TV Channel

Devaiśvara Mahādeva Kī Jai, Dharma Samrāṭ Satguru Svāmī Madhvanandajī Bhagavān Kī Jai, Satya Sanātana Dharma Kī Jai. Blessings of the Ālagpurījī Siddhāpīṭha Paramparā to all of you. Welcome. The subject is Tyāga and Vairāgya. Before this comes Viveka. Often we do not know what Viveka is. You may call it common sense, a principle of social conduct, a guide for what one should or should not do. But why should we not do, or why should we do? What is the relation between doing and not doing? First comes the mind, then the intellect, and then intelligence. We know about the mind. The dharma, or principle, of the mind is Saṅkalpa, meaning to decide something, and Vikalpa, meaning to change that decision again. We say, "I changed my mind." For some, this is good; for others, it is not. But what makes you change your mind? If we lack proper buddhi (intellect) and viveka (discernment), then the mind governs us. The mind, however, is not responsible. This is the problem. Consider a thief: the mind tells him to enter a house where everyone is sleeping. Then, the mind tells a dog to bark, forcing the thief to flee. Thus, the mind pushes us and then causes us harm. The principle governing the mind is the moon, which is always waxing and waning; every day is different. Similarly, our mind changes every minute, every second, every day, every month, every year. We are victims of the mind, which lives within us, yet we do not know where or how. It is inside our body, governing us, like a ghost in the house making noise—you hear it but cannot see it. After the mind comes the intellect. The dharma of the intellect is to deliver judgments, to discern right from wrong. Yet this intellect can be manipulated by the mind. The mind is like a very tricky and clever secretary to the intellect. Of course, the mind is not responsible. The intellect is influenced by the mind, and the mind itself becomes corrupted. By whom? By the indriyas, our senses. What we like to do, the senses push towards the mind. The mind then says, "I changed my plan," goes to the intellect, and instructs it, "You should do this." The intellect becomes weak, already compromised by the mind, and the mind is polluted by the senses. This is the problem. Viveka is the cream, the best part, of the mind, senses, and intellect. That Viveka will protect us. But Viveka does not give lengthy instructions or lectures. It speaks in very short words: "Yes" or "No." If someone asks you something—"Can I do this?"—or if a good friend proposes a project, the listener listens carefully. The intellect may say, "Yes, it is very good." The mind says, "Yes, yes." The senses say, "Hard work." These three join together, but Viveka says, very briefly, "Finger away, that’s all." If you have common sense, education, and social awareness, you will understand. Thus, Viveka gives us a hint or a way. There is a story in the Mahābhārata involving Bhīṣma, the blind king, and their son Duryodhana. They wished to send the Pāṇḍavas away for a holiday. They built a beautiful house for them and told the Pāṇḍavas and Draupadī to go and relax for a month or two. But Duryodhana had evil thoughts; he constructed a house that would easily catch fire and burn them alive. Their uncle, Vidura, who was full of viveka, sent them a small case containing a little mouse as they were departing. The Pāṇḍavas were surprised and sent a message to Vidura: "We do not know why you sent this mouse." Vidura replied with a message: "When a forest fire rages, all creatures perish. Is there something that will not die? It is the mouse, for when fire comes, it goes deep into its hole. So, prepare a hole." Vidura then sent people to dig a tunnel extending 30-40 meters from the house. The Pāṇḍavas were sleeping when Duryodhana’s men set the fire. The entire house burned, but the Pāṇḍavas escaped comfortably through the tunnel and disappeared. This is a hint from viveka. If you understand, you understand. Otherwise, you face the problems. Sometimes, people lacking viveka attempt things and harm others as well. Therefore, in Jñāna Yoga, it is said first: viveka pūrva sādhanā, viveka vichāraḥ satya asatya kāryākārya. The duty of viveka is to separate truth from unreality, reality from illusion, and the proper action from the improper—without any corruption or emotion. Imagine the sun setting in the west and the full moon rising in the east. You should know: this is the sun, and that is the moon. Now, your decision: where do you want to look, towards the sun or the moon? Similarly, viveka gives us a hint. In Vedānta, after examining the entire world—all research, our life, animal life, forests, water, all elements, our houses, everything we possess—the essence that emerges is this: it is not permanent, not everlasting. It will change. What is changing is not reality. What does not change is called Brahman, and that is reality. All that is changeable, movable, what we can touch, smell, see, measure in kilograms or centimeters, what is affected by cold, heat, hunger, or thirst, is not reality because it has limitations. That which is limitless, beyond this, is Brahman. Thus, it is said in Vedānta: Brahma Satyaṁ Jagan Mithyā. Brahman is the truth; the world is unreality. What you see is not reality. What you touch is not reality. It is a myth. "Myth" here means senseless. You are temporarily happy, but you do not know how many problems will follow. If someone talks nonsense, we say, "Why are you talking mithyā? Why are you talking useless, senseless things? If you must gossip, gossip about reality, truth, God." He gave you a human mouth. When negative sentences, negative words emerge from your mouth—when jealousy, anger, hatred come, when you say, "I will destroy everything"—that is called paśu vṛtti, paśu saṃskāra, paśu saṁskṛti. Paśu means animal. Paśu vṛtti is the action, behavior, or thought of an animal. It is a pity that within such a holy human body reside wolves, foxes, bears, cobras, scorpions, etc. That is called paśu samāna, like animals, because there is no viveka. Viveka is where you extract the essence, the cream. Similarly, from this creation, this mortal world, viveka warns us, giving us a hint: Brahma Satyaṁ Jagan Mithyā. Brahman is the truth, and all that happens here is not the truth. This is a temporary bubble, a water bubble. It appears as a nice ball with colors, and within seconds, it explodes. This body is also a water bubble; it will not take long—finished. This glass and our body share the same quality. When a glass, or something made from it like a flower vase, falls, it shatters. Similarly, a human being, with a little accident, is gone, split apart. What are you bathing yourself in? Water in a bathtub? "Oh, my skin is so soft now." In the river, ocean, lake, under the shower, or with oil? One mahātma said, "What? You are massaging your body, trying to remove all impurity? Very soon, it will absorb all pollution from the air again." The body is like a sponge. You squeeze a sponge; water and air go out. As soon as you release it, it sucks air back in. How do you clean the impurity of the mind? Through sādhanā, through mantra. It is said: take good soap that can clean all impurities. That soap is vairāgya (dispassion). You must have the soap of vairāgya. Imagine standing near the beach, cleaning your laundry in the water. You soak the cloth in water and then beat it on a stone to clean it. That rock is knowledge (jñāna), and bhakti is the water. Vairāgya is the soap, jñāna is the rock, and viveka is the water. Then you become spotless, Nirañjan. This is sādhanā: viveka, vairāgya, and renunciation, tyāga. Tyāga means to renounce. It means: do not worry if your dirt is washed away. Let it go; then your sādhanā will be successful. It is not easy. Brahma satyaṁ jagan mithyā: Brahman is the truth, the world is unreality. Brahman is everlasting, Akhaṇḍa, immortal, Nitya. That is the Ātmā. So, Tyāga. Tyāga means to renounce. But what should you renounce? Chocolate? "From today onwards, I will never eat chocolate." Okay, good tapasyā, but this is not real renunciation. Some say, "I will not eat watermelon," because watermelon is a symbol of our head. In some countries, they say a small country has a big capital city. In Austria, they say Vienna is like that. So what should we renounce? "I will renounce this kind of cloth." This is only to develop willpower. "I will not touch money. I will give my house to someone and leave." But then you might build a hut or search for a cave. Where is the sense in renouncing your house then? True renunciation is something inner. That inner purification, that inner renunciation, is the mark of a hero. External renunciation is merely a cover. There is a bhajan: "This house is a house of love, not for players or gamblers. You must first cut off your head and offer it at the door as a donation, and then you may enter." What does this mean? You must renounce your ego, your doubts, your conflicts, your greed—everything. That is the head. You must "tick it off." Then you can enter the house. But a cowardly mind has doubts: "Should I offer my head or not?" The bhajan says: sura jan deve śiṣ, meaning those heroic beings offer their head. Kair man mane śaṅkare: the cowardly mind has doubts. Arpan jankare: what great men or women could give this head—the head of ego, jealousy, and so on. It is a beautiful bhajan. So, one must renounce with Viveka. Renunciation does not mean abandoning your father or parents, declaring, "I am a Sannyāsī, I will go away." That may simply be laziness, an unwillingness to work at home or elsewhere—carelessness without responsibility. To dance to circus music on the road costs nothing, but a truck could come and make you into "ketchup." Many people try to live off the work of others. Such vairāgya is not the renunciation of attachment. Renouncing attachment does not mean you neglect or hate others. No. You love them, you are proud of them, and you work on your spirituality. Thus, renouncing material life is only a small part of the story. To renounce inwardly is hard. There were two friends who loved each other very much. One day, the boyfriend said, "I am leaving, I am separating from you." She said, "Okay." He replied, "I knew you would say that." Cold, okay? And that is why I am going. She said, "May I open the door? Oh, you are cruel! You have no feelings." He responded, "If I had no feelings, I could not open the door. I am nirmohī, without that attachment, because you wish to go. Who am I to stop someone? Why should I cry for someone? You dream at night that you died and were born into another family. Then you wake up. For whom will you cry now? This family here, or the one from your dream?" This is a changing of attachments and feelings. If you are wise, a vivekī, you say, "Okay, hurry home. If you wish, come home anytime." This suffering is ignorance, and that ignorance is the cause of suffering. Sometimes our father, mother, child, or dear friend—even an animal—dies, and we are sad. But disappointment is not a permanent appointment. Disappointment was meant to be; it was destined. Therefore, tyāga is very hard, but you must tell your jīvātmā, "My dear one, here we are again together. Before, I was lonely, and now I am one with myself." That is it. Suffering is ignorance, born from attachment. Nirmohī is the opposite of attachment. We will discuss this further next week. Tomorrow is a very great day: the divine, holy incarnation of Bhagavān Śrī Kṛṣṇa, whose līlās, miracles, light, and entire universe we celebrate. It is a great day. Tomorrow evening we will have a beautiful play performed by the children. If the weather is good outside, otherwise we will vacate this space. We will make a little cradle for the baby, decorate it, place a nice picture of baby Krishna inside, and everyone can play the role of mother and father. Krishna is very happy if you are his mother and father. You can come, and we will have a string to swing the cradle. He will be happy and bless you, though he is just born. It is joyful. All festivals in Vedic culture, in Hinduism, are joyful festivals because what remains is happiness, joy. Across the whole world, wherever people are aware of Krishna, it is a very big celebration. In some ways, it is a cultural program. We also celebrate Christmas here, sometimes at the ashram, sometimes in Strelka. Wherever we have ashrams, we celebrate. For Krishna, for Jesus, remembering the Christmas tree. Tomorrow, perhaps someone will speak about Krishna and their experiences, followed by prasāda. Krishna likes only prasāda—sweet and sweet and sweet. The wonder is that he never gets diabetes, for he is the healer of diabetes. You know, Holy Gurujī was a great bhakta in his childhood, longing for Kṛṣṇa. One day, in a dream or meditation, Kṛṣṇa appeared and told him, "On that day and at that time, you will meet me," and the dream vanished. Exactly on that day and time, Holī Gurujī had his first darśana of Mahāprabhujī. When Gurujī saw Mahāprabhujī, he first saw a photo of Krishna. Holy Gurujī made praṇāma, and Mahāprabhujī said, "Stand up. Remember your dream. What did I say? Today, eleven o’clock in the evening—is it now? Today is that date, and it is eleven o’clock?" Holī Gurujī was surprised. Then that Kṛṣṇa transformed Himself into Mahāprabhujī. And for Holī Gurujī, forever and ever, at the highest, highest level, Mahāprabhujī is that Brahman, that Viṣṇu. Dev Puruṣa is Śiva. Let us work again, okay? Tomorrow evening there will be no lecture. It will be a small celebration. You are welcome to donate any kind of prasāda tomorrow. In India, people fast, and after midnight they perform pūjā for Kṛṣṇa and then eat. But our Krishna is always hungry; He can eat anytime, so it is one more joy. Eat, thank you, and I wish you good night. All the best, blessings of Mahāprabhujī. I wish you all the best and the blessings of Mahāprabhujī.