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Alakhpurījī Mahādev Kī Jai, Devādhī Dev, Devpurījī Mahārāj Kī Jai, Ārādhya Bhagavān Śrī Mahāprabhujī Kī Jai, and Satguru Svāmī Madhavānandajī Bhagavān Kī Jai, Satya Sanātana Dharma Kī Jai. You have been practicing for many years. Some have been practicing for only two or three years. We call this anuṣṭhāna. The techniques we are learning are very difficult, yet they are very pure. There is a tremendous energy coming through—pure and spiritual. There are many kinds of anuṣṭhāna. One anuṣṭhāna is simply what we call mauna, silence. Mauna is very hard. Even if you have learned for many years, it is not easy to learn, to control, and to be relaxed and happy at the same time. This is very difficult for everyone. Perhaps you and I are the same. That is why many ṛṣis and yogīs do not want to move around the world. Or, if they do, they always remain in a state of anuṣṭhāna within themselves. Today, we should consider this for your sādhanā—it means a very inner silence. Therefore, everybody, take a very comfortable position now. Whatever you want to think about, think it now, because our eyes are very restless, very chañcal. Chanchal means not staying in one place. Our eyes take in everything within view. That is why it is said we should close our eyes. Then we realize how distant we are from that one-pointedness. If there are no trees blocking the view, our vision can reach many kilometers. Everyone’s capacity is different. Some creatures can even see behind them. I don't know exactly how to describe it, but they can see at least 100 meters—no, kilometers—because of their height. The eyes reach a greater distance, but we humans do not have that same range. It is said that the larger the being, the shorter the vision. An elephant’s vision, for example, is not so far. Then there are some ducks, or a bird standing on one foot in the water, able to concentrate on only one thing, nothing else. In the Mahābhārata, there is the story of Arjuna. A picture was placed, and beneath it, water, and within the water a fish was moving. The task was to shoot an arrow into the eye of the fish. Many tried and lost; they could not do it. Then came Arjuna. He looked into the water, and though everything was moving for his eyes, he let loose the arrow and hit the eye of the fish. Many people were there, many tried and claimed they would do it, but it is called chañcal—restlessness. Chanchal means always moving here and there, like flowing water. If one is chañcal, one cannot be perfect. There are many different forms of restlessness in us humans. We are chañcal. Mahāprabhujī Karatā Purījī... The changefulness of your hair, your eyes, pimples, your dress—you are looking at so many things; it is all changeful. When the chañcal becomes peaceful, then we can go through. Just like when driving a car, the wheels must be well-controlled. If something wobbles, one wheel is not good. Chanchal, while doing good things, means also biting something, drinking water... Chañcalā. So if you think that you will now practice this meditation, what is needed? Sthira. Sthira means no movement. Now, you can look at this flame; it is very gentle, and you are also gentle, even with much wind. So now, I will give you something simple—it is an old technique. Close your eyes, that’s all, nothing more. But your eyes will keep telling you everything: "This, that was this, or that." So what will happen? We will fall asleep. In anuṣṭhāna, many people do very nice programs, reciting mantras, and many are sleeping. That is called Tantra—meaning half asleep and half awake. So you catch it again, but you are losing it. And that is influenced by what we eat. There is a certain kind of food that makes us drowsy. In this seminar, your teacher who is instructing you may also lie down, but he or she should not close their eyes. You have to watch your students. So this is a very difficult point: it is sthira, no movement, nothing—but this is not with your thinking. There are many things in our body. Sometimes mosquitoes come. If you can, for one minute, just be completely one-pointed. Yes, there are many things. The point is to listen to how to do it and grasp it. Now, which point will you choose for yourself? Today, I want to tell you, this is for anuṣṭhāna and for everyone; all can learn this. You have to go to the navel, the nābhi. That is the point. It is not easy. One day, Holī Gurujī was laughing with me. He said something because he was constantly making a mālā. He asked, "Where is the best place for meditation?" He said, "In the brain, everything is only moving; in the head, everything overflows all the time. But I want to have my mālā and my mantra so that everything becomes silent, one-pointed. Yet sometimes I am half sleeping and half there." I replied, "Gurujī, how can I advise you? You are the great one." Gurujī then said, often they call him Maheśa or Maheśvarānanda—sometimes strict, then Maheśvarānanda, otherwise Maheśh. That’s a different matter. So Holī Gurujī said, "You are a yogī, my friend. You give your disciples these trainings, and your energy is so high. Yet I always fall asleep. What can I do?" I said, "How can I cure you, Gurujī?" He replied, "Tell it, don’t talk, or go out." The next day, he asked again: "This technique, where is it?" I said, "In the heart." So Gurujī said, "Oh, that is very good. I am very happy in the heart." I said, "Gurujī, this is very good." After five days, Gurujī said, "You have disturbed me very much. For five days, I could not meditate. I was always in Mahāprabhujī’s presence and name. I did so, but I don’t know where it is, what it is, or where to go. Now, for five days, I have been confused." Then Holī Gurujī said, "But when you said, 'I will say it,' that's why I'm doing it." I said, "Gurujī, I told you, you are great, not me. I know this, but I told you where I can concentrate better. However, I asked you to advise me on where I can concentrate better. I said, on what concentration? Only on Mahāprabhujī, nothing else." So I said, "Gurujī, what you do is always the best." So now, close your eyes. All of you, choose any point that you like. For how many minutes can you look at that one point? Close your eyes, be silent. Now, come to your concentration. How many seconds, minutes? Without anything, only one complete point. It means your whole life, the entire body, you are in one; one is. And then, even if you don't feel your body, you are aware of that. Tell me, anyone. One student said that as soon as she closed her eyes, her attention moved to her ears, and she heard much more—the birds were singing loudly. So you can turn it like this: Brahmārī. Put your fingers inside your ears, no sound, just mmm, okay? Go ahead, insert them and see how silent you can be. Close your eyes. No, no Brahmārī, just hold. And Hari Om, relax, take your fingers out of your ears. So there were no other signs. How was your concentration? Was it one-pointed, or something different? What was it like? Did you have one-point concentration, or was it different? Yes, so it means change; you are changing. One reaction was that they see the same inner images. I would like to explain the difference between two types of concentration. For one student, the first type was better because she had the imagination of a very precious picture from her altar at home: Swamiji’s holy feet during pūjā. She cannot say if it was just one-point concentration, but it was very focused, though short. The rest of the meditation was like a pulsation—she went out and then in again, pulsating. Restless. Now, did you manage even one minute, or half a minute, of one silent, one-pointed state? When this is not achieved, it means we are still beginners. So there are two things: outer and inner. When we think, "Yes, I read this book, I do this deck, I talk to others and learn from them," it is only on the surface. The ocean is very big, but there are waves upon waves. If you dive deep down, there is no movement there; it is very peaceful, only a little stirring. That is our ocean, and that is everything within our body. Our physical body will always move differently, but when we go deep, you will see the bottom of the ocean. So, as we are in meditation or in anuṣṭhāna, we aim for oneness. When we do our anuṣṭhāna, we might practice five minutes of this, ten minutes of that, and again we become confused. But your teacher has given you exactly when and how it should go. So automatically we should proceed through the steps, like the ocean layers—one by one, the waves come, and that weaves a very peaceful feeling inside. If we go somewhere near the ocean, where there is only forest, and we are about two kilometers away at night, we hear a sound like a train going. I experienced that at the ocean beach. We were two or three people; it was about two kilometers distant, with many trees, and it was all the time like a train. After three or four days, we didn't hear it anymore. Similarly, when you go to the Adriatic coast near Artyan, on the first day you hear the cicadas—sikade—all day, for two or three days, and then it’s gone. Because we harmonize inside. So there are the waves of the water or the ocean, and the sound, like here. We are sitting here with all the birds. We learn, we meditate, everything. But we don’t concentrate on the birds. It’s very nice, but we don’t sing it. Here we have the same thing: when we concentrate on what we are learning or when we meditate, we don’t feel the birds. So when we are very tired and sleeping, even with a lot of noise—for example, on a train we sleep—we have to slowly, slowly come into ourself. Tomorrow we will continue. Drink two liters of water—a pot of water, and then empty it. Then anuṣṭhāna will be very good. Eating makes us a little sleepy. So tomorrow we will go further.