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This afternoon was more conducive to your sādhanā. I don't know precisely why, but it was good. You overcame your tiredness. Those who knew other mantras and kriyās were also practicing well. It is not easy for anyone to remain steadfast on one path. This is true for everybody; it doesn't matter who you are. But when one has a single target, one can achieve it. Otherwise, one cannot. A person can suddenly feel everything is nothing and become angry. There is a story. A practitioner, a spiritual person or a yogī, was sitting under a tree near its trunk. The weather was nice and warm, the sun was shining. He was practicing his mantra with his mālā. That was his favorite place to sit for his yoga practice. After two yugas—generally, we call twelve years one yuga, so two yugas is twenty-four years—one day he was practicing and suddenly a vṛtti arose. He stopped practicing the mantra, let the mālā hang from his hand, and sat in meditation. He thought, "For 24 years I've been practicing, but I have no experiences. What about all that is written in the books: meditation, high consciousness, super consciousness, cakra, kuṇḍalinī, the mercy of God?" Suddenly, doubt entered him. Time and again he had thought of giving up, but he had persisted. Today, however, he was so disappointed. Sitting like this for 24 years—his knees and hips, oh God! There, on the trunk of the tree, an ant was climbing with a grain of rice in its mouth. It was holding the rice from behind with its mouth as it climbed. He wondered, "How will it bring this grain of rice to where it wants to go?" After about thirty centimeters, the rice fell down. The ant came back down, searched for the grain, and began climbing again. It went about one and a half meters before falling again. It came down, retrieved the grain, and continued. This happened several times: climbing, falling, and starting over. The tree trunk forked, and between the branches was a hole where the ants lived. This ant was taking the grain to its little ones. It was very expert; it managed to bring the rice into its house. He learned a lesson: if the ant cannot give up, why should I give up my sādhanā? I am sure one day I will achieve my goal. I may fall down many times, but I will get up again. Similarly, all of you, like parents engaged in some practice, sometimes you give up. But then you are there again, and you will come back. When I was returning from America recently on Austrian Airlines from New York to Vienna, in business class, they took us by bus directly to the terminal. As I got off the plane to go to the bus, a disciple of mine, about thirty years old, said, "Oh, Swāmījī, after so many years, I think of you so much and I am practicing the mantra." I said, "Well, great." I have so many programs and responsibilities, and there is distance. But you are always in my heart, and my mantra is always with you. There are thousands of people like this. Of course, they have duties somewhere, everywhere. Not everyone can always come to Sikandirgasa; there is not enough space. So it doesn't matter if you are physically with us or not. We are together in heart. There is a song by Paramahaṁsa Yogānanda. Sometimes you write an article, a book, a poem, or a letter when you have a difficult time, or when someone is trying to put you down, or when you think, "I have lost my dear one, but how should my dear know that I am yours?" There is a book called Meghadūta. "Megh" means clouds, and "dūta" means messenger or ambassador. The poet Kālidāsa, who lived 200 or 400 years before Christ, wrote this book about sending a message from one person to another. The story is long, I won't tell it all, but it is very nice. Kubera, the treasurer of the gods, was the brother of Rāvaṇa. They were fighting brothers. His priest fled from Rāvaṇa's court. It is said that Alakāpurī gave him a place on a mountain, which became known as Kubera's mountain. With Kubera came his servants, one of whom was named Dakṣa. Dakṣa was like a god but served Kubera. Kubera told Dakṣa, "Every morning, one hour after sunrise, bring me one golden lotus flower from Mansarovar, near Mount Kailāśa." This was his daily duty, covering a distance of 200-300 km or more. One day, Dakṣa, who had gotten married, forgot to bring the lotus. At 10 o'clock in the morning, he realized, "I have forgotten the lotus for the pūjā of the treasurer, Kubera." He went quickly and brought a golden lotus, apologizing. But Kubera was very angry and cursed him: "For one year, you will not see your wife. She will disappear." Dakṣa traveled down the mountains. He sent a message to his dear wife through the clouds. He told the clouds, "Go from that hill to that hill. Rain there, for the forest and vegetation need water. Fly from that valley down there and then go up." He sent his message through the clouds. You see, now Apple telephones have "the cloud," and they took this idea exactly from Kālidāsa—sending messages through the clouds. At that time, such a message was very important, and it still is. So, if you practice, sooner or later, one day you will achieve. Don't give up. And when you have one dear one, you should not separate. When you go into your kitchen, open the drawer with spoons, knives, and forks, you take only one spoon but make noise. In every house, there is always a little bit of some kind of argument. Don't think you will be all the time like the first day you met your husband or wife. No matter what we are doing, we should bring our action or our wish to its end. There will be suffering, and that is all. That was the story: if you try, it will come to some kind of end. These are the vṛttis, these ten indriyas. As Holy Gurujī writes in his bhajan, we have an antaḥkaraṇa in our body. My antaḥkaraṇa is in me only. You can sometimes make me angry to awaken my antaḥkaraṇa. Mana, buddhi, citta, ahaṅkāra—these are the components of the antaḥkaraṇa. Antaḥkaraṇa means inner actions, inner power. It is more powerful than our body. If we harmonize ourselves through mantras, prayers, humility, and living a sāttvic life, then our inner self in this body is also very healthy, happy, and comfortable, leading to a comfortable family life. In this coach of our body, as Gurudev said very nicely—I sat with him many times—God has ten horses. These are the ten horses. Why horses? Why not a buffalo or a tiger? The strength of the horse is a Śakti. That's why we ask, how many horsepower is your car? It used to be measured in horsepower. Your horsepower is our ten indriyas; they are very powerful. But the jñānendriyas (organs of perception) become stronger and stronger, and the karmendriyas (organs of action) become weaker and weaker. That is the problem. When you are old, all our karmendriyas slow down. But our knowledge, wisdom, and achievements grow more and more. The karmendriyas are temporary, but the jñānendriyas are forever. This is what we call in Jñāna Yoga, which Gurujī also described in one bhajan. Gurujī said: Sādhanā cārā pēla sādhanā, viveka vīcāra pēla sādhanā, viveka satya, satya karā nyāra nyāra. Practice that sādhanā. Know what is truth and what is not truth. What is viveka? If we have viveka, we know what is truth. Nobody knows your antaḥkaraṇa, but only if you have viveka can you know your own truth. Viveka is the highest quality of the intellect. Similarly, in this metaphor of horsepower, the horses represent two kinds of faculties: the karmendriyas and the jñānendriyas. The jñānendriyas are for knowledge only, but that knowledge cannot pull your car. Therefore, you must have the karmendriyas, the body, to force and pull your coach. That coach is beautiful. What is in this coach? There is a beautiful light. What kind of light? Knowledge. In our body, we should have that knowledge—endless, limitless. That light is there, not only within your body. Our knowledge can travel very far. Our scientists are now working, going to many different planets. This thought, this light, this wisdom, this knowledge reaches far, far away. Who is sitting in that coach? Where are the horses? Where is the mind? Everything is there. In that coach sits Rājā Ātmā—the King Ātmā. Our Ātmā is the King. Ātampurī, you know. Rājā ātmā behṭhā raṭhmahī. That ātmā is the king of this body and everything. The king is sitting in this coach. Perhaps we can say the queen sits there temporarily in this body, but ātmā has no differences. Ātmā is ātmā; therefore, it is one. Rājāy ātmā bethā ratmāhi nīj chetan nirakāra nīj. It means: itself, its own self, ever-conscious, ever-awake. Ātmā never sleeps; it is ever awake. Sleeping pertains to our body and indriyas, not to the ātmā. Nij Chetan—awake—and Nirakāra. Ātmā is Nirakāra: formless. It has no form. That's why the ātmā goes out of the body unseen, and when it will come into a body, we do not know. The ātmā is there when everything is complete; then Ātmā, Bhagavān, comes inside and resides there. Jñāna kī battī. Oh, my brothers, what a wonderful... my coach, my body, my dear ones—all of you are so beautiful. Your coach is so beautiful. God gave you everything. How can you say you are poor? How can you say you are unhappy? This is all your imagination. You are the divine one. God gave you all indriyas, all faculties: hands, legs, eyes, brain, heart, everything. How can you say, "I am poor"? And how is the other one rich? When the rich one was born, he was also without clothes, completely naked. The poor one, when born, was also completely naked. It is said when you are born, your fists are closed. We greedy people, when a baby is born, see the closed fist and are curious: what is in the palms? But there is nothing. The baby opens them again and again, as if to say, "I didn't bring any secret." But your destiny is written on your palm. When you were born, your fist was closed. When you die, your palms will be open. Bandi Muṭṭī Āyegā—you came with a closed fist. And even if you are a billionaire, you will leave with open palms. What will you take with you? This is how you can reflect: you say, "I am poor," or "I am rich." You can do your work without being very greedy. Now, what is more about that king? The king is sitting there. Who is the king? A beautiful coach, beautiful, strong, young horses, very healthy indriyas—karmendriyas and jñānendriyas—and the beautiful light of knowledge, and the ātmā, this jīvātmā, your own self, residing inside. When you have completed this coach, the king comes and resides there. But you know, kings—they don't work. Sometimes they can be a little bit naive. That's why many are like this: "I am poor, I am this and that." How can you say this? Because your advisor to the king is not good. A bad advisor can make a king into a beggar. A good advisor can make a beggar into a king. Why is that? Because the ātmā does nothing. It has no desires. It simply is. I am I, I am I... I am myself. I am nirākārī. I am cetan. I am praying, and that praying is going to me. I am. I am my own soul. My soul. I am. So it is said: Viveka Mantrī Rehe Sāth Me. For that king, Viveka must always be there as a good advisor. Otherwise, even a president can go to prison. Viveka is not only intellect; the cream of the intellect is viveka. Pella sādhanā viveka vichāro, Pela sādhanā viveka Satya yā satya karo. Nyāra nyāra Satya yā nyāra, Sādhanā chāra karo Hari. Sādhanā chāra karo, Jinn se ho mokṣa tumhārā. Jinn se sādhanā chāro, pyārā sādhanā chāro. Viveka. So, Vivek Mantrī rahe sāth me—your secretary. His name is Vivek Purī. Okay, now he is very tired; he was in the Himalayas and just came back. Viveka is the Tattva, the knowledge. There is the name Swami Vivekānanda, and many have the name Vivekānanda, but you cannot compare with Swami Vivekānanda. You cannot compare everyone's intelligence. But you have Viveka inside; you can open it, achieve it through meditation, chanting Oṃ, Sahasrāra Cakra practice, headstand, learning—it awakens your Viveka. You need a good teacher. That secretary or advisor has anubhava—experience. When a big ferry goes through the Danube River, only the captain knows which direction to take; otherwise, you get stuck in the sand. He has the experience. So, one who has experience can advise the king: "Your Highness, Ātmā, you are very humble and very naive, but do not go from this body to that body. Do not change your coach; stay there. I will keep your coach very clean and pure." But if the advisor, Viveka, becomes selfish, he will destroy everything. What will he do? He will take your liver out and sell it. He will take your kidney and sell it. He will take your heart and change it, telling the ātmā, "This is not good; we don't need this now." The king is left with nothing. He becomes impoverished. If your viveka is clear, it will say, "Ātmā, sir, please don't drink vodka. Don't drink too much alcohol; your kidneys will suffer. Don't drink too much coffee; your liver will suffer." So, with viveka, the ātmā, intellect, and our buddhi, etc.—what a wonderful synthesis. In one bhajan, Holy Gurujī has given all techniques of yoga, everything. Gurudev put it all into this one bhajan. That Viveka said, because of this Viveka, Āgama and Nigama—the scriptures, the whole universe—nowhere did we face any problem. Āgam nigam kisel kiri nai payā, kast nigara? We had such a comfortable journey. We had no troubles. We had good eating, good traveling, good everything. Who said this? The ātmā. Because who was giving all this comfort, organizing everything? Your viveka, your secretary or advisor. But meanwhile, something is going slowly underground. Because the foundation was not good, underground water seeped into the walls of the house. All the termites came and destroyed the wood. Then come the crow, the mother Lobha (Greed) and Caura (Thief). They now enter the coach. Oh God! They came so gently, with great sweetness. "Yes sir, yes sir, yes please, yes your highness." And the Ātmā was so relaxed. And Viveka was somewhere out. As soon as Viveka left, kāma (lust), krodha (anger), mada (pride), lobha (greed), moha (delusion), and caura (the thief) entered. You know them all: kāma, krodha, mada, lobha, moha. Many times we have seen them. What did they do? They ripped everything away from the king's coach. Kāma—passion. Krodha—anger. Holy Gurujī said anger is that thief which will take away everything from your door before you even bring it in. Kāma, krodha, lobha—greed. They are very sweet, everything. It's very easy to become angry at someone. And if someone retorts, you react strongly. There were four horses? Ten horses. One set was Karmendriyas, and one was Jñānendriyas. The Jñānendriyas went a little bit out, and the thieves went in. Now they will destroy the whole coach. Then come this disease and that problem—everything is destroyed. That's it. The ātmā can't do anything. The ātmā said, "Viveka, come quickly!" But Viveka is also paralyzed by kāma, krodha, moha, lobha, and caura. They looted everything from your coach. Now, what will happen? They will take it to the graveyard—to be burned, buried, or given to the animals. Guru Śabadkā Tīr Lagāyā. But Viveka said, "Guru Śabda, Guru Vākya." The Guru's word is like an arrow. Now, Viveka will target that disease: this is of hunger, this of anger, this of passion, etc. Bhāg gaye hatyārā—immediately, when Viveka returned and took in his hand the Guru's śabda, the arrow of Gurudeva's words, all these thieves ran away. And what did the Jīvātmā say? What did that Jīvātmā say? Sāgara lera samaya. Sāgara lera samaya.