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Meaning of Yoga and Hatha Yoga

Haṭha Yoga is not merely physical practice; it is the subtle union of Iḍā and Piṅgalā. Many misunderstand yoga, insisting on postures and breath control alone. Authentic yoga demands six to eight years of practice for true knowledge and teaching capacity. Distance learning remains incomplete; practical experience requires the living presence of the guru, just as a baby needs the mother’s breast. Books give intellectual knowledge, not realization. The word haṭha also means stubbornness—“I will, I will not”—and must be abandoned. The bhajan instructs: give up obstinacy and walk with the master. Trāṭak, the sixth practice, develops concentration by gazing at a black circle on white paper; closing the eyes reveals white light. Do not stare at people, animals, or the sun directly without advanced guidance. The guru is the navigator; directions must be followed. Seek training in gradual stages, from beginner to advanced. Without physical proximity to the teacher, the destination remains distant. Practical experience alone nourishes the soul.

“Haṭha choḍmanā cala saṅga mere.”

“Trāṭak is very important. Do not concentrate directly on the sun.”

Filming location: Strilky, Czech Republic

Śrī Dīp Nārāyaṇ Bhagavān Kī Jai, Devādidev Deveśvar Mahādev Kī Jai, Satguru Svāmī Madhavānandjī Bhagavān Kī Jai, Alakhpurījī Mahādev Kī Jai. My dear brothers, sisters, all yoga students, yoga teachers, and other yogīs, as well as those listening through Swāmījī television, I greet you. Yoga is not merely āsana and prāṇāyāma; it encompasses many deeper dimensions, as the Bhagavad Gītā teaches. So, blessings to all of you. Please give me a word. Over the last few days, we have been discussing Haṭha Yoga. In the Western world, and now increasingly in India, many think that when they want to practice yoga, they simply go to a teacher or center and ask, “Do you teach Haṭha Yoga?” Some are so fixed that when we say, “Yes, we offer you yoga,” they insist, “No, only Haṭha Yoga.” It appears that long ago someone planted this word in their minds, and they equate it solely with āsanas and prāṇāyāmas. Yet Haṭha Yoga is far more. Yoga is vast, and even the term itself has only two syllables: “Ha” and “Ṭha,” representing Iḍā and Piṅgalā. When these two unite near the forehead, that is Haṭha Yoga. Still, many fail to grasp this. The problem today is that many teach yoga after only a few weeks and then issue certificates. Courses may offer a practitioner certificate after a few weeks, or perhaps a year. But Haṭha Yoga, or any authentic yoga, requires a minimum of six, seven, or eight years of practice before one truly knows yoga and can become a teacher or master. There are two ways of learning: through a university or from the very beginning with a chosen path—Haṭha Yoga, Jñāna Yoga, Bhakti Yoga, Karma Yoga, and so on. It is not enough just to do exercises and prāṇāyāmas, roll up your mat, and leave. Many teacher trainings exist where the trainers themselves do not know the essence. Teaching from a distance gives only half. Like a crying baby who is comforted only by the real presence of the mother and the breast, distance learning remains dry. One may sit at home, eating while reading a book, and that is good to gather knowledge, but it lacks the living connection. The baby needs to drink from the mother’s breast to be completely happy. Therefore, we must come to universities, schools, ashrams, or to the yoga guru and be with them. Otherwise, we merely see clouds, sky, moon, sun, and dark nights, but we cannot catch them. Yoga is the great science for humans to become true yogīs, and such a yogī embodies everything. I do not understand how people learn in this fragmented way—without ever having seen their master, professor, or yogī guru. A picture or a phone call is not the same. We must see and be with our very self. From afar, you have not seen the person; you do not know their qualities, yet you marry. What sort of marriage is that? Similarly, yoga is the highest path to bring our consciousness, soul, the jīva, to the Brahmaloka. Books are fine, but they cannot give practical experience; knowledge stays on paper. Yes, we can read and see intellectually, but that is only a pale reflection. Devadhī, Dev, Deveśvara, Mahādeva, Kī Jaya, Śāntaguru, Svāmī, Madhavānandajī, Bhagavān, Kī Jaya, Dīpa Nārāyaṇa, Bhagavān, Kī Jaya, Viśvaguru, Mahāmaṇḍaleśvarānanda, Guru Deva, Kī Jaya. Now, our Gurudev, Bhagavān Dīp Nārāyaṇ Mahāprabhujī, composed a bhajan that gives a lesson to disciples and practitioners, guiding them from the very beginning through to the university level and beyond. It is not simply, “I have finished university.” There are many Gurudevas who teach you—first your mother, your father, then friends or others. When you learn to drive a car, you need a teacher. Even training a tiger or a lion cannot be done from pictures alone; you must be present. Similarly, any yoga technique must be completed fully with the master. Otherwise, we do half, or less. A teacher might give one lecture and leave, and you are left searching. There are also people who teach cooking; cooking is not easy, and though you enjoy restaurants, you still learn at home, and not only your mother but your father should learn too. Many things we need to practice. Nowadays, the world is simply dusting everything with the label “yoga, yoga, yoga,” like bodybuilding or mere exercises. Even those you can learn from books with pictures and postures, but they are incomplete. To complete, you must come. People say, “No, I will do it from my own country, sitting there.” That is exactly making a haṭha. Haṭha means “I can do, I will do,” or “I will not do.” So, disciple and master both remain half. That is why Sanātana Dharma has existed from the very beginning, Ādi and Ādi, because there is a Guru. There are two Gods: one who incarnates from time to time in Satya Yuga, Dvāpara Yuga, Tretā Yuga, and so on, and the second is the Guru, the ultimate teacher who gives proper training. Without professors, we are lost. That Guru, master, or professor gives knowledge face to face, and then we can pass it on. Continuing on Haṭha Yoga, Mahāprabhujī once shared a bhajan sung beautifully by Swāmī Umāpurī in an Austrian melody. The words must be exact. Gurudev sang: “Haṭha choḍmanā cala saṅga mere.” This means, give up your stubbornness, come with me. “Haṭha” here means that stubborn refusal or insistence: “I will not do, I will do.” That is haṭha. It is when you argue with your teacher, saying, “No, I saw in the book it is like this.” This creates confusion. So give up your hut—your obstinate stand—and come, walk with me. There is so much in the whole book that I cannot tell you now. Therefore, I pray to all, and I pray to my Gurudev, my Guru Deva, my Grand Guru, Mahārāj, Grand Grand Guru Mahārāj, and Alakhpurījī, all of whom are still giving me that yoga teacher training. Everything is yoga, and I am still not perfect. When we become perfect, then the Master will say, “Now you must learn more, on your own. With what? Walk the path.” It is like using a navigation device in your car. The machine tells you to go left and right, and sometimes you say, “No, I will not go left, I will go that way.” Then the machine again says, “Please go left to right and right to back.” That navigation is what the Guru provides. Good masters created all this, but we must follow it; otherwise, we cannot reach our destination. We are born to come to that house, but we are still not home. We may learn many Sanskrit verses or holy books, but still it is only in the book, not practical. Like a hungry person in a restaurant who sees a poster of fruits and vegetables—he gazes at it, becoming hungrier, but nobody brings the food. The picture alone will not nourish the body. Similarly, someone says, “I am the master, I know everything,” but you are not; you have seen only from a distance. Practical experience is crucial. So, the Haṭha Yoga I have been sharing over these four or five days now leads us to Trāṭak. Trāṭak, which I spoke of yesterday, is very important. There are many techniques to bring concentration to both eyes. Trāṭak is powerful and good, but where you look matters. Some people constantly stare at a bust, at words, or at a person. One lady sat gazing at another, and soon that person asked the driver to call for help because someone was staring incessantly. This kind of Trāṭak should not be done. Please, do not do that. This applies not only to humans but also to animals. If you go to the zoo and stare into a monkey’s eyes, it may attack you. The same with a tiger, a street dog, or a cobra—if you stare, they will react. Do not engage in such Trāṭak. Even with your professor, if you keep staring, they may ask, “Are you not normal?” So, the way and the context of Trāṭak matter greatly. Regarding Trāṭak as a practice, you can use a white paper with a black circle on it. Place it in front of you and gaze at the black circle. When you close your eyes, you will see a white light circle—the black transforms into white. Many such techniques exist. Some involve a flame, but caution is needed. People say, “Your eyes will be fine; concentrate on a flame.” It is easy to say, but many who try this may lose their eyesight. Out of a hundred thousand, if one becomes blind, all will speak about that one, blaming yoga and the teacher, and warning against it. Our eyes have lenses, like glasses, which the doctor has prescribed in one way. If you take off your glasses and do this practice, it may not be good. Therefore, being close to a knowledgeable teacher and master is essential. In Trāṭak, you can use white paper with a black circle or a point on the wall, but do not concentrate directly on the sun. If you wish to gaze at the sun, you must advance many, many steps slowly. Some look at the moon or the sun with open eyes and ruin their sight. Five days ago, I saw a person—perhaps a yogī, no dress, in the Himālaya or somewhere, sitting in lotus posture. A beautiful man, maybe sixty or seventy years old, at sunrise. He was gazing at the sun, and I saw that his gazing was perfect; he knew the technique. His eyes were open, but he turned his pupils upward so that the direct rays did not hit hard. I do not know how long he practiced, maybe during sunrise only for a minute, or perhaps during daytime, but that is master-level training. So that is Trāṭak. There are many, many techniques. That is the sixth point of Haṭha Yoga. My dear ones, Haṭha Yoga requires your master to be with you. It does not matter the color of the dress—orange, black, yellow, white, green—the one who properly teaches is there all the time. Haṭha Yoga is one of the best yogas, leading us further and further. All the best. Všechno nejlepší. But what I am teaching is only from a distance; you must come to me. This year, due to the coronavirus, we are not gathering, but we will do it. Many of my disciples around the world, in your country, you can contact our yoga center. If not, that teacher will send me the request, and I will offer it to my Gurudeva. Please, practice yoga in this way: from primary school through university and beyond. Similarly, offer yoga to people in this graduated manner, and not just somewhere in some countries. If I have made any mistakes, I am sorry. I did it with my love and respect. See you tomorrow. Deep Nārāyaṇ Bhagavān, Dev Purīṣa Mahādeva, Satguru Svāmī Madhavānandajī Bhagavān, Alakhpurījī Mahādeva, Satya Sanātana, Oṁ Śāntiḥ Śāntiḥ... Oṁ Namaḥ Śrī Prabhudīp Nārāyaṇam...

This text is transcribed and grammar corrected by AI. If in doubt what was actually said in the recording, use the transcript to double click the desired cue. This will position the recording in most cases just before the sentence is uttered.

The text contains hyperlinks in bold to three authoritative books on yoga, written by humans, to clarify the context of the lecture:

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