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Oṃ Dīpyoti Parabrahma Dīpaṃ Sarve Mohanaṃ Dīpana Sajate Sarvaṃ Sandhyā Dīpaṃ Sarva Satyaṃ Subhaṃ Karoti Kalyāṇaṃ Marugyaṃ Dhanaśyaṃ Padasatru Bodhi Vināśaya Dīpyoti Namastute. Our adoration to Oṃ Śrī Alak Purījī Siddha Pīṭha Paramparā. Our adoration to Śrī Devpurījī, who is a great protection for all of us. And to our Bhagavān Śrīdīp Narmahāprabhujī, who is guiding us on our spiritual path, as well as our beloved holy Gurujī. Our adoration to him; he is the great inspiration for us. Gurujī, Holī Gurujī, Mahāprabhujī, and Devpurījī have left a great wealth for all of us—a wealth which, day by day, is increasing. There is a beautiful bhajan, I think from Mīrābāī: "Pāyo jī mene rāma-ratana-dhana pāyo." Rāma is God, Bhagavān Rāma. "Ratana" means the precious stone. "Pāyo" means "I got." I got it: Rāma, the jewel, the wealth (dhana). So the name of God is that jewel, and we got it through the Gurudev. "Khāyo dekho te chōra-lute-dindana-bhadrata-savāyo." We can utilize or eat as much as we can, and no thieves can steal it. "Din, din, baḍata-savāyo." Day by day, it is multiplying more and more. That is knowledge. What we see, anyone can take away from your hands, but not what you have in your buddhi. Knowledge and wisdom multiply day by day; the more we use them, the more they increase. In our bhajan books, the bhajans and poems are something one cannot manipulate. If someone writes an article or a book, one can change something. But poems, especially those in Sanskrit—like the Bhagavad Gītā, which is translated into every language in the world—receive commentary, but no one can change the Sanskrit words. If you change just half an alphabet, a scholar will immediately say, "Oh, there is a mistake in the printing." So knowledge is that which you cannot damage or change because it is perfect. "Brahma satyaṁ, jagat mithyā." That Brahman is the truth. Brahma is truth, and the world is only temporary. What is changeable is unreality. What is unchanging is reality—nityam (everlasting), nirākāra (without form), niranjan (spotless), akhaṇḍa (unbreakable). That treasure we have, and we can give more and more of it. We can distribute it. The more we distribute, the more it will grow. "Pāyo jī pāyo, mene rāma-ratana-dhana pāyo. Khāyo dekho te chōra-lute-dindana-bhadrata-savāyo." This is wisdom. We have to practice it. What does practice mean? There is theory, there is vāg-śuddhi (purification of speech), talking, practicing, and multiplying. Practice does not mean for one or two hours, nor special techniques, but to be like that. Put your life in that way. Then automatically, this wisdom, this wealth, will improve in us. As Mahātma Gāndhījī said, "Be the change you want to see." So change the way of life, the way of thinking, the way of behavior, the way of talk, and be very humble. We have so many bhajans. If you translate each bhajan, every day more meanings come. What does that mean? This is called Kāmadhenu. The Kāmadhenu appeared from the churning of the ocean in Satya Yuga. Kāmadhenu gives endless milk and fulfills all wishes. If you have a Kāmadhenu at home and a hundred guests arrive when you have nothing, the cow, through her miraculous presence, will provide. You only wish to serve the food; the menu appears. Of course, it is vegetarian, with buttermilk or lassi. We already have all the bhajans; we only have to understand them, sing them, and put our life in that way. Then it means your practice is going on day and night. "Sūraj ko chalta nahī̃ dekhā, baḍtī dekhī nahī̃ vel, yogī ko basta nahī̃ dekhā, yahī kudrat kā khel." We have not seen the sun moving; it is not moving. All planets and Earth move around the Sun. And this vine that grows on trees—we cannot see it growing, but by morning it is already three or four centimeters bigger. "Yogī ko basta nahī̃ dekhā"—I have not seen any yogī who is just meditating. "Yahī kudrat kā khel"—this is a miracle of nature. "Kudrat" is nature; "kudratī" is also our destiny, kismat. When we come together here, we are in that divine aura. When you started from home to come here, these feelings and thoughts awakened you: "Swamiji is there. I would like to see him, to greet him." Whether you were driving, taking a train, or a plane, these feelings were always in you. When you reached this place, you had so much of that energy which is here. So you became that same. You became Swamiji because this energy is dwelling in you now. That is why pilgrimage places in ancient times were often in hills or mountains, far from civilization. The path was difficult. When going to a holy place like Kedārnāth, Badrināth, or Gaṅgotrī, there were no roads. Now there are some little roads. One walked all the time, going up and down. When they left the village, they said goodbye, thinking, "I don’t know if I will come back." They walked, carrying only one or two blankets. They did not have rucksacks or suitcases with wheels. They had a little chapati flour and two small pots. Wherever they found food, they cooked. Many people did seva. When they saw pilgrims coming, they would give them some food material or wood for fuel so they could cook, eat, return the pots, and journey to the next destination. At the beginning of the last century, there was a sādhu Swāmījī who used to have a black blanket and shawl. Every twenty or forty kilometers—a comfortable distance was forty or fifty kilometers—the path was very difficult, going down for two or three hours and up for five or six. You could see from one hill to another as you walked. Do you know the Adriatic coast road? They have now made a highway, not like this, but about 10-20 km near the coast, straight, with access to villages, making it more comfortable and quicker. That Swamiji, whose name I do not know, was known as Kālī Kambalīvālā ("the one with the black blanket"). He had a little dry spot, a tent or space under a tree, with cooking pots, some food like rice and salt, and wood for cooking. You could make a fire, use the pots, cook, eat, clean the pots, leave them, and go. Swamiji's bhaktas would observe how many people cooked, check the pots, and refill the food if empty. This later became a trust or foundation. People from other parts of India built a house like a hotel with rooms and beds. Slowly, it developed. That was seva, and people were thankful. At that time, they also tried to have a doctor or Ayurvedic doctor to care for people. No one stole the pots. Nowadays, people might take the pot and go. In some cases, it may have happened. Mahāprabhujī once had a thief come at about two or three at night—the time when everyone sleeps deeply, and thieves have a chance. Holī Gurujī heard, woke up, and slowly went to Mahāprabhujī, saying, "Here is a thief. Should I catch him?" Mahāprabhujī said, "Don’t disturb him. He is so shy that he doesn’t dare to ask for what he needs, and at night he thinks we are sleeping. He needs it, so let him have it. Just lie down; otherwise, he will run away." That was that. So was the case with Kālī Kambalīvālā; he is very famous. That is seva. Here in Europe, they call it monastery soup. Anyone can go at lunchtime and get food. I have been in such an organization in Australia, in Sydney or another city, over twenty years ago. Every day, about 1,500 people ate there—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. These were poor people with no homes. They showed me the kitchen; they were making nice braids, butter biscuits, cakes, and many things. People gave donations, and others used them. This is seva. In India, we have many places called Rām Rasoṛā (the kitchen of God Rāma). In Pali, on the road from Pali to Jodhpur near the dam, there is a road about 20 meters long. On one side is the dam or lake, on the other the village. People you may call beggars or the poor, homeless, sit there, and people give them food. One day, a businessman built a nice kitchen, some rooms, and facilities, employing workers to make and give food—lunch, breakfast, and dinner from time to time. This ran for many years. One day, he came from Mumbai to Pali to see how the Rām Rasoṛā was functioning. About 60 or 70 homeless people attacked him: "Stupid man, greedy one, this is not your father’s money. People give donations. Why don’t you let them make nice food for us every day? We want halvā, purī, parāṭhā, and so on—delicious food. You don’t lose anything. We know how much money is coming." He sat in his car and quickly disappeared. Sometimes these people can be nasty. Many, after evening, take their cloth and go home to sleep. But generally, poor people benefit. That is seva. When you do seva, you should not count on it. There is sākām and niṣkām seva. Sākām seva is when you give something but expect something in return—that God will help you, your disease will be okay, or if your son passes the examination, you will give a donation. This is selfishness, and selfishness is not proper karma yoga. Selfishness is because you expect; selflessness is when you do not. It is your food; who will eat does not matter. From your heart, you want to feed them, give them cloth. There are many things we can do. When you donate, you have no rights to it and no right to ask how it should be used. Here in Europe, many monasteries do this, and in Islamic countries as well. Seva is the best technique to get rid of our bad karmas. If you want your destiny to change, you should do seva—help the needy. Therefore, helping hands have more value than folded hands. Help is the best. In this way, we are here, and we get something. The pilgrims who began their journey from home, from different parts of India, had no transportation. Sometimes with a horse, sometimes hiding, people from villages walked. They could walk about 80 kilometers a day. If you walk every day for one or two months, you can even walk a hundred kilometers. We can walk ten kilometers, then we are the whole day making yoga nidrā. Slowly, our physical condition develops. But what I want to tell you is that all the time they were singing bhajana kīrtana, the name of the holy place: "I or we will come to Kedārnāth." Thinking of Bhagavān Śiva, the Jyotirliṅga, day and night—this is a journey, not a destination. The destination is the temple where Śiva is, but while remembering, thinking, and singing, our bad karma is cleaned, and we create so much energy. When we come to the temple, you become yourself a Kedārnāth. Then what do we do? Parikramā. Why? Because there is such holy energy, an aura, and you also have this aura. When you make a parikramā, it is like bathing in clean water. When they see the temple, the Śiva Liṅgam, or the statues, they make praṇām. Their eyes are full of tears, so much joy after such a long time. From there, they take prasāda, half a kilo or one kilo, and tie it in a cloth. Luckily, at that time there were no plastic bags, only jute or cotton, and they took care of it. Walking back, they had one thought: "I will come back home. I will see my family and friends. I am so lucky. I saw with my own eyes the temple. I managed." And they would give prasāda to all. When they came near the village, they would buy some more prasāda and mix it. The message would come, they would stay a while, and the village people would all gather, drumming, music, dancing, and welcoming them. Everyone said, "For us, Kedārnāth himself came." That was the feeling. Nowadays, one takes a helicopter, lands, makes praṇām, goes back to a meat restaurant—that is not a holy pilgrimage. At that time, people had so much spirituality in simplicity. That was the meaning of the holy place. They gave prasāda to everyone. Even a few grains of sugar—it was not the quantity but the quality. Our spirituality, the development of our spirituality, depends on us letting it develop inside. Where there is selfishness, anger, too much temperament, jealousy, kāma, krodha, lobha, moha, and ahaṅkāra—these sit inside like a big bucket of water with dark black color. We are very nicely, cleanly dressed in white, and in meditation we go in with beautiful dress. Without warning, they put a black color on it which you cannot remove. Even if you change your dress, you cannot clean it. "Lālū lāl kar dināre." You know this bhajan? "O Krishna, please do not color me green, nor red, nor white, but color me in that color which the laundryman can wash for lives and lives, and it doesn’t go away." So do not color me in any colors, but color me, Kṛṣṇa, in your color. That color is bhakti, love, ocean. God bless you. "Śrī Rāmaṇa Maharṣi bhīnī, Chadariyā, Jinī, Rejinī... Sadarhor Saṅkamat Kariyoh Do Din Dum Kodini..." This all: "chādar" means our devotion, and the Gurudev has the color of this devotion. "Murak log bhed na jāne"—foolish ones do not know the meaning of this. "Din din meli kini chadar"—day by day, this bhakti, this chadar, becomes polluted. Dās, Kabīr, Nānak, Sukhdev Muni—they had this shawl. Kabīr Dās also got it, and he gave it as clean and beautiful as he received it. The last result of our life will be in the final minutes of our life, and that is our devotion, our bhakti. Tomorrow we will have another lecture, a webcast at 11 o’clock. I wish you all a very good evening and Śubh Rātri.