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The microphone came to Niranjanānandajī, whom everyone will remember so well from the World Peace Conference in Bratislava and many other times. Niranjanānandajī was there in the middle, shining. He took the microphone, closed his eyes, and said: "Oṁ Pūrṇamadaḥ Pūrṇamidaṁ Pūrṇāt Pūrṇamudachyate Pūrṇasya Pūrṇamādāya Pūrṇamevāvaśiṣyate Hari Oṁ Tat Sat." Then he simply passed the microphone to the next person. Everyone there—a quite big crowd, as all the sādhus were also sitting and listening—said, "Mahārājī, what about the speech?" He replied, "It’s pūraṇa, it’s full. Everything is there." Just in that one mantra, everything is contained. That was it. Everyone started to laugh and said, "Oh, Mahārājī." That was Niranjanānandajī. We were so lucky to have his darśan, his blessing, and his wisdom. I am also remembering one more short story from that same year's Kumbh Melā. Swāmījī invited him to our camp. He came—it is quite far to come in Allahabad from the main area to where our camp was. I went to tell Swāmījī that he had arrived. Swāmījī said, "Oh, tell him I’m busy, and he should go and give satsaṅg." Everyone was sitting in the hall at that time, and some bhajans were going on. I thought, how do I go and tell Niranjanānandajī that Swāmījī is too busy to come and that he should go and give satsaṅg? Within the Akhāṛā, Niranjanānandajī was really quite an intimidating presence, and at that time I did not have so much contact with him. Later I realized just how soft he was. So there I was, thinking how to tell him. But Guruvākya is Guruvākya. I went out and said to Mahārājī, "Swāmījī is busy. You should go and give satsaṅg." I was quite nervous about the response, but he just said, "Okay." He walked up onto the stage, took the microphone, and started giving satsaṅg in English. I remember it was twenty minutes or half an hour, and then Swāmījī came. Niranjanānandajī was still speaking. It was fantastic, and everyone was completely engrossed. When Swāmījī came, as I remember, Niranjanānandajī again just went and gave him the microphone. A fantastic personality. Now, to the Upaniṣad. We will talk about the Kaṭha Upaniṣad, whose story many of you will know. Today we will tell the story at the start, and tomorrow we will go more into the main part of the Upaniṣad. It is the story of a young boy whose father is performing a yajña. The boy's name is Naciketas. His father is doing the yajña to try and gain prosperity and also to try and gain access to heaven. The rule of yajña is that one should give things away to everybody. So he is giving gifts to all the priests, to all the paṇḍits who are there, and to the people in the village. His son observes that he is giving away their cows, which were the main signs of wealth at that time. But the boy observes that his father is actually giving away the old cows—as it says in the Upaniṣad, the cows that have given their last milk and eaten their last grass. Nowadays, normally, those cows end up in our gośālā. At least in Rajasthan, those cows are given to gośālās, and that is where they are taken care of. But this boy observes this and thinks, "If you are doing this sacrifice and you want to get something good out of it, then you should give the best." So he goes to his father and asks, "What are you doing?" Specifically, thinking he will help his father, he says, "Who will you give me to?" Because theoretically, in this yajña he is performing, he should give everything away. Although it has never entered the father's mind that his son is part of that, the son thinks he should also be given. Here is this small boy with a better consciousness of what the ceremony should be than his father, more open. Three times he asks that question: "Who will you give me to?" His father gets annoyed and says, "I will give you to the god of death, Yama." The boy, being a dutiful son, thinks, "Okay, my father said that; I should honor it." And he goes to the house of the god of death. There he waits for three days until Yama comes back. Yama is out on a mission, I guess on a collection. It always amazed me in India: there is one motorcycle company called Yamaha. It is extremely popular. I never quite understood how it took off, because when I see it, it just says, "Yama is the god of death, and āhāra is food." You know, when we give food to the cows, it is paśu āhāra. Paśu is the animal, and āhāra is food. You have phalahārī, again it is āhāra, food, but fruit. It has always amazed me that Indians never took that on and thought, "No way I’m sitting on that bike; I’ll just become the food of the god of death." Whenever I mention it to someone there, they just say, "Oh, we never noticed that." I thought, how can you not notice that? So he goes there and waits for Yama for three days, which is extremely inauspicious for the house where he is waiting. To be waiting in a house and not to get food or water in India is a big problem. When Yama eventually comes, he is quite worried about the fact that this boy has been waiting. He offers him three boons, three wishes, which form the whole basis of the Upaniṣad. When explaining the meaning of the different characters in the Upaniṣad: when you think about that father, he is doing a yajña, he is doing action in the world, and he is thinking of getting the fruits, the results. So he is acting very much on this physical plane and in this māyā. Within that, there is his small boy, who has a very different consciousness of what that whole ceremony is about—the fact that it is about giving completely. When you are trying to give, it is actually such a skill. If you are really giving, then you are not expecting anything back. It is not a business transaction where something should come in return. If you are giving someone your love, you just give it; it is unconditional. And it tends to come back, let us say, with interest. As much as we can give to Swāmījī, as much as we can let ourselves go and just put ourselves there in front of him, we get back thousands of times more. There is no limit to Swāmījī's love because he is not worried about it running out. It is just giving and giving... it just keeps coming and coming. But you have all seen with Swāmījī, when he is giving, he is not there expecting that it will come back. It does come back, but it is not an expectation. He may ask about us, he may check on us, he may worry about what we are doing, but that is because he is concerned about our spiritual path. It is such a freedom when you can just give, because you are completely free of any tension about what you are doing. Somehow, the father represents this worldly life, and the boy represents an opening of consciousness. Within the story, you see that the father reacts like our ego reacts when we start to open spiritually. He tries to cut that out, to draw us back into the material world. As that friction occurs, it tries to pull even more into that world. Somehow this man has just said, "Go, get there." The fearlessness of that boy as he goes towards death is one of the things we also do on the spiritual path: we prepare ourselves for that journey. There was a very beautiful documentary about one disciple of Neem Karolī Bābā, a man named Rām Dāss, an American who was one of Bābā's main disciples. I do not know if anyone has seen that documentary; it is called Fierce Grace. In it, Rām Dāss talks about having had a stroke; he was physically dead but came back. He speaks in an incredibly open way about his experience when he passed away. He says, "All my years of practice, and I was thinking I was such a good yogī. And at that very moment, I got scared." He saw the light and got scared. It is quite incredible to hear how he says this: "I had a test, and I failed. I am so glad that I get a chance to do it again." Sometimes it is part of our practice—we are preparing ourselves so that when we go from this body, which is just a body, we can freely leave it and move on without attachment. It is actually part of our practice to prepare for the fact that we will leave this body, so we can freely leave it without attachment and just move on. When I try to think of an image for it, it seems like part of our practice is this: you have a peach and the seed inside a peach, and you have a cherry. In the peach, the flesh of the fruit is very much attached to the seed. In the cherry, it is not so attached; when you squeeze it, the seed comes out. For me, it is like when we practice detachment, we prepare ourselves to be more like that cherry. Our ātmā is the seed. In my family's house in Sydney, my parents live directly on a national park. We sometimes have very large fires there. It has happened before that they have been asked to leave because the fire might burn the house down. In the house, all the important documents and special things that are memories or things they most want to keep are packed in two bags. Everybody in the family, and even people who come to stay, knows where those two bags are. If ever the time should come—because you do not get much time when a fire is coming—you take those two bags and get out. It is not that they are hoping a fire will come for insurance, but the possibility is there, and they are prepared. That eventuality will also come to us one day. We do not want it to happen soon; we want to stay here as long as possible and be with Swāmījī. But through our practice and through practicing detachment, somehow those bags can always remain packed. There is a saying in India: if you wake up and think that you will pass away today, one time you will be right. It sounds terrible, but it is the Indian way of reality. It is part of life. And this boy boldly walks towards death. Because he goes there of his own will, he is not really expected. There is a small story about Yama. A man in Jodhpur was going to see his Gurujī. On the way, in the market, he saw Yama. He panicked, ran to his Gurujī, and said, "Gurujī, Gurujī, I am going, I am going. I just saw Yama; I have to get out of here." His Gurujī said, "Just sit down, do not worry." But you know how hard it is sometimes to listen to Swāmījī when he gives good advice? That man said, "No, no, no way, I am out of here." He got in the car and immediately drove to Jaipur. A short while later, Yama came to the Gurujī—they were on good speaking terms. The Gurujī said to Yama, "What were you doing this morning, terrorizing my disciple? He was so scared he ran away." Yama said, "I was really surprised to see him, too, because I have an appointment with him in Jaipur in the evening, and I could not work out why he was in Jodhpur." You cannot run. So the boy goes there, and Yama says, "I will give you three wishes." The first thing Naciketas asks is that when he goes back, his father will welcome him and not be angry. The second wish is that Yama will teach him the secret of that fire ceremony. Back to the cows. When he asks about giving the best cows and feels troubled that his father gives the ones no longer giving milk, for me that is one of the most special messages of the Upaniṣad for all of us. When you look at your life and your sādhanā, how you spend your day, ask yourself: which quality of cows do you give to your sādhanā, and which do you give to your other activities? The most important thing we do is our sādhanā—whether it is your japamālā, your worship, or being with your children. These are the essence of why we are here. And often, they get the leftover bits of our time, rather than the best parts of our day. It does not necessarily mean they get the biggest part, but they should get the parts of real quality. To come home from work completely exhausted and then start your japamālā may be good for relaxing before sleeping, but it is not necessarily the time you will get something wonderful from it. It is different for each person, but for me, to go to bed half an hour earlier and do half an hour in the morning would be giving the best part of the day to that, rather than the last part. So it is good to think about how your day is organized and whether you give your best time to what you consider most important. Steve Jobs, the CEO of Apple, once explained their design philosophy. Normally, companies first have the components that will make up a product, like a phone, and then give them to the design department to make something to fit those components. But Apple's philosophy was that first the design team would decide the shape they wanted, and then they would give it to the hardware people to make the parts fit that design. Reading that, I thought, that is really like how we arrange our lives. It is so easy to get into the pattern that first come all the things you have to do—work and so on—and around that you fit your spiritual practice. If you think about it and really try, it does not require much change, but the effect is very different. Most things you do can fit inside that box, but it is a much more compact and efficient box than doing it the other way. So when they speak of those cows and not giving the old ones, it is about the quality in the day you give. Also, the other message is to do it now and not wait until later, saying, "I will just finish this first." Our spiritual journey is long; it requires energy and constant practice. The later we leave it to start, the more difficult it will be. So before we lack the energy to start, it is better to start now, while we are still full of energy and fire for doing something spiritual. Who knows what will come tomorrow? Who knows how your lifestyle will change? Today is the time to give that best quality you have. The third wish Naciketas asks Yama is to tell him what happens after we die, what happens to the soul. In the Upaniṣad, there is discussion where Yama tries to convince him not to ask that question. He tells him, "Please do not ask; it is too difficult. Even the devas do not understand." He offers him so many things: "I will make you so rich, I will make you a king, I will give you everything." He offers every form of temptation not to ask. But the boy is fixed; he wants the answer. Yama offers him thousands of horses, hundreds of elephants, hundreds of dancing girls—whatever it is, he tries everything. But Naciketas wants the answer to that one question because he knows all those other things are irrelevant; they will not bring him happiness. He says to Yama, "I know the things you are offering are all impermanent." He wants that knowledge which Swāmījī is also waiting for us to get, that jñāna, that knowledge of the ātmā, of Paramātmā. At that point, Yama decides and says, "Okay, I will teach you." That is the end of the story for today. Bhajan? A much more perfect choice of bhajan, in the tradition of Niranjanānandajī. The Kaṭha Upaniṣad is about death. We had one story where a man escapes to Jaipur, but death is waiting there for him. I know another version set in Arabia; I guess there are a thousand versions. It is not about a special event—there might not even be such an event—but about the principle. Death is an unpleasant topic for us. We try to escape from it, to run away. Practically, that means not dealing with it in our life. It does not mean we run from one place to another, but that we try to ignore the topic, to forget it. This is a social agreement because the fear of death or clinging to life is one of the five kleśas. Holding on to our physical existence is called abhiniveśa. As Patañjali says in the Yoga Sūtras, even the wise ones, even the animals have it. Therefore, there is a social agreement that old people are somehow no longer in the central part of family or social life. In this point, we in Western societies are one step further than traditional Indian society. There, all generations live together; old people are integrated, and their suffering and death are part of the family. Even small children become aware. But nowadays it happens in an old age home; they are brought to a hospital, and the family often only finds out later. So we must be aware this tendency is in all of us. Here is the real challenge in this Kaṭha Upaniṣad. This boy goes to death. What does it mean? He accepts it. He is not afraid, so this is a real provocation. Therefore, it is honored by Lord Yama by giving the three boons. Wise persons integrate this topic into their life. There is a small Zen story. A Zen master, every evening after the tea ceremony, washed the dishes very carefully and put them in the right place. Someone asked him, "Why are you doing that? You can leave it for the next morning." The answer was, "I do not know if I will awake next morning. So when I leave this body, I want everything in perfect order." This is the attitude of a real spiritual person: to integrate it into our thinking. Yes, we are mortal, and one day this body will die. The point is not just to deal with physical death, because in reality, physical death is no death. It is just closing one chapter and opening the next. Or, as explained in the Bhagavad Gītā, it is like a cloth is worn, you throw it away, and take the next one. The Jīvātmā does not die; only the physical body is exchanged. The problem is the Jīvātmā has the ego involved—our individuality is still there. So when our physical body dies, unfortunately our ego, our individuality, does not die. Therefore, that is not the real death. But when we accept physical death as a natural part of life and prepare inwardly for it, that is a great step, also preparing us for the real death which is necessary: the death of our ego. That is the real operation the guru tries to do with us. I would like to share something I analyzed from an old lecture of Swāmījī from 1991. It is a lecture I really love; at least once per year I must see it. It is an old video, number 37, titled "Disciple and Wake Up." I love it so much that I listen often and made pages of excerpts. It is good to go deep to get the subtleties. Swāmījī's lectures are not logical or intellectual; they come from realization. Therefore, one could say Swāmījī sometimes jumps from one point to another and back. You might think, "Swāmījī, that was not really logical." So I tried to analyze why Swāmījī talks about one thing and then suddenly another. This lecture is about the guru. Swāmījī speaks about the question: who has a chance to get mokṣa, self-realization? It is all about the ego. But interestingly, he jumps associatively; it is not logical. I will read a little so you can see how Swāmījī's mind functions, how the topics of death of the body and death of the ego are basically one and the same. These are Swāmījī's words: "We have to become like clay in the hand of the potter. Then he can make any form out of us, as he likes. He may put us in cold water or in hot water. He may beat us left and right. He may throw us a hundred times on the stones and then come with some stick and then let us just lie for a long time. Then he may take us in the hands and let us go around and around. Chakras. 8.4 million turnings. And then, when we are a little bit saved in form, then he puts us in the fire. What remains is the best part. But before accepting it, he is testing us. Knocking upon us, if there is a good sound. Or, if there is anywhere a hole or something like that. But if there is somewhere broken or some little crack, then it does not have such a sound. So if there is somewhere a defect, then what he does is he takes it and throws it in the garbage." Now listen. This little mistake, a crack, could be our doubt, our little personal ego—"No, I do not want"—or inner anger. So it is very hard, harder than anything, but it is very easy. The people who died already and who are in... the astral form, they are not anymore afraid. The hard thing is only to come to this point. We are not afraid of death, but afraid of the process of dying. Did you listen? He spoke about the crack in the ego and suddenly spoke about dying, physically dying. I give another example from the same lecture: "Though our mantra is the best mantra, everything is inside, but it depends on us. The river is flowing here, and you can take water as much as you like. That’s it. But how much do you realize how dedicated you are? How much do you still have your personal existence, your personal ego? One day, sooner or later, we have to give it up. Either you give it, or you have to give. So before we lose our reputation, better we shall give it. Because one day we have to give all that which we think is mine. And then death will laugh or smile. Where is yours? Leave everything here. Go out. At that time, we have to give everything up. Everything that you have, you cannot say, 'That’s mine. I don’t want.' Therefore, it is better to give it to God beforehand, and then He takes care. You will not be ill so much. I mean, you will not have some heavy, big problems. And if there’s a heavy problem, it’s not your problem. It is his problem, because you gave it to him already. You realize?" Again, he spoke about the ego and suddenly about death. So from this point of view, it is somehow logical how it is in this Upaniṣad. The story starts with the boy going of his free will to his death. This represents an attitude of life: to accept death, to accept that I am a mortal being, and not to escape from it. That makes us ready for the real death—the death of the ego. Then, not only may we change the cloth, but the one who changes, that one dies. Then we are inwardly ready for the highest wisdom, and therefore this boy is qualified to receive it. That is his third question. Thank you. Can we again do just five to ten minutes of meditation? Swāmījī sends Hari Om to all those in the webcast world.