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Part 1: The Continuous Om: Chanting as Awareness of the Eternal Vibration Welcome also to those joining via webcast. Swāmījī is somewhat occupied and will arrive later for the satsaṅg, and he asked me to fill in a little. I wondered what to do. Since he announced he would translate two bhajans, I felt it would not be fair to do that. But in his last lecture his topic was Oṃ, and he said he would continue about Oṃ—Om is like the root mantra of all mantras; Om is the root of the whole creation. So I thought maybe it would be good to practice a bit. The Kriyā Anuṣṭhāna group already has this in its program, but most of you are not in that group. Therefore, I thought, let us do something a little different. I said to myself, “Let’s approach it differently.” This is only possible when we are a large group, and now we are a large group. When we chant Oṃ, we usually follow a set rhythm: we pause together and start again together. But I would suggest that now we sound just one single Oṃ. Let us make such a single Oṃ all together. And let everyone breathe freely and relax in their own personal rhythm, so that in the end there will be no common break—one person’s pause occurs at one moment, another’s at another. The result will be like one continuous Oṃ. Let us make this a true group experience by listening to one another. It may resemble an ocean: sometimes a higher wave rises, sometimes another; eventually a shore is reached, and then a wave breaks and comes to an end. That is, we will end together, but no one will signal it. So it is best if we all close our eyes, truly listen inwardly, and listen to what is happening here in the room. We will start together, then continue individually so that the circle of sound continues. After some time we will end, but I will not give a signal. Please relax and close your eyes. … That is a variation of Oṃ. Now, listen to the Aum. If it helps, you may close your eyes and ears. So, how was it? A great experience, isn’t it? That is the power of Oṃ, the power of mantra. But I think it is worth reflecting a little on what it actually means to chant Aum or to chant a mantra. You see, we say, “I sing Oṃ,” in the sense of “I now create the Oṃ sound”—which would imply that when I stop, the Oṃ sound is gone. Is this true? Not at all. You must understand that Oṃ is a reality. Every true original mantra is a reality; it is a divine vibration pervading the universe at all times. So what does it actually mean when we say, “Now I chant Oṃ”? We cannot manufacture Oṃ because it is already there. What we are actually doing is imitating the really existing Oṃ. Through this chanting, through this imitation of the real Oṃ, we come into contact with that real, divine Oṃ vibration—and that is what we feel. All the effects we experience through the mantra arise because it is a reality we simply activate by our practice. Even if we do nothing, the Oṃ is there. When we are still enough, we can experience it; when we are calm enough, we can listen to it. This is very similar to what Swāmījī mentioned, I think this morning or yesterday, when he said, “Cover the ears,” and then you hear some sound without knowing where it actually comes from. Swāmījī said, “This is a divine sound, a divine vibration.” This is actually the path of Nāda Yoga. Nāda means sound, vibration. And you know, Swāmījī always repeats: Nāda Rūpa Parabrahma—sound or vibration is a form of God. In Nāda Yoga you do not so much make something; you rather listen to these really existing sounds. And the finest of all, the origin of all sounds, is this Oṃ. This also casts a different light on our simple statement, “Swāmījī gave me mantra.” How can Swāmījī actually give us a mantra? I mean, he could give us a book—a book is a physical thing that he has in his hands, he gives it to you, and now you have it. First it is here, then it is there; first it was Swāmījī’s, now it is yours, and you can say, “Yes, Swāmījī gave me the book.” But when we say, “Swāmījī gave me mantra,” does that actually make sense? Was the mantra first here and now there? That would mean first Swāmījī had it, then he gives it to you, so now he no longer has it and you have it. Mantra is not a physical thing, nor is it even in Swāmījī’s possession—it is simply there. Where? Everywhere. So when I say I received a mantra from Swāmījī, I already had it before. The mantra as a vibration was already in me before I received it from him. What, then, does it actually mean when Swāmījī initiates us? The fact is, he knows and we do not. It is as though we have a great treasure inside, but we are unaware of it. The master makes us aware of this treasure we already possess. When he gives us mantra, he gives us the awareness of the mantra that we already have, and he gives us instructions on how to become more aware of it. For instance, when we chant, through the chanting we actually activate this power of Oṃ, and it can have an effect in us. In the same way, when Swāmījī gives us the techniques and says, “Now do this, now do this,” and we follow, we actually get in touch with these vibrations. As you know, Swāmījī also speaks of five techniques, and chanting is one of them, so that we may feel more clearly what it is and how it is. It is like a broom standing in the corner: the master says, “Take it and clean.” The broom was already there, but we never really noticed it or had the idea that it could be used. This is how I understand it when the master gives us mantra. On the surface it seems simple, but if you reflect a little, it is not such a simple process. Do you know which of our bhajans deal with the topic of mantra? It is important that we have some idea about our bhajans. Let us collect them. So, which bhajans address mantra? “Dīpanī Rāñjan, Sabatoka Rāñjan”—yes, this is perhaps the nicest, because it is a Guru Mantra with a full explanation. Mīrābāī’s bhajan: “Pāyo jī maine Rāma ratana dhana pāyo”—the name of Rāma, the name of God, is the essence of mantra. In our bhajans we usually do not find the word “mantra” directly; we often have nāma, the name, the name of God—sometimes Rāma nāma. Rāma is used generally for God, the name of God. More? Yes, the Oṃkāra Mantra, which is specifically about the mantra Oṃ. Also, “Hari nāma bina sukha pāigārī”—through the repetition of Hari’s name, which is God’s name, all happiness is obtained. And here, through repetition of the name of Hari, the name of God, I have received all happiness. “Divānā, Satya Gurū Nāma”—I became intoxicated with bliss, like one mad, through the name of God. I am Divānā, through the name of the true Guru. Another: “Mantra Mūlaṁ Guru Vākyaṁ”—the root of mantra is the Guru’s word. And “Bhajore Manavā”—O mind, repeat, always repeat the name of God, the name of Mahāprabhujī. As Swāmījī mentions the story of the priest asking the little boy, “Where is God?” and the boy answering, “Tell me where there is no God.” I think each word of our bhajans is a mantra, and especially the names of our Gurudev—they are the mantra. Actually, we could ask which word is not the divine name. Still, in the narrower sense, some bhajans speak directly about mantra. Now, what is the mantra for? Essentially, for two things: to purify our mind and to purify our karmas. This is already contained in the word “mantra.” There is a classical definition: “Mananāt trāyate iti mantraḥ”—that which, when constantly contemplated, liberates the mind, purifies the mind, is a mantra. So the effect is simultaneously the definition. If you were to repeat “Coca-Cola, Coca-Cola, Coca-Cola” all the time, what would be the effect? That we all run to the shop across the street, no? That is definitely not a mantra because it does not have the liberating effect. But there is another point. What does this purification really mean? Purification of the mind, purification of the karmas—or, as Swāmījī says, not just purification of the mind, but of the four antaḥkaraṇas: mana, buddhi, citta, ahaṅkāra. Here mana is only the first of the four. I imagine that when many of us began our mantra practice, we were a little disappointed. Naturally we expected that once I start practicing mantra, everything would always become nicer, easier, better. The spiritual path is often pictured as a staircase: we start at the bottom, with the mantra we reach the first step, and with each practice we go higher and higher, and life becomes nicer and nicer. Now, honestly, is that your experience? We have lived in this house for many years, but we do not use the whole house. Under the roof there is a part—what we call a “Dachboden”—that is closed off; we never use it. For many, many years you have not been there. Now suppose your family is expanding a little and you think you need more space. You remember that room and think, maybe we can make it into a nice room. So after many years you walk up and open the door. What will you see? Quite a mess, no? After so many years there is a thick layer of dirt, and not only that—spider webs, maybe mice or rats running around, everything dusty. You go in, look around, and suddenly you see many things you had completely forgotten: old furniture, old pictures, old paintings, old photos—things you placed there long ago. You start looking at them: “Ah, my old girlfriend, thirty years ago,” and memories come up. So many things now affect you, not just physically—making you cough—but also mentally. Now you see what work it will take to clean all that. You have only two choices: either quickly shut the door and go back down—but then, of course, the dirt will not be removed—or you start thinking, “Can I really remove that, or maybe I should keep it?” Many, many decisions arise. That old energy is suddenly awakened in you. Just by seeing an old picture, a person you had forgotten suddenly becomes present again. So purification means a process of confrontation. Purification means a conscious process of facing these things and consciously letting them go. And sometimes that is not so easy—each person has a different attic, with different dust and different memories. Part 2: The Purification Path: Cleaning Karmas, Cultivating Satya, and Realizing the Inner Guru When we all practice the same technique together, our experiences are completely different and individual. This is due to your individual karmas and the specific contents of your mind. One person may encounter beautiful inner experiences, while another may start crying and find it difficult. But that too must be cleared away; one day it must be done. When you don’t give up, your path leads forward. One day the room will be clean, and then you can make it beautiful. And then you invite all your friends for the housewarming party, and they will say, “Oh, it’s so beautiful here. Why didn’t you invite us earlier?” And you smile, because they don’t know how hard it was to get it so clean. That is yoga, our practice. Especially during intensive practice, like here through the Kriyānusthān or the new techniques Swāmījī gives us. Swāmījī provides the tools and the guidance, but it is our job to do the cleaning. Therefore, Swāmījī once very honestly raised the question: it seems that those on the spiritual path are sometimes less happy than those who do not care at all. As I said, you can, of course, close the door again, but then the dirt will only increase, and one day we will have to clean it. This is the spiritual path. The more we clean, the more blissful experiences arise. Sometimes we have to descend into difficulties to feel progress, only then to reach a new experience of happiness, perhaps even bliss—but without knowing why. This is the opposite of before: earlier we suffered without knowing why, and now at times we are happy without any apparent reason. This is “happy without good reason,” indicating we have come more in touch with our inner self. This was only the first step: the cleaning of our qualities, the cleaning of our karmas. When this is done, we can go deeper within, and we get more in touch with what we really are. This is called Saccidānanda. Ānanda is bliss. It means we are in touch with our inner self, and we don’t need anything external to make us happy because we are already happy. We are still on the journey; it is not constant. But having such an experience even occasionally is a sign that an important purification has been accomplished. And now we feel this inner happiness. Let us sing a happy bhajan. (You will sing. Okay.) Śrī Dīp Nārāyaṇ, Bhagavān, Kī Jai, Śrī Ānandājī, Mahārāj, Kī Jai. Perhaps some of you would like to share experiences—maybe from chanting Aum today, or other experiences on the purification path. The purification of our karmas and our mind is central. But in this process, one point is paramount: the purification of our relationship with the Guru. You sing our bhajans. What is the essence of Mahāprabhujī’s and his disciples’ teaching? I could ask which bhajan deals with the Guru—and you would rightly answer that it is easier to say which bhajan does not. Clearly, this is topic number one. Thus, our inner relationship with the Guru is something we must constantly consider. You came to the Guru and surrendered to receive guidance. The question is: do we really take it? Do we truly put it into practice? This means applying the teaching not only when the Guru is physically present, but in every life situation, even when the physical body is not here. Swāmījī once gave a hint, saying, “Many of my disciples are vegetarians—most of the time.” But sometimes they think, “Hmm, a little fish… Swāmījī is not here, he doesn’t know.” And then Swāmījī said, “When they think of me, in that moment they call me, and I am already there.” On another occasion, when we welcomed him in Jadan, he looked around and said, “In some auras, I see fishes swimming.” We often sing about the Guru, but mostly we sing about the mantra. As I said, the Guru gives us the mantra. And if we don’t sing deeply, we treat it like a book: he has it, he gives it to me, and now I have it. He is here—no, he is there—oh, he is in another country, not in this room. This is the same misunderstanding we have about the Guru as we have about the mantra. We tend to understand the Guru as a physical person who is in one place and therefore not in another. That view is neither entirely wrong nor entirely right. Where is the Guru? The Guru is a level of consciousness, the highest Tattva, called Guru Tattva. And where is it? Everywhere. Could there be a limitation that the Guru is there and not there? This is not our usual way of thinking; it is something we must slowly realize and experience. Ultimately, we must realize that if it is everywhere, it is also within me. To get in touch with the inner Guru—and when we are aware of this, we know that he knows everything. Not only when we think of him do we call him; he is already there even before that thought. This is not a small realization. I remember a guru yoga teacher seminar about 20 years ago. At the beginning, Swāmījī said something I did not understand: “Whatever we practice in yoga—whether mantra, kriyā, meditation, or anything else—is to understand the Guru, to comprehend the Guru.” I thought, “Huh?” I believed it was about self-realization, understanding myself. I couldn’t grasp it then, but it was Guru Vākya. (Ale byla to Guru Vakya.) And obviously it was very clear, very definite Guru Vākya. So I put it on hold—like in a folder to be dealt with later. And I believe this is the right thing to do when we don’t understand. Just two or three days ago, Swāmījī spoke about this: how should we handle something the Guru says that we don’t understand? Often we react with quick judgments and immediate reactions. But when we don’t understand, we should adopt a waiting status, trying to understand. Why can’t we understand? Because we don’t yet have enough experience to comprehend it. So give it time. This means that our spiritual life is the ground where experiences grow. It does not help if we simply hear more and more lectures; what helps is our practice, our sādhanā. And very important too is our karma yoga. For example, those in the āśrams in India are in a special situation: they can do direct seva there. Swāmījī does not actually teach them so much. As you know, when he comes there, he mostly speaks to the Indians in Hindi, and most of our people don’t understand anything. Then he just says, “You do this, you do that,” and it must be done. That’s it. Having been there for many years, I sometimes thought it was unfair. I told myself, in Europe he gives such long lectures explaining everything, but to us he doesn’t explain—he just makes us work. But that’s the point: this is far more valuable. When Swāmījī teaches you something, it is entirely up to you how much you put into practice: first, how much you understand, then how much you apply and really do. But in an āśram situation, you are directly told what to do; the situation itself tells you: do it. And this is practical experience. Based on this, your experiences grow, your jñāna grows. Your knowledge grows through the practical process. After a year, or two, or five, suddenly you are the one who explains to others. Because, based on your own experience, suddenly things are so clear—and you cannot understand anymore how they could have been unclear. We often see this in Swāmījī’s videos. In this sense, anyone who conveys something to you, who brings you into a concrete situation, is an aspect of the guru. There is a story of a yogi who lived completely secluded, leading a simple life of sādhanā in a cave. He had an altar, but he didn’t care much for it; like some households, it was a bit neglected and not very clean. In his inner vision, he realized that some people from the nearest village were approaching, coming to bring prasāda and to have satsaṅg with him. Through this vision, he became aware that his place was a little dirty and neglected. So we return again to the theme of cleaning. He said, “Okay, I will make it nice.” Very carefully, he cleaned the altar and everything in the cave. After some time, he looked around, quite satisfied. “Okay, now they can come.” Then suddenly he realized what he had done. All this time he had been neglecting the cave, and now, just because people were coming, he wanted to show off how beautiful everything was. He saw that this was cheating. “No, I don’t want that.” So he went outside, took a handful of dirt, and threw it on the altar, restoring things to their former state. Then he welcomed the people. This story became known and passed from mouth to mouth. Several years later, it reached a master. The message is: do not pretend. Be as you are. Honesty—or as we call it in yoga, Satya. This is one of the yamas and niyamas; remember, I gave lectures on them. Satya is the second principle. Living Satya is no small thing. By living Satya, we are taking a step toward Sat, the divine reality. There is a second story about the same yogī. He was invited, along with many other monks, to a house. They were seated at a long table, arranged according to honor and age—Mahāmaṇḍaleśvar and so on. The food was served from the other end of the table, and he watched how they brought it. He saw them carrying pots full of beautiful yogurt, which he loved. They were serving generously, but he noticed the pots were quite small. Mentally, he calculated that the yogurt would not last until his end of the table. He thought, “I won’t get any, because they are giving it all to the higher Mahāmaṇḍaleśvars.” It’s a concrete situation. How often do similar selfish thoughts arise in our daily lives? Of course, there was actually plenty of yogurt. They brought a second pot, then a third, and a fourth. When they finally came to him and offered him the yogurt he loved so much, he said, “No, thank you. I have already eaten.” His greedy mind had already long consumed that yogurt. This is not a big story, but it’s something we can directly apply in our daily life. In each concrete life situation, think: how can I apply this teaching from Swāmījī? These two stories exemplify how to apply the principle of satya in daily life situations. So I hope we will soon have darśana of Swāmījī. Shall we sing another bhajana? Let us try to call Swāmījī now. You know, we have a saying in bhajanas and prayers: Abhukimiri Bari. Do you know what it means? “Please, now it is my turn.” Now it is our turn. Swāmījī, we request you to come to us now. Sīkhī.