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His Excellency, the Ambassador of India to Slovenia, was warmly welcomed to the gathering—the only building in Ljubljana that proudly flies the orange flag. After a beautiful international seminar in Maribor and ceremonies for the International Day of Yoga, the host expressed the hope that this weekend would bring formal peace to the country, and that all present would carry that peace to everyone they love. The Ambassador then addressed the audience: “Respected Swāmījī, and my dear friends, I know you are eager to listen to Swāmījī, so I will be brief. The current global condition—the rise of materialism, corporate greed, environmental degradation—shows that we desperately need these thought processes. If mankind is to survive happily, we must make serious changes in our thinking and way of living. Think carefully about the mantras Swāmījī spoke this morning: words like peace, happiness, from darkness to light, from ignorance to knowledge. These are profound concepts. Moreover, they may be scientifically proven realities. As a person interested in physics, you might recall Swāmījī’s talk of the resonance of Oṃ. That resonance has a clear reflection in the latest ‘theory of everything’ being developed—the superstring theory. Physicists are concluding that all matter is vibrations of a tiny Planck-length superstring, and everything emerges from that resonance. If you remember what Swāmījī said about the fifty-two petals in one of the cakras, physicists and biologists are now speaking of a deep, fundamental symmetry—supersymmetry—that becomes like flower petals everywhere. Of course, I am no scientist, but these are reflections of the knowledge from Indian culture, thousands of years old. Traditionally, science and technology have grown with a Western, outward-turned gaze—bahirmukhī. In India, for millennia, the ṛṣis, munis, and mahātmas like Swāmījī have practiced an inward gaze—antarmukhī. I believe that both the outward and inward gaze are converging on the same truth. So please listen to these mantras with the awareness that they carry deep, layered meanings. I wish you all the best.” The host acknowledged His Excellency’s words, quoting, “It is said, one in all and all in one—the whole ocean is filled in one pot.” He then introduced a beautiful bhajan, written by a disciple of Mahāprabhujī, on the theme of sound: > Śabda sanai merī jātrā helī, dujāṅ āve moī dāī, dāī marī helī; > śabda sanai merī jāṭakā. “Those who can understand my word,” he explained, “they are in my family.” The gathering chanted: Śrī Dīp Nārāyaṇa Bhagavān Kī Jai, Mahādeva Kī Jai, Satya Sanātan Dharma Kī Jai. Śabda Sanāyī. Swāmījī then took up the theme. “Śabda is the resonance,” he said. “In ancient times, there were distinct schools for different kinds of knowledge and professions. The kings had their own academies, and among other subjects, archery was taught: how to shoot the arrow. “Consider what kind of science the ṛṣis in the Gurukul were teaching. There was the time of Bhagavān Rām—He incarnated one hundred and fifty-three thousand years ago. In that era of Śrī Rāma, there was the śabdabāṇa, the sound-arrow. One type worked like this: when hunters or warriors wanted to strike a target, they would wait, ready with their bows. On hearing a sound, they would shoot in that direction, and the arrow would travel directly to the source, whether animal or enemy. Such was the mental power and sādhanā they possessed. “But there is another śabdabāṇa—the arrow of the spoken word. It is said: > Lagī, lagī, sab koī kahe, lagī nahī̃ lagī. “Everyone says, ‘I am hurt, I am hurt,’ yet they have not felt that heat. But: > Lagī, jiske aisī lagī, ho gayī ārām. “Only one who has been truly pierced by the arrow of the word knows its pain—and so finds peace. If a harsh word is spoken to someone, it goes through the heart and destroys everything. We may forgive, but we rarely forget; that wound is very fragile. Be careful. Before marriage, think this over: never use that word-arrow against your wife or husband. Friendship and the bond of a couple can be shattered. A husband may say a hundred times ‘Sorry, sorry,’ but the wound will not heal. A wound from a physical weapon can heal, but the arrow of sound, the word, cannot be healed. “In the Mahābhārata, there was the blind king Dhṛtarāṣṭra, father of the Kauravas, and the Pāṇḍavas. The king’s son, Duryodhana, desired the whole kingdom. Once, a meeting was arranged. The Pāṇḍavas prepared a beautiful water pool with an exquisite mosaic of flowers, like a carpet, before the entrance. Duryodhana walked in, thinking it was a carpet, and fell into the water. Draupadī, watching from the balcony, laughed with full belly. Duryodhana was furious. But her single word—‘A blind child is blind’—pierced his heart like an arrow. Duryodhana declared, ‘For this one word, I will one day destroy all the Pāṇḍavas.’ And thus the battlefield of Mahābhārata was born. That is the power of the word. You cannot measure how heavy it is. “Speak such a language, with such sweet words, that everyone’s heart becomes happy and joyful: > Araṇ ko śītal kare, āpū śītal hoī. “All becomes cool, relaxed, and peaceful. Mahāprabhujī said: before you speak, measure how heavy that word is. Two things, once released, do not return: the bullet from a gun, and the soul that has left the body. So what you speak, what you promise, and what you feel—measure it. Do not change it. On the surface you may alter your words, but in your consciousness, your awareness, your intellect and mind, that impression remains forever. It carries over even into future lives. In the Mahābhārata, Śikhaṇḍī came from a past life to fulfill a vow. A king’s daughter, refused by the man she loved, told Bhīṣma, ‘In the next life I will be the cause of your death’—and so it happened at the great battle. “Sound: nāda-rūpa parabrahma. This parabrahma descends into life with the soul, with the ātmā. Even an elephant, if you throw a stone at it, will neither forget nor forgive; it will take revenge. Snakes, too. Across ages and lives, that sound, that resonance, endures. The ṛṣis have declared it so. “Now, as His Excellency mentioned, the cakras and kuṇḍalinī are a science—not merely the yoga we know, but the strength, the power, the past–present–future energy in the human body. There are 72,000 nerves in the human body, each with its own resonance, all connected to the glandular system. That means 72,000 energy centers, which can be demonstrated through acupressure: when a needle touches the correct point, a signal appears on the screen; without it, only a slight movement from the skin. “These points correspond to the cakras of the body. When you observe the human aura, you see many layers—dhānamayakośas, manomayakośas—for this physical body that we see and touch is a very small part. The sound you carry within, which you utter from the Maṇipūra Cakra, is at work. The earth cakra resides on the soles of the feet; from ankles to knees is the vegetation realm; from knees to hip joints the animal cakras; from the base of the spine to the crown are the human cakras; and in the brain, the devik cakras, devik śakti—the divine energy. When we speak of Śakti, we do not mean only the feminine; it has a masculine dimension too. In battle, warriors would bare their chests and flex their muscles—that strength was Śakti. That energy can explore the whole universe, or it can destroy itself. “At the navel lies the center of power: the nābhi, Maṇipūra Cakra. In the Rāmāyaṇa, Rāvaṇa had a siddhi: even if you cut his neck, he would revive. No one here, not even the strongest bodybuilder, possesses the strength of one small finger of Rāvaṇa. Rāma shot arrow after arrow, but it was Rāvaṇa’s brother who advised, ‘Do not waste time; when the sun sets, it will be too late. Shoot your arrow at Rāvaṇa’s navel.’ Rāma did so—and Rāvaṇa fell, finished, because the navel is the nectar, the life. “Every cakra has a certain number of petals. The Mūla Kamala—the root lotus, Mūlādhāra—has four petals. On one chakra, the lotus is home to a white elephant with seven trunks. This is a symbol: it represents Śabda Dhātu, the seven minerals in our body that keep us healthy and strong. “As His Excellency noted, the Sanskrit language and its letters are called Devanāgarī. Each letter is not a human invention but an energy. This current descends from the devas and begins at the navel. When you pronounce the first letter, A, put your hand on your navel and say ‘Ah’—nothing else moves. The sound awakens there. The second letter, the long Ā, touches the heart and balances it. Then U touches the vocal cord, and finally M resonates in the brain. This is the basis of Brahmrī Prāṇāyāma, of which there are five types. Research has shown that depression can be alleviated through Brahmrī Prāṇāyāma. An instrument modeled on an MRI machine, using twin resonance based on Brahmrī, held at the back of the head, has been used to heal cancer, schizophrenia, and other conditions. A doctor at Boston University taught me this, and invited me to teach it again. “Each petal of a cakra is associated with one alphabet, and the sound of that letter governs a specific energy center. Just as a single seed can give rise to an entire plant, so each petal contains a complete pattern of energy unfolding in our body. And as His Excellency pointed out, every petal is supersymmetric—exactly alike, like the petals of a lotus. Mother Nature teaches us to return to nature. The yogīs and ṛṣis experienced this. “So, sit straight. Let us practice briefly: place your hand on your navel and say ‘Ah.’ Then the long Ā, touching the heart. Then U—your lips naturally round—touching the vocal cord and healing the thyroid gland. Then M, entering through the Ājñā Cakra into the brain, the Bindu Chakra, Sahasrāra Cakra, what we call the pituitary and pineal glands. Do this eleven or twenty-seven times, with controlled breath; many diseases can be removed through this resonance. It is a therapy of color and sound. “But the time is passing; further we will speak next time.”