about how Holī Gurujī treated him. One was that Holī Gurujī gave him very little sleep. That is quite tough training, because in sleep we recover and get energy. When we have full energy, we have everything nicely under control. But when you do not get enough sleep, you know how you become emotionally. Your emotions are on a very thin surface, and very easily reactions come out of you that made you think, “Is this me?” Yes, but it is coming from me. Only under normal conditions would it not come; you would be able to control it. It is like keeping the lid on a pot while it cooks underneath. Then suddenly the lid is removed, and everything inside becomes obvious—what qualities are boiling there. That is the other point that Svāmījī mentioned quite strongly at the end of his lecture: our qualities, our characteristics—better to say our negative qualities, which in Hindi are called avaguṇas. They sang a bhajan, and Svāmījī translated it: “Prabhu mere avaguṇa citta na dharo”—“Oh please, Lord, do not mind my negative qualities.” That is what is boiling underneath. Now the Guru performs an operation, first of all, so that this comes out and becomes visible. When we want to work on ourselves, we first have to realize where we are and how we are. That was also a tough experience for me when I was in India. I mentioned earlier that we had a lady in Hamburg. She was a little bit strange; I respected her, but she had three different aspects of personality. Sometimes she was really the old wise woman, and I truly respected and loved her. Sometimes she cried like a small child, “Can someone help me?” And sometimes she was so hysterical that you had to run away. I could never figure out how all this fit together in one personality. When Svāmījī sent me to India, I had some tough times there. And then I experienced myself in exactly these three states. For example, I had one consultation with Svāmījī that I remember very well, where I was just crying all the time. And I also remember that once I made a scandal, shouting as loudly as I could, very consciously. You would not normally expect that from me. This is what happens when the Guru boils you up. The lid is removed, and everything inside becomes visible. So the Guru finds different ways for us to first realize how we are and what we have to work on. One very, very strong way is this: little sleep, very little sleep. And it is not by chance that Holī Gurujī used this technique, we can say, with Svāmī Jasrāj. Because that is exactly the technique Mahāprabhujī used with Holī Gurujī. We know Holī Gurujī only as a deep, deep bhakta and devotee of Mahāprabhujī, who never mentions Mahāprabhujī’s name without saying “dīna dayāl”—the merciful, the merciful, the merciful. Not a single time did I hear him say “the cruel one, Kṛtīm.” In their daily interaction, there were many things Holī Gurujī had to do. For example, he cooked food for Mahāprabhujī. Mahāprabhujī said, “Oh, very good, very good.” And next time, again, “Excellent, excellent.” So naturally, you start thinking, “Oh, I’m a good cook.” And that is the whole point, because that is ego. As soon as that thought arises, one aspect of the ego has come out, and the Guru knows the next moment to crush it. Similarly, when I started singing bhajans, Svāmījī said, “Very good, very good, go on.” Then after some time, he started criticizing me in every satsaṅg, in public, of course. In this way, Holī Gurujī tested Svāmī Jasrāj Purījī again and again and again. It is very nice that Svāmī Jasrāj spoke so openly. He said, “I always thought, ‘Now I got it, I will not fall into the trap,’” and half an hour later, he was in it again. All this is training; it is not torture. The Guru has no interest in that. This is the dharma of the Guru. As they said so nicely in the Buddhist book: the dharma of the Guru is to attack the disciple—that is, the ego of the disciple. Without crushing our ego, we can never ever reach our aim. And that is another aspect for a Guru in Kali Yuga who has Kali Yuga disciples. The Guru now has to change, you can say, his strategy. The tradition, as you see in many scriptures, is that when a disciple comes to the Guru, he gets nothing. When the Guru accepts a disciple, it means he accepts him to do seva, but he will not initiate him into anything until the process of purification—the purification of the ego—has come to a quite good result. And quite good results mean humbleness. There are many ways the Guru tests this. Here is a small story about that. A disciple came to the Guru and wanted initiation. The Guru said, “Yes, but on one condition: you have to find some living being that is lower than you.” He gave him some time. The disciple thought, “That’s easy. There are so many low beings around.” After thinking for a moment, he went to the cow. He thought, “The cow is an animal; I’m a human. Surely that is a lower being than me.” He was astonished when the cow suddenly answered him. Yesterday we spoke about the worship of the cow, the worship of the Divine Mother. So he understood there is some truth in this and said, “Okay, okay, sorry.” Then he looked at the ground and thought, “But this grass, this is definitely lower.” But the grass spoke to him: “How dare you blame me? I feed the cow, and you drink the milk.” There was truth in that. So he apologized and looked around. He went some distance from the house, to the place that traditionally serves as the toilet—behind some bushes. There he saw excrement on the ground and said, “Now I have found it. That is definitely lower than me.” He was shocked to hear that this too answered him: “Yesterday I was beautiful sweets, and you enjoyed me. Through your body I became this ugly form. What I am, you have made me.” He was shocked. Now he could not think of anything lower than himself. He went to the Guru and said, “Sorry, Gurujī, I must give up. I cannot find anything.” Then the Guru was happy. That humbleness had arisen in his heart. He said, “Okay, now I see. Now you are ready for initiation.” That is, of course, a symbolic story, describing the process through which we usually have to go before we receive initiation. To make the process clearer, I will tell a second story. Part 2: The Test of Humility: A Story of Discipleship There was a king who lived a very spiritual life, but he was also a bit attached to māyā, as we spoke about this morning. Each day he would peacefully do his meditation, yet each night he liked to sleep on a bed of fresh rose petals. Many of his subjects noticed this and grew a little worried about the king’s spiritual progress. Then one day something happened. A camel driver climbed up onto the palace tower and began shouting and looking around. Everyone gathered, and a kind of scandal ensued. Finally the king came out, looked up, and shouted, “What are you searching for on the roof of my palace?” The man answered, “I’m looking for my camels.” The king said, “But that is absurd. To find your camels you need not climb to the top of my palace.” And then the man shouted back, “That is no more absurd than to search for God and sleep on a bed of rose petals!” This struck the king like an arrow in the heart. He realized the truth in the man’s words and silently went inside, sat down for meditation, and saw clearly: luxury and the spiritual path do not go together. He made the firm decision to renounce his kingdom, shaved his head, and later became a disciple of Kabīr Dās. As you know from the bhajans we sing, Kabīr Dās was not a swami but a householder—married with a daughter—and he lived a very simple life as a weaver. When this former king came to him, Kabīr Dās accepted him, but in the old way: he gave him no teaching, no initiation, nothing at all—only the chance to do Guru Sevā. This is what we pray for every day: “Dhanamāna dhanara pannakāra guru sevā pāna.” You have heard that, no? It is part of our prayer: I dedicate everything to you—my body, my mind, my possessions, everything—and my only request is, may I receive the mercy to do Guru Sevā. So Kabīr Dās granted him that mercy. Practically it meant he had to do all the household work: cleaning, cooking, helping with the weaving, and so on. In ordinary words, he became an unpaid household servant, hoping one day to receive initiation. Years passed. After about five years, Kabīr Dās’s wife thought, “That is quite a long time. He is serving us so nicely all the while.” She went to her husband and said, “I think it is time you slowly initiate him.” But Kabīr Dās was not sure. They could not tell whether he was ready or not. So Kabīr Dās suggested, “Let us make a test. Take the dustbin with all the day’s dirt, get on the roof, and when he comes out, throw it all on him. Then we will see his reaction.” The next morning she did as planned. When she threw the dirt on him, he flew into a rage, screaming, “How dare you! This is only because I am no longer king. If I were still king, you would be in the darkest, darkest prison.” That evening Kabīr Dās and his wife met again, and it was obvious: he was not ripe. Much of his old king-ego was still there. So nothing changed; he continued serving. Another five years went by, and then Kabīr Dās thought, “Maybe he is ripe now.” But now his wife did not understand. She said, “Five years ago when I suggested initiation, you did not agree, and I see no difference. He is still serving us just the same.” So again they could not agree, and they decided, “Let us repeat the test once more.” Once more she took all the dirt and the next morning threw it on him. This time his reaction was completely different. He said, “Oh, I know I am full of dirt—so many karmas. It is just right.” He was very humble. Now he was ripe, cooked enough, and he received initiation. The point is: when a disciple is prepared in this way, the sādhanā does not take long. It goes smoothly and brings results. After not so long a time, he attained self-realization. That is the traditional way. But now I ask you honestly: if this were Swāmījī’s way, who would be here? If Swāmījī required this, who among us could accept it? To serve, to go through many types of trials without any instruction, any teaching, any initiation… So the gurus respond to our condition. They give initiation quite freely, with just the minimum conditions: don’t kill, don’t hurt, be vegetarian; and do a little tapasyā—have a fasting day, once a week or once a month. And how many of us are not even able to keep these conditions? I am not pointing at anyone, but I have observed over the last months that even these easy conditions are already too much for many. So nowadays the Guru gives initiation quite soon, because otherwise he would have no disciples. And since he comes here to help us, he must accept the present conditions. But that does not change the task. Now, while we are disciples, initiated and practicing, comes the purification process. It is then that our ego surfaces, and we project it onto the Guru. Think of what I said about the operation: now we blame the Guru. “What are you taking from me?” Be sure, whatever happens in the interaction between Guru and disciple is connected with the purification of the disciple’s karmas. When you hear confusing stories—because many people now really project their problems onto the Guru—there is one very simple way to hold steady: reflect on your own personal experiences. Yoga is a practical path; it is not just a belief, a blind faith. We practice, and I believe everyone who practices seriously has some experiences. Often the problem is simply that we do not value them. We forget them too easily, treating them as a side aspect. I tell you, I have spoken deeply with many disciples and spiritual people, and when they open up, you will be astonished at how many things they have truly experienced. At times I have thought that at least one kind of miracle has happened in everyone’s life. Usually we do not talk about our experiences—that is good, because otherwise our ego would blow up—but sometimes it is good to remember and share a little. That is what I tried to encourage in the last seminars. Here, too, we share a bit of what we have experienced. Personally, a few days ago I began making a list of things I have experienced. Maybe it is a suggestion for you: sit down and recollect what you have experienced in meditation or in interactions on your spiritual path. What we have experienced is not belief; it is what we know. And if someone comes and tries to confuse me, it does not matter—because what I know, I know. When I have a certain experience and I write a bachan, “O Swāmījī, you live within me,” who can change that? It is my experience. People can tell me many stories for months, and they will not change what I know, because I have experienced it. So sādhanā is important to make us secure on our own path. This is another point that Swāmī Jasrāj always reminded us from Holy Gurujī: again and again he stressed the importance of sādhanā. But all these sādhanās aim at only one single point: humbleness, pokoře. And that means devotion, bhakti. Unconditional surrender to the Guru. Tanna manna danna ara pannakāra Guru Śivapam. There is no condition, no expectation. “Please give me the mercy that I may serve you.” That is all I want. It means we place our life into the hands of the Guru, without condition, without expectation. And when this comes truly from the heart, the Guru knows we are ripe. Because none of our sādhanā aims at mokṣa; it aims at making us ready to receive the mercy of the Guru. We cannot liberate ourselves through sādhanā. Mokṣa comes only through the mercy of the Guru. That is the essence of the entire teaching of Mahāprabhujī and Swāmījī. This is what I wanted to share with you. Let me see if I forgot something… Good. Let’s sing another bhajan. Ah, yes, one more thing. Sometimes this mercy comes completely unexpectedly. When we are inwardly open in our heart, it can happen at any moment—not always as final liberation, but as deep experiences that can transform our life and give us direction for our practice. I myself was a witness to such an event. It was around 1990—more than twenty years ago—at one of the international summer seminars. There was a Hungarian girl; I remember her name but will not say it. We had spoken a little; I had a slight emotional connection with her. We actually had mauna at that seminar, so we were not supposed to talk much, but she told me that she was in the Kriyānusthāna group, as I was, and that it was so hard for her. She said, “I think it is absolutely useless. I cannot concentrate at all; I cannot sit at all.” I just encouraged her not to give up. That seminar, Holī Gurujī was present. The next day something happened to her. Maybe some of you will remember it. We had afternoon sādhanā, which starts with half an hour; then usually everyone goes out for a short toilet break and comes back. But she remained seated. That sometimes happens; someone does not go out. Then we had the longer practice. Afterward everyone is usually happy to get up and go out, but she remained seated—by then two and a half to three hours. She had told me the day before that she could not sit at all, yet there she was, still sitting. I simply observed. Then we went for a walk with Swāmījī and later had dinner. After two or three hours, when everyone returned to the hall, she was sitting in exactly the same spot where she had sat perhaps five hours earlier. People became aware of it and signaled Swāmījī. He said, “Just let her.” So satsaṅg continued—bhajan singing, lectures—and she did not move at all. After about a quarter past nine, after roughly seven hours, a little life came back; she began to stir. Because I had some awareness of her, I became immediately attentive. When I went close to help her a little, I felt such bliss—it was like a cloud of bliss surrounding her. Her mouth was very dry, so we gave her a little to drink, and slowly she came back to ordinary consciousness. It was very obviously a samādhi experience. Yet she had no outward qualifications for it; it was simply an open heart and the mercy of the Guru—a milost Gurua. Now, that was not her final liberation, but it was a great experience—and it was a great experience for me too, because I was a little connected to her at that time. I remember we exchanged a letter or two afterwards. She wrote in broken German, and I recall one sentence: “I would like always to live in this ray of light.” You see, such a great experience, simply through the mercy of the Guru. But the disciple must be ready for that. So let us work on that. For something to happen, two are always needed: the Paras and the iron must touch. That is the point. Every inner doubt, every resistance, every skepticism—that is the distance that prevents the touch. That is what we have to work on.