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Part 1: Nāhaṁ Kartā: Our Connection to the Divine through Swamiji Good evening. As you know, the prāṇāyāma workshop is underway, and we have just completed the section on breath and prāṇa. This morning, we continued with āsanas based on physiotherapy, still at level two, focusing especially on the back pain course and level one. Earlier, I posed two questions to everyone: “What is the most important principle for yoga and daily life?” and “What is the greatest danger for us?” We compiled the responses into a kind of survey. The danger mentioned most often was the ego—which is indeed correct, although it can be difficult to detect when fully entrenched. Many also shared insights about living our individual sādhanā. Points included maintaining discipline, remaining ever ready to learn, Pūjā, Jñāna, Viveka. Ultimately, these can be summarized by a response that also appeared: to be an example—to live one’s life according to our principles, according to yoga in daily life. Clearly, this is essential. Consider a parent educating a child. Do instructions alone inspire the child? I doubt it. The child truly absorbs the lesson when they see our love expressed through our actions. Thus, to be an example emerged as a key aspiration. A second group of answers focused on our relationship as teachers to students—for instance, listening to them carefully. The third group concerned our relationship to the divine. Some emphasized maintaining the yoga system in everyday life; others said bhakti and guru-sevā; still others spoke of unity with Guru Tattva. That is profound. Yet Guru Tattva is the highest level of consciousness. How do we connect there? The point that received most support was Nāhaṁ kartā—the attitude “I am not the doer.” Swamijī expressed this: “I am so thankful that I am chosen. Whatever my qualities, I am chosen as a channel for the divine.” This attitude alone enables us to… And when we consider that the ego is our greatest obstacle, Nāhaṁ kartā serves as a wonderful shield. When a class goes really well, we can say, “Mahāprabhujī kartā, Mahāprabhujī kartā.” So now, I thought, let us go one step further. If Nāhaṁ kartā is our most important principle, what does it actually mean in practice? Where and how do we connect? The mantra proclaims, “Nāhaṁ kartā, Prabhudīp kartā, Mahāprabhudīp kartā hi kevalam.” That is, the divine light—Mahāprabhujī—is the doer. But we cannot connect with the divine in a generic way; we need a very specific channel. For us, that channel is our beloved Swāmījī. So I thought this evening would be a good opportunity to speak about our relationship with Swāmījī and our experiences with Him. After all, what you have personally experienced, you know; nothing anyone else says can alter that. Yet not everyone has had such direct experiences. Therefore, it could be inspiring if many of you shared something of what you have experienced with Swamijī. In the current situation, some may be in doubt, and by sharing we can inspire one another. I will also contribute by recounting a few of Swāmījī’s own experiences, whether you already know them or not. Let us perhaps sing a bhajan, and anyone who wishes may share a little something. First, I would like to recall Swāmījī’s own experiences. You have the Czech edition of Patañjali’s Yoga Sūtras with Swāmījī’s commentary. He actually spoke on the entire Yoga Sūtras, I believe around the mid-1980s or so. I am quite sure the recordings of those talks still exist; from them, this small book was created, now available in German and Czech in its first part. As far as I know, he covered the whole text, but it was never fully published. The original German edition was in A4 size; the second edition was downsized to A5. Interestingly, certain passages present in the first edition were removed from the second. Thus, very few people are aware of them. The removal had a good reason: at times Swāmījī spoke with extraordinary honesty and openness about his deeply personal experiences, things not meant for the marketplace. Yet there is a time for silence and a time to speak out. Given the harsh attacks currently directed at Swāmījī, I feel it is now time to share these passages. These are from the commentary on Sūtra 51, the final sūtra, which concerns Nirvikalpa Samādhi, the highest state. I will now read the passages that were later omitted, where Swamijī speaks very personally. The text is in German, so I will speak in English and have it translated and verified. “My first experiences with samādhi began in 1968-69. Later, they deepened.” He then speaks of his childhood. He had described certain samādhi experiences and now refers back: “I remember very well that similar experiences occurred in my early childhood. I saw and recognized certain beings around me. They appeared as luminous spheres, like shining soap bubbles. Later, beings of light would often appear, invisible to ordinary eyesight. Several times I was completely enveloped in a brilliant light so intense that I was virtually blinded; I could see nothing but this immense light. In early 1969, I had my first profound samādhi experience. In this samādhi, I experienced three things: the sound of my Guru Mantra—Oṁ Soham Śrī Biparipuraṁ Satya Brahma Namaḥ; then light, like a waterfall of millions of delicate sunbeams; and third, a vision of Mahāprabhujī, which my master, Swami Madhavānandajī, described in the book The Living Light, Līlā Amṛt.” Now Swāmījī refers to that experience in Līlā Amṛt. You may already know it, but I will repeat it to refresh our memory. In early 1969, on the dawn of Dīvālī, after six months of fasting and meditation—Holy Gurujī had earlier described that Swāmījī slept on a straw mat and ate only fruit and milk—he suddenly felt a powerful stream of energy seize his whole body. He beheld a light brighter than a million suns and experienced indescribable bliss, as if submerged in an ocean of nectar. From that radiant light emerged Bhagavān Śrī Dīp Nārāyaṇa Mahāprabhujī, surrounded by numerous gods and goddesses, by ṛṣis and munis, who praised him with the sacred mantra: “Oṁ Satya Brahma Śrī Dīp Nārāyaṇa Paripūraṁ Namaḥ”—meaning “Oṁ, True Brahman Śrī Dīp Nārāyaṇa, Highest Self, I worship You.” He saw the entire universe illumined in Mahāprabhujī’s light and realized that everything exists in Him and through Him. Then Mahāprabhujī laid his hand on Swāmījī’s head in blessing and spoke: “My son, you are mine for all eternity. You are my true ambassador. The religions of the world lead to the one light. It is the aim of every human to realize God, the Almighty. Puri Jī, Puri Jī… Puri. I am Him.” That was the description of Swāmījī’s first great Mahā Samādhi experience. Continuing with the Yoga Sūtra commentary: “One of my most powerful and overwhelming conscious experiences occurred in 1972 in Vienna. I lived in the third district, and one Sunday afternoon I was meditating in my room. Once again, I entered that state where all vṛttis ceased and I was on an entirely different level of consciousness. In that moment, the doorbell rang. At first, I was unsure whether the sound was within my consciousness or truly the doorbell. But it rang two or three times, and I gradually came back into my body. How did that happen? It seems contradictory. I have said that in samādhi all vṛttis dissolve and my entire existence, so to speak, is lost; I am in śūnyākāśa, the completely empty space. Yet I could clearly hear the doorbell. This can be explained as follows: the ātmā is perpetually connected to the physical body. No matter how far the ātmā journeys from the body, when something happens to the body, the ātmā instantly reconnects. Thus, there is never any danger to the body when one meditates and moves into other levels of consciousness. If there is a disturbance or danger, the ātmā contacts the intellect, and the intellect takes the appropriate protective measures.” “So then I decided to get up, went, and opened the door. The moment I opened it, such an overwhelming light engulfed me that I nearly lost consciousness. Two disciples stood outside; they, too, saw this light surrounding me. I asked them to carry me back into the room. I could observe everything as if from outside—I saw the disciples leading me, us entering the room. I sat down, but the experience of light continued for some time. Then Mahāprabhujī appeared to me again. Swāmījī does not describe here what transpired between Mahāprabhujī and him. Afterward, the samādhi state came to an end.” This passage was not included in later editions. I share this precious knowledge to remind us: Who is Swāmījī? We see the physical form and too easily forget that it is only an outer appearance. With our physical eyes, we do not see the Guru. I often speak of experiences that led me to write this bhajan. But this is my experience, this is what I know. Others may tell me many things—it does not change that. What matters is not what others say, but what I have lived. From the beginning, I knew it was not myself, not me who was preparing all this. During the celebration, unexpected events occurred. On stage, the words began to repeat, not in one direction but in all directions. A few days later, an email arrived that made me feel I belonged to a different world. The world must have changed. Even someone suspicious might say so. Through these 21 years, Swamiji has told me so many things—he told me what exercises to use, he advised me, he encouraged me. In such a situation, one cannot be unhappy. So I thank Swāmījī for everything, Hari Om. Harokova. I am originally from Bohemia, from Prachatice. I had to come here to tell you that I am also celebrating the 21st anniversary of receiving the mantra. I received the mantra together with Sītā, and it is no accident that we got it together. With the beautiful bhakti and the channel that Swamijī guides through us, Sītā has been a great support many times on this journey. Not only was I so fortunate to receive this mantra together with Sītā, but I also received the blessing from Swāmījī that I could stay on this path through all the obstacles. So I am here now with you, and that is the greatest happiness Swāmījī has given me—that I am here now. That is all. Hari Om, praṇām to everybody. I am so glad to see you all. And… pardon, I speak English, because I… Actually, I feel really surprised that I am speaking in English. It is because I see Swami Gajānandjī here, and I would like him to understand me. Hari Om, I am very happy to be here and to see all of you—many dear old friends, brothers and sisters. My name is Muktānand from Prague. I would like to share my joy in being here. I have been Swāmījī’s disciple since 1975; many of you are not even that old, so I am something like a yoga grandmother. I have heard that some people speak of all kinds of moral problems and disturbances over the last forty years, but personally I cannot confirm that. From my point of view, I have experienced immense bliss and happiness. How is it possible that I met so many beautiful people? Because I could meet Swamijī—or rather, Swamijī allowed me to meet him. For me, this is the greatest miracle of my life. I have many experiences. I remember when Swamījī was very young and first came to Czechoslovakia. We expected a teacher of yoga, perhaps an old sage with a white beard. Then we met Swamījī, who had a great sense of humor—and he still has it. Beyond that, Swamijī radiates immense love for all people and for all creatures. In those days, we did not have spacious halls like this; the largest place was a school gym. Still, whenever people came, we were overjoyed and thought the room was packed. We practiced according to Swāmījī’s instructions, as he showed us. He also told us many stories. Before that, we had been practicing yoga for a while, always searching for a real master, a real teacher. When we met as a small group in Prague, we thought that in India a teacher might be found on every corner. Imagine that Swamiji heard our wish and actually came to Prague for just a few people. He came to us with great care and love, as if ready to give himself completely. Though he was very young, he awakened deep respect in us. I remember a secret satsaṅg we held, only for those we trusted completely. At one satsaṅg, Swāmījī apologized to us, and I wondered why. He apologized because we had arrived by train, and when he drove past in a car, he merely waved and did not stop or speak. Such humility was astounding. And just to illustrate: we wanted to offer Swamiji some food, so we bought bananas—a rarity at that time. Swamiji took the bowl and told everyone to take some, but that was impossible because bananas were so precious. We had to cut them into small pieces, and everyone took only a morsel. We had many such beautiful experiences. In summer, we went to a yoga seminar in Kopná in the Beskydy mountains. If anyone remembers those times, it was a simple recreation cottage with minimal equipment, including a dry toilet. Swamiji came there to spend the whole summer with us—seminars, satsaṅgs, lectures. In the small dining room, we sat tightly together. When we arrived from Prague, we came almost as one man, or rather one woman, since most of us were women. We resolved to do everything exactly as Swāmījī taught. At that time, our yoga teacher was Miss Alžbieta Holá. We sat in the front row, right in front of Swamiji. Swamiji led a meditation where we sat with closed eyes, and we also sang kīrtan—Om Mādhavānanda, Om Mādhavānanda—which was a homage to Holy Gurujī. I can tell you, we all had pain in our knees and back… but it was so beautiful. Part 2: Shared Stories of Grace: Devotees Remember Swāmījī’s Light and Guidance Milenka began by recalling how, during a silent sitting, Swāmījī tested their steadiness. “We were trying to sit as best we could without moving, with a straight back. Swāmījī still hadn’t said enough. You know how it is—people at the back start shifting from side to side. When they saw us sitting there like a rock, they began to smile or laugh. In the end, Swāmījī was so kind; he simply said, ‘Okay, relax.’” She continued, “Swāmījī sang with us and walked with us to the east of the sun, to gaze at the west of the sun. And perhaps because the east of the sun is, of course, very early, and we had sung many kīrtans at night, Swāmījī said, ‘Lie down here, I will watch, and then I will wake you up and we will go to the east of the sun together.’ We entered a world of singing, and we also went to see the sunrise and the sunset.” Milenka spoke of their forest walks. “One evening, Swāmījī was holding a torchlight. It wasn’t simply that he carried a torch; it was more like a symbol. He said, ‘Remember, one day when you are in darkness, remember I am carrying this light, and I am carrying it in front of you.’” She also treasured his wish: “I would like to give joy to people.” Imagine a two-year-old child running towards someone with such joy and happiness that you feel it, too—that kind of joy he wanted to offer. “I think we can all feel that Swāmījī is giving us this love, and together we can experience that happiness. Here, as we are together, we feel his love and the joy he gives. It is actually what keeps us united. And it doesn’t matter whether thirty, a hundred, or fifteen hundred people gather; Swāmījī lifts us to a higher plane—he can do it for everyone. “This is his message: love, tolerance, unity, compassion. At international events, even though we may speak different languages—Hungarian, German—we understand each other inwardly because there is a connection between us. That is exactly the message Swāmījī brings. I would like to thank Swāmījī for everything. He truly gave my life a direction, a fulfillment, and joy. Swāmījī, dhanyavāda. I really want to thank Swāmījī for giving my life direction and light; he gave me everything. Praṇām, Swāmījī.”