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Make yourself comfortable. You may change your posture anytime; it is better to adjust than to suffer. However, when you change your āsana—we call posture āsana—do so silently and peacefully, moving your body, hands, or legs without sound, so as not to disturb others. This morning, before noon, the focus was on the viśuddhi chakra, the thyroid. The movements and āsanas were beneficial for all of us, myself included. I also practiced, though it requires consistent effort. We eat daily, yet we can fast for one, two, or three days. We can survive without food for a time, but eventually we must eat. Similarly, we can survive without water for a few days, but not indefinitely. As for breath, we can hold it for only seconds. For the functioning of all the chakras, we will touch upon the astral body. Through the astral body, we can sustain life and draw prāṇa. I recall telling you about one person as an example; there are many. Our subject now is the Maṇipūra Chakra. In this chakra, every color, symbol, and letter holds meaning for the human body. From the Mūlādhāra to the Viśuddhi, these chakras contain human qualities mixed with animal qualities. For instance, the Svādhiṣṭhāna Chakra possesses a strong energy of animal power alongside human energy. This chakra generates immense waves from the ocean of passion and desires, which can sweep us away. If we can cross this ocean, we rise above it. However, from time to time, something or someone may exert a negative force, though not always. This relates to the Maṇipūra Chakra. In my over 65 years of experience, since childhood, I have learned much. My first master was my father, who imparted immense knowledge in a simple way. Through his instruction, I found my path—a fact I have shared with few. My father was a great astrologer, as was my whole family. He once said, "Either I will not survive for many years, or he will renounce everything." And so it happened. From ages 8 to 12, I was fortunate to have good friends in my village. No one spoke ill; it was a happy, virtuous society. Later, I met my Gurujī. I always saw him rise at 3:30 AM to practice āsanas, including headstands and shoulder stands. For me, it was difficult as I was sleeping. When Gurujī called for meditation, I was happy because I could sleep! I share this because these chakras contain great power that we must master—a mastery we cannot achieve alone. We need guidance from another, who may lead us rightly or wrongly. There was no expectation that I would become a sannyāsī, but my Gurujī recounted that my father had told him, "Either he will die young, or he will follow you." This came to pass in my teenage years, around 16 or 17. My friends, some older or younger, married at that time. Within a year or two, they would come to Gurujī or me, weeping, saying, "My life is gone." I would ask why, noting they had a good spouse and family. They replied, "No," explaining that after just a few months, problems arose with in-laws, financial pressures, and feeling like a mere machine. I share this not as autobiography, but to illustrate a point. My name, Maheśvarānand, came to me later. I resolved not to fall into that well from which one cannot escape, though the age of temptation varies. I asked my master to become a sannyāsī. He said, "No, you must work, go to school," and so on. Yet, something awakened within me. It was a moment of decision, like standing on a cliff—to jump or step back. Many people hang in such balance. You may think you are good and everything is fine, but if this chakra is not under your control, it matters not. The body may lack strength, but the mind remains strong. Those above 50, 60, or 70 years old—the mind is always young. We may have jumped in youth; little girls of two, three, or four jump and play. I too would like to jump, but I can only manage twice! Mental power never ceases; it only increases. It does not decline. There is a bhajan of Mahāprabhujī that says, "Oh, my mind." My Gurudev led me into that beauty and knowledge, turning me like a sunflower that follows the sun from east to west. When you are on the spiritual path, you turn and move with it. The mind is ever-present. There are many stories in books. For example, Paramahaṁsa Yogānanda, as a young boy, slept beside his master like a child with its mother. He described experiencing a kind of protective jacket—a bulletproof jacket. One day it disappeared, and he realized he no longer needed physical protection, for he had the protection of willpower, mind, and divine support. Nothing can happen to you then. Yet, it is said: if you have a cup, you can fill it with water, and it will remain. But if you make many holes in your life—a Hindi word understood by only two here—the water drips out. What can your Gurudev do? He fills you with energy, but our weaknesses and desires create holes, and everything drains away. That is the nature of these cakras. After the Svādhiṣṭhāna comes the Maṇipūra, and after the Viśuddhi, the Svādhiṣṭhāna. In the symbols of the chakras, each has profound meaning. The Mūlādhāra is the foundation of human life, possessing the strength of an elephant. In this chakra, there is an elephant with seven trunks, representing the seven minerals essential for human strength. If you preserve and attain this, you become like the white elephant with seven trunks. Here reside Brahmā and Sarasvatī. In all these symbols, the Kuṇḍalinī lies dormant in the chakras until awakened. In depictions, the Mūlādhāra chakra shows the nāḍīs—Iḍā, Piṅgalā, and Suṣumṇā—winding left and right. When knowledge dawns, the energy flows straight. There, a snake lies coiled three and a half times, facing downward. The three coils represent the three guṇas. Guṇa means quality or virtue. A great saint, Kabīr Dās, spoke of this. Do you know Kabīr Dās? You sing his bhajans. Kabīr Dās said, "You are pure like a god," yet three different animals—crocodile, snake, and another I forget—symbolize the guṇas. Our qualities are like this; though we may wish to be guided in one direction, our qualities may pull us another at that moment. Before this, Gurujī gave me a beautiful poem by Swami Madhavānamjī Bhagavān. He said sometimes bitter things are healthier. Sweet things may be desirable, but if you have spoiled your body with disease like diabetes, you cannot have them. Gurujī spoke beautifully. Was it today or yesterday? A poem cannot be changed; if altered, something is wrong. There is a story within a story, but it is real. You recall I spoke of Kāvīkālī Dās today. He suffered greatly, yet became wise. He went to Sri Lanka and lived with a poor family. The king there—I recount what I read; you should read the book Meg Dut ("Cloud Messenger")—wrote half a poem and proclaimed that anyone who could complete it would receive half his kingdom. Many tried and failed. Kāvīkālī Dās, staying with a shepherd's family, completed it but did not claim credit. He gave the completed poem to the shepherd's wife, telling her to present it to the king. She did so, claiming it as her own, and poisoned Kāvīkālī Dās. The king, discerning the truth, punished her. Kāvīkālī Dās died there. Today, many lack respect, claiming copyright over ideas. He wrote in this manner. How do we progress through these levels? Gurujī wrote a beautiful poem: a fly (makṣī) sits on honey (madhu). Some distance away, a child relieves itself. The fly, attracted by the smell, leaves the honey for the dirty toilet. The poem, which I cannot recall fully, illustrates how a person may be drawn to good qualities and good people for a while, but then desires pull them away. I must give more lectures on Gurujī's teachings; they are profound. It will come to me, and I will write it completely. Similarly, Kabīr Dās composed a beautiful bhajan. He said these three guṇas are harmful to us, even the good ones. They are like a noose around our necks. These three guṇas walk with us, waiting for a chance to destroy us. It is a beautiful bhajan that Gurujī sings. My disciple Madhuram likely knows it. The lesson is: do not worry about your development; worry about being caught in the noose. In the chakra diagrams, each petal and color has significance. In the Mūlādhāra, the Kuṇḍalinī rests. The Iḍā and Piṅgalā nāḍīs wind left and right, forming knots. According to yogic anatomy, these three nāḍīs converge at the end of the spine. Medical science says they end near the navel or abdomen, but that is not our concern. There, the Śiva liṅga is present everywhere. The snake, coiled three and a half times with its head down, pulls us downward due to our animal qualities. In Sanskrit, 'sarpa' means snake. Australians have the red-bellied black snake, but the king cobra is supreme. It is like an umbrella over a king, hence its name. This king cobra's poison can completely intoxicate us, preventing ascent to the Svādhiṣṭhāna. If it reaches the Svādhiṣṭhāna, it becomes Māyā—Māyā Mahāthagni, as Kabīr Dās said. These are not my words; I adore and respect the great saint, merely conveying his wisdom. In this context, there is another bhajan: In the temple, the priest may be Māyā, and this Māyā can destroy you. Even holy water can become Māyā. Kabīr Dās eloquently spoke of this. Strive for oneness, purity, without blemish. Do not stain your body. We sometimes have black spots, yet some spots can be protective. Someone once told me a spot on my body was significant, a symbol of protection. Yogīs advise not to damage the body. Nowadays, with tattoos everywhere, humans are destroying themselves, for every symbol on our body carries meaning. From the Sahasrāra Chakra, energy descends like lightning in the sky, with vibrations. At that moment, the king cobra rises. Who has touched me, the Brahman, Śiva? Then, the Kuṇḍalinī energy, fearless and beyond feeling, ascends to the Sahasrāra Chakra, bringing supreme knowledge. Otherwise, yoga remains excellent exercise for joints, body, and stomach—though my stomach resists! It is a great practice. This is Rāja Yoga, encompassing Yama and Niyama. In Rāja Yoga, the king cobra represents the first two principles: Yama and Niyama. Then come āsana, prāṇāyāma, concentration, meditation, and samādhi. Patañjali wrote beautifully: "I give you many paths, but follow discipline and your master's word. If you lose the word, the king cobra rises." At the summit, Śiva dances. He said, "Oh disciple, oh guru, the dance of joy is not mere joy; it is the sorrow of joy. The joy of joy is not joy, but sorrow." We seek to enjoy joy, but that joy contains sorrow. In the Maṇipūra Chakra resides Viṣṇu. Viṣṇu, Śiva, and Brahmā are not physical forms, but we use symbols. Just as a microphone is metal and a recording device is machine, we choose what to receive. In our navel resides Viṣṇu Bhagavān, resting on the milky ocean—symbolizing purity. The king cobra, with its many hoods, protects Viṣṇu, shielding his head. Viṣṇu rests on the coiled Śeṣanāga, the serpent with a thousand heads. Lakṣmī, his faithful consort, sits with him. After a yuga, Viṣṇu departs and returns. In our body, we have this ocean of water. Our Viṣṇu resides in the navel. Our life and existence are centered there. The solar plexus and pancreas are located here. If the pancreas becomes cancerous, doctors may give days, weeks, or months—it is the end. Painkillers are given, but when Viṣṇu departs, it is final. An experiment was done: A friend of mine, a Mahāmaṇḍaleśvar sannyāsī Swamī, developed this condition. He called me. As we often say, "Don't worry, it will be okay," I did not tell him he would die in ten weeks. I said, "I will place Mahāprabhujī's energy on your navel." He replied, "Is it so, Swāmījī?" I affirmed, acknowledging his own great prāṇa. He followed the practice and, I later heard, healed many. At the Kumbh Melā, he told me, "Maheśvara Nānājī, by Gurudev's blessings, my cancer has gone." It means the nāga, the snake, left him. So, dear ones, we have energy in the body and must care for it. The Svādhiṣṭhāna Chakra features a crocodile. In the Mūlādhāra, the elephant is white, a symbol emerging from the churning of the ocean. The ten trunks represent ten minerals in the body. There is no literal elephant; it is a symbol. Bhagavān Gaṇeśa resides in the Mūlādhāra. Gaṇeśa is the elephant-headed deity. Seeing an elephant is considered auspicious, a sign of great luck and success, for Gaṇeśa is among the most ancient beings. The Maṇipūra is the seat of sound. That sound is resonance, and that resonance is the Supreme, Parabrahma—formless, only resonance. Sound is Parabrahma. Therefore, in practice, we should daily perform navel exercises like Agniṣār or Kapālabhāti, and also Bhastrikā. Bhastrika is practiced thus. This is not a subject all may wish to hear, but for those unable to conceive, practicing Bhastrika, Kapālabhāti, and awakening the navel can lead to a beautiful child—provided one has a husband! Otherwise, other prāṇāyāmas are needed, focusing on the Mūlādhāra. This is Bhastrikā. Please, everyone, place your hand, thumb, or a finger on the spine or navel—the solar plexus. This is fire, burning and purifying everything. Exercising the navel energizes the entire body; all glands, organs, and hormones receive energy from here. The sun shines everywhere equally—on trees, animals, cobras, water, houses, humans. Similarly, the sun ray of our navel shines upon us. Many diseases can be healed through it. For maintenance, practice a few times daily. Pull all prāṇa out; focus on exhalation, not inhalation. Exhalation is our life, beginning, and end. Bhastrikā involves the Mūlādhāra and other chakras, practiced correctly—not haphazardly. Imagine balancing a cup of water on your head; if done wrong, it spills. So too with prāṇāyāma. There are two main practices: Kapālabhāti, which awakens the fire in the navel, and Bhastrikā. I compare Kapālabhāti to a locomotive starting from the station: chug-chug-chug. Then Bhastrikā is like the train running at full speed, stoking the fire in the navel. Many health conditions improve with daily practice. Do not say, "I can't," or "I didn't," but "I should and I can." It requires dedication—perhaps one and a half to two hours for thorough exercise, at least one hour. Āsanas can be minimal, but prioritize prāṇāyāma. Do not practice sporadically; follow step by step. Slowly, the engine heats and moves through the tunnel, ascending and descending. There is a story about Mahātmā Gandhi. Traveling by train in the hills to promote India's freedom, he sat with companions and his secretary. Whenever thoughts came, he would say, "Write this down." Once, as the train climbed, a wagon detached and began rolling backward. Alarmed, they exclaimed, "Gandhījī, a big problem! We are rolling back!" He calmly told his secretary, "Write what I say. Our life may be ending, but we should not waste time. If we die today, let us use these 10 or 20 minutes productively. Do not worry." The wagon eventually stopped. Gandhījī smiled and asked, "Is your heart okay?" He emphasized not wasting time in gossip. Here too, when you talk, eat, and gossip excessively, your yoga and concentration vanish in minutes. Reflect, think, and proceed. Know that joking is like dust swept away by a cyclone. Whether young or middle-aged, we should practice sādhanā, not indulge in excessive gossip. Yoga is the science of body, mind, and soul. We can and will achieve through practice, not mere reading. Reading the Bhagavad Gītā, Upaniṣads, Quran, or Bible alone is insufficient; read with the heart, as Guru Nānak taught this morning. All these chakras are described in a book I dictated over one year. The knowledge came suddenly during lectures, through Gurujī's blessing or Mahāprabhujī's grace. It is simple and good, but you must read it. It covers all principles and elements, including the guṇas. Do not just skim, thinking, "Nice pictures, very good." Read one paragraph repeatedly. Internalize it; let it move from outside to inside, into your knowledge. When you apply it, you will succeed. This is a process requiring days, months, years of repetition. The Bhagavad-gītā is one such scripture. If you read one śloka daily for a month, contemplating and experiencing it, you gain new knowledge each day. It is like a cow that gives fresh milk continually—ever new, not old. I spoke of milk and the cow. The calf, the cow, the milker—all are of skin (chamḍā). The skin is worshipped, and the skin drinks the milk. All are one. The milk symbolizes wisdom and knowledge. Everyone—the calf (young learner), the elder (teacher)—partakes of this milk of knowledge. We must "milk" it daily. This is called manthan—churning. Manthan comes from the root for milk. There is a nice story, but I will tell it another time. Today, I wish you all the best. I intended to lead meditation, but this theoretical understanding is crucial. Practice will follow. Tomorrow we will be at the Oakland āśram for programs. I pray Mahāprabhujī, Gurujī, Devapurījī, and Alakpurījī bless us. I always say we are innocent children. Mahāprabhujī, Gurudev, help us. When a Gurudev departs to Brahmaloka, he designates a successor. We are all disciples here. When the master leaves the physical body, he chooses a successor—that is the guru. The master, though physically gone, remains as the Satguru. We are the gurus and the students, continually learning. Thank you. Hari Om Siddhi Pran Bhagwan Kī, Dev Puruṣa Mahādev Kī, Mādhava Kṛṣṇa Bhagavān Kī, Satya Sanātana Dharma Kī, Jai Hari Om.