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Brothers and sisters, we are all here together, and the sun is always present. The sun is ever there; it is simply the turning of the earth that brings everything to us. Yoga is not only about the physical body and breath. Many people practice in different ways. We close our eyes and attempt to see something. But where are we searching? Everyone closes their eyes—yet why not see? What are you actually seeing? They think, “I am meditating, looking far away,” but where? The eyes are closed. “My meditation, my God, I am God, O Bhagavān,” but Bhagavān is there, and we have closed our eyes. Yes, if we want to hear and see God, if we truly want to see God, then keep your eyes open. If you close your eyes, what are you looking at? You think you are looking, but you are not. And do not think or say, “I am in my God”—but where? In some far distance, or here? There are real yogīs, yogīs of siddhis. When they close their eyes, they are within—in the heart, in their God. Which God? Guru Kṛpā. And if they wish to see outside, then with open eyes they perceive goodness, peace, spirituality, light, and so on. The eyes are fine, but when we open them, the reflections are countless. So many things appear; it is not easy to see only one with the eyes because the visions are very varied. I am sitting here speaking with you, right in front of the camera. I try to see only the camera, but there are people sitting on my left side—how many?—and on the right side as well. If something moves, immediately our eyes go there. And further, we look at where we are sitting. If we are in a forest, outdoors, not in a building or hall, we see many trees, many birds. So where can we fix our thought? It is said that a sādhu who goes for bhikṣā must walk carefully: there are ants, and further ahead a snake, and many other things. One creature does not have time to give food before another arrives. The one bringing the food—many animals watch: the dog watches, the birds watch, and a guest comes, hungry. So that sādhu gives to the ants, to the fish, to the guest, to the dog, and then separates a portion for himself. Yet still, in our vision, how many things are there? It means we are not near God. With open eyes we try to see the point, and that point we want to see, but like a horse with blinkers, the eyes still wander. That means we cannot attain that. We are all looking. Then we will not bring something. So then, they say, close your eyes. We close the eyes; it is dark, everything. But in our brain, in our thoughts, there is more than when the eyes are open, because then there is so much thinking, far and near, and within the body. Where is your ātmā? Where are you in all this? People say, “This is not good, this is not good,” and suddenly we are disturbed. Holy Gurujī once told a story. There was a sādhu in the forest, always meditating. He began to levitate, rising from the earth. Then he thought, “I am great, I am great.” What happened next? He was sitting there, and a bird perched on his head and defecated. He said to the bird, “You have soiled my head, I will kill you.” And he killed the bird with his glance; it died. He said, “Now I am a great man. I can rise up, I can kill anyone just by looking.” Then he said, “I will go now to the village, to other lands, to other villages, and I will tell them of my blessings and how good I am.” So he went near a village. There was a well, and a girl, a woman, came to draw water. He said, “Can you give me water, please?” She replied, “Yes, I will give water,” and the like. Then he said something more, “Give it to me first, or else…” And he added, “You must do quickly, otherwise I can kill.” She responded, “What? I am not a bird.” He said, “What? Yes, you could kill a bird like that, but I am different.” He went to her home, wanting to give her something. She said, “Wait, I will give to my husband first.” He said, “No, me.” He boasted, “I can live, you know, very long.” She replied, “It is my husband. Do you not know?” And she said, “Don’t think that I am like a bird.” Then all his prāṇas and everything simply left him. So he returned home. The ṛṣi of the story reflected, “I cannot function with eyes open; I cannot with closed eyes. I cannot live like this, and I do not know what to do.” And so it is. Many people work at yoga, practicing with closed eyes, and they think, “I am relaxing.” But what is really there? Restlessness, or they fall nicely asleep. So where is the reality of that yoga? That is why yoga is very far. Its name is yoga, but yoga is a word with many, many meanings. Yet, without it, nothing can help. And what does that mean? Our body comes from the earth, and that is the way it is. But animals, birds, fish—they know how much they need. We humans, however, know what we want. And if we can, our visions, our feelings, our thoughts, everything—we humans can do a great deal, good or bad. So it is said: if we are doing all that is positive, good, and loving for all creatures, then we are very spiritual, and we are moving toward Parabrahman, Brahman-ātmā. If we are killing animals and doing this and that, then that is enough. There is only a difference between the body of a human and the body of other creatures. That is very important. Otherwise, people get caught up in little things: “No, this is not good, and I don’t like that,” and so on. I was thinking of another example. Somewhere, sometime, there was a very good yogī, and one person was serving her food and doing sevā, and everything was very good. That is meditation, this and that. Then some others said, “Why does this take so much time, this and that? Why don’t we do all that?” Nobody can do like that. They think this one is not good. Many are thinking, but try to see how that person is working and meditating, and how much they are giving within themselves. It is like the story of the dog: a dog was very hungry, so he stole some bread, a nice chapati, and ran away. There was a pond, and he knew there was no other way. He came near the pond and looked in the water. He saw—oh, there is another dog with a good, broad bread inside. “I had only one, I will take one more.” What happened? He opened his mouth to take the other chapati, and what happens? When he opened his mouth, his own chapati fell into the water. There was nothing. And he said, “Arayu Patiyuti Kuit.” And so, is that what we are doing? “I think I will do this, and others will not do like this.” In this way, we have to think and come forth. We have to come forth. We should not think that they are good or not, and this and that. It is not easy to become a human. And it is very difficult to live life, and how and when it will go—there are many, many… Many of us think we are a sannyāsī, that we are good; we wear orange dress and simply sit. How many sādhus do you see? They are only eating and sleeping, that’s all. But others, how they are working very hard! Śrī Śrī… Harder and harder. We are going harder and harder. So practice yoga and prāṇāyāma. This is for our bodies. Prāṇa is good, all these five elements. But after that, we have many names for the path, but they only come from Gurudev. How? Some say, “I don’t need my guru. I can do it myself, I can read, and everything.” That’s okay. How? How? It’s impossible. Impossible. How? There is a couple, husband and wife, married, and they want children but have no child. Why? Because it is not there. The child must come from the mother, and the father is there. Without a mother, one cannot become a child. But also, if the mother is there yet the father is absent, how can there be a child? So, how are we working that we will become again the child? We become a child with the mother—child and mother. Similarly, we need a guru, and that guru must give guidance; then one becomes a guru or disciple, higher and higher. That is like a mother, and also like the guru-disciple relationship. If we lose this, okay, maybe next life, but we don’t know. Life is not forever. We say we are this, and we would like the next life, but it is very difficult to know. Yes, we talk, we make pūjā, we do this and do that, we make so many pūjās, many things, but I don’t know what is gone, where it is gone, how or where, everything. If it is like that—that you make a meditation and everything good, and then you think that one child is born, and now he will die, and I will see him again back and give him back—then I will be the greatest guru, yes, that I can see someone. Doesn’t matter. We do everything. Every religion, every… we talk: “My child will be like this, that will be there.” We can do everything, but that is not what we were thinking on that side. So that is very nice, but toward sādhanā, toward the work, toward something… And so, Prem Lata would like to say something. Okay? Thank you. Hari Om. — I have twenty minutes. Of course, you can go further, but at least three minutes. Hari Om, dear friends, all who are here and all who are with us. Thanks to online webcasting. I was given the task to say something about the main topic we all have in common, which is yoga, and specifically, Swāmījī said, Yoga Nidrā. When he gave me this topic, he said, “Oh, that’s the topic you know very well for so many years.” So I was thinking, in one way it is true—I’ve been with Swāmījī and with yoga for more than 45 years by now—but the understanding of what yoga is, and who Swāmījī as Gurudev is, and who I am as a yogī or aspirant of yoga, I would say, or disciple, it differs very much from what it used to be 10 years ago, 20 years ago, 30 years ago. There is a saying, I believe it was a Greek philosopher, and Swāmījī spoke about it last winter in Strilky Ashram: that when you have a river flowing and you take a bath in it, you cannot enter the same river a second time. For many years, I understood this logically because the water flows, and once you enter it and return to the bank, even a second after you dive into the river, it is already different water flowing. But last year I realized, actually, that it is not just the river that is different, the water that is different, but the person who is diving into the river is different. Though it would be a second after, it is a different person, and it depends where we are within ourselves—the state of our consciousness, our understanding, our mind, brain, and heart. According to that, we understand what yoga is and what Gurudev is. So, accordingly, we also understand what Yoga Sādhanā means and how to practice. When we return to the main topic, which was Yoga Nidrā, this also differs vastly. In the beginning, when we come to yoga, we appreciate Yoga Nidrā very much as a kind of very easygoing relaxation technique. Purī Jī, Siddhā Karatā Prabhu Dīp Karatā He Kevalam. Of course, it’s relaxing and refreshing, but it’s a kind of extra bonus; it is not the main aim of this exercise. And as we develop on our spiritual path, then also the understanding of Yoga Nidrā alters, changes, and develops. For those who do not know the technique, yoga nidrā means sleep, so it could be translated as a way how yogīs sleep, but yogīs actually do not sleep the way we do. They are awake. That is a different state of consciousness; it is not the sleeping consciousness. We can only see some glimpses of how it can look when we really practice these higher levels of yoga nidrā. Some hint could be in the beautiful bhajan which our Gurū Dev Mahāprabhujī used to sing. The only problem is that it is a beautiful bhajan in the Marwari language, not just in Hindi, if I’m correct. There is a lot of Marwari in it. So it is very difficult to translate, but still, for some kind of understanding which is behind the words, we could probably listen to a bhajan, and some of us could sing it, and some of us could listen to it and try to understand what is behind the words. If I can ask a pertinent question. So, next time when you practice Yoga Nidrā, try to approach it fresh and new. Not that, yes, that’s this pleasant, relaxing exercise that we all know, and we have practiced it many, many times already. But try to realize that it is much deeper, and try to practice as if you have never practiced it before, as a new, very deep sādhanā technique. And one more thing: you probably all know that part of yoga nidrā is saṅkalpa, which means a kind of wish or affirmation that you repeat in the beginning and at the end three times. And probably you all have some kind of saṅkalpa ready. Try to evaluate it again, fresh and new, once more. If it really serves you still, if it is just habit that you repeat something, if it is really what you wish for yourself and for your spiritual path. And it might be that you find out that you are already somewhere else, at some other level on your journey. And not only will your approach to your sādhanā change, but also your saṅkalpa, your inner wish that you want to come true, might also change. So, that’s all from my side for the topic of Yoga Nidrā. Thank you for the opportunity to share some thoughts with you. Thank you, dear Guru Dev.