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Oṁ Sahanā Vavatu, Sahanau Bhunaktu, Sahavīryaṁ Karavāvahai, Tejasvināvadhitamastu, Mā Vidviṣāvahai. Hari Om praṇām to our Viśvagurujī. Oṁ namo nārāyaṇa to all of our dear sannyāsīs here. And Hari Om praṇām to all of you. Very happy to see you, very happy to be again in Strilky after some time. And so I can relate a little to the waiting moment we are now experiencing. There is one story about waiting. There was a lady who was to be married to someone, but it so happened that in that house, as a marriage dinner, some meat was ordered. She didn’t like that, so she left and ran away into a forest. There were many small ashrams, many small hermitages with sādhus and ṛṣis living there, but no one really wanted her to stay. Until she came to one small ashram, and that Gurujī there agreed, “You can stay here.” He said, “Don’t worry, everything will be okay. You just settle here. No one will find you here,” and he gave her a small hut. She was very happy. She did her sādhanā and sevā to Gurujī, and as time went by, he grew old. One day, sensing that his departure from the body was drawing near, he told her that Śrī Rāma would come to her hut. So she had immense trust and confidence in the words of her master, and every day she was ready to welcome Śrī Rāma. She would clean the hut—just as when Viśvagurujī comes to whichever āśram in the world, we are cleaning, preparing, and there is much joy in it, sometimes a little stress but a very joyful stress. She would spread flowers each day on the path leading to her hut. She would also collect fruits in the forest and taste some of them, setting aside only the sweetest ones for Rāma when he would come. In this spirit of constant expectation she lived for forty years. Can you imagine? Every day, for forty years, cleaning, changing everything, preparing—and her mood never declined. That is sādhanā. And one day, after forty years, Śrī Rāma did come. Sītā, Lakṣmaṇa, and Rāma came. She was overjoyed. To offer the fruits to Śrī Rāma, she would take a little bite; if they were sweet enough, she would offer them. Lakṣmaṇa did not like this, but Śrī Rāma pacified him, saying he felt immense love in that act. So, while we are waiting for Viśvagurujī, we have our daily works, our sādhanās. And I feel there is a meaning behind all of this. Maybe we really need to cleanse something within us, deeper, and awaken more of that joy and enthusiasm. One bhajan that I opened the page on just now says: “Come quickly to your bhaktas, O great hero. Your power is unlimited. You are immortal, everlasting, and unbreakable. Whenever your bhaktas have problems, finally you reveal to them. My heart is trembling because of the problems of the world. O giver of happiness, please give me some stability, some reassurance. Whom else should I call but you? Who would free me from my problems? Please come and make my life successful. Cut these chains of suffering. You are the Lord of all fourteen worlds, the great giver; please grant me immortality, the highest bliss, the param ānanda. Feed me with the nectar of immortality. O merciful Mahāprabhujī, you are as deep as the endless ocean, you are the master of all masters; please remove all obstacles in front of Madhavānandjī. I am the beggar at your door. Śrī Dīpa Nārāyaṇa Bhagavān Kī Jaya; Satguru Svāmī Madhavānandajī Bhagavān Kī Jaya; Viśvaguru Paramahaṁsa Śrī Svāmī Maheśvarānandajī Gurudeva Kī Jaya.” Here Mīrābāī says, “Come, come, Gurudev. Come to my hut.” And something now woke up in my mind about huts, and since we have time, I can tell you a little story before the bhajan in New Zealand. In New Zealand we used to have a small project; it was meant to be a retreat place, in the middle of beautiful nature. The idea was a big hall in the centre with small huts around it for practicing satsaṅga. But it was not really possible to continue the project, and it kind of stopped. We went there with Viśvagurujī one day, and he said, “Well, it would be better if you sell this and pay off your loan for the āśram.” But he added, “There were three cabins that are there—keep them.” And he said we should bring them to the ashram we have in Rāmatī, near Wellington. The land there is very steep. Originally we thought it would be no problem. In New Zealand it’s common to lift wooden buildings, put them on a truck, and drive them away. So we asked a company and went there, thinking it would be an easy task. But they discovered that no machinery could get there because of the steepness; it was too dangerous. I must honestly say that was kind of a relief to me—that we didn’t have to do it and could just sell it with the land. So I called Svāmījī and expressed all the difficulties and why it was not possible. You know, it is not a very good idea to tell Swamiji that. He said, “No problem. You just dismantle the buildings, mark each piece of wood where it belongs, and then bring them to Rāmatī and build it back together.” Okay, good. So we went there, in the middle of winter, and with a few of us, between teaching classes and doing all other work, we managed somehow to dismantle two cabins—two huts—and bring them to our ashram. It was about three months of work. Then we laid the foundations and started to build. I don’t want to bore you with too many details, but it was hard work. When we finished, the time came for Swamiji’s annual visit. He arrived, and originally he had planned just to come and visit our ashram, have a tea, and then go back to Wellington. We invited him to this hut, and he liked it very much. At that time the hut was 2.5 meters by 2.5—very small. Just as Mīrābāī says: my house is not any palace or castle, it’s just a simple hut made of wood and mud. But nevertheless, Guru Dev, please come. I remember till today how he sat there. There was hardly any space: only a bed and a little sitting area, yet Swamiji managed to fit twelve people inside. He sat on the bed like a king and said, “Very good.” I was so happy because he was happy, and secondly, I was so happy that the job was finished. Then there was a quiet moment, and Swamiji said, “You can make it a little bigger—let the front wall go to the end of the deck, which was outside, and you’ll make new walls.” Of course. And so we made it bigger. A year later Viśvagurujī came again and was very, very happy. One thing I forgot to mention: in that first year, when he arrived at the cabin, he was only planning to take tea and go. Actually, I forgot one more thing. When he first came to the cabin—when we had moved it to the ashram—he was supposed to be there only for half a day for tea, but it happened that he stayed overnight, and it was just so much joy. I don’t know if it was the reason, but he could not get the visa to Australia. Now you know why—because Agni Devī is here, sitting from Australia. So Viśvagurujī stayed two nights, three nights, four, five, six, seven, eight nights with us. Every day we were thinking, “Today he will get the visa.” Not us in Rāmatī, but the Australians. It was difficult to decide what to wish for. On one side we were happy he was there; on the other, a little unhappy for the Australians waiting. So it’s not easy. Even now, what should we wish for? I remember a sentence someone said (I’ve forgotten who): think about something that you want the most in the whole world. If you can wish this for someone else, that is really God speaking through you. Anyhow, this little hut eventually got a second extension, and it’s beautiful. I learned some carpentry skills and started to continue building. It was also a wonderful practice, sādhanā, because it was something I never thought I would be doing. I had no education in it, other than watching what the builder did when I was next to him—and then YouTube and Google. Have you noticed, or does it appear in your life that you face things you don’t really know how to do? Life brings us into situations where we simply have to let go of what we know and plunge into something we don’t even like that much, or have no idea about. It seems sometimes, when I’m in those situations, that life is just waiting for this moment, patiently looking until this boy exhausts his rational mind and finally remembers to give up, to surrender what we call Nāhaṁ Kartā. And then, when we get employed in such projects, you feel the prāṇa of this energy flowing through your body, and even though it’s hard, we like that, no? It’s a wonderful feeling. And so we move slowly through such moments in our lives, forward, day by day. Viśvagurujī so nicely arranges for us to have more of these experiences to grow. That’s really why we came to this world. So my house is not any palace, it’s not a castle, but still, Guru Dev, please come. There is no place to sit, even—no pillows, only a straw mat. In the house of a diabetic there are very few sweets; I can only give you a handful of potatoes. But still, Guru Dev, please come. And now one śloka that only the bhakta can allow to say: If you decide to come, then come this morning. And don’t tell me anymore that you will come tomorrow. This needs the heart of a child to say these words. Pure, pure love. Mīrābāī says, “O Lord, hold me at your lotus feet and give me your darśana; come to my heart, to my house. Give me your darśana and come to my father.” “Śrī Dīpa Nārāyaṇa Bhagavān Kī Jaya, Śrī Mīrābāījī Kī Jaya, Viśvaguru Paramahaṁsa Śrī Svāmī Maheśvarānandajī Gurudeva Kī Jaya.” You know this bhajan from Lālānandajī that you sing so nicely? You know which one I mean? The newer one? “Māna, mānarata nāma…” I can translate a little of what I know. Swami Mahāmaṇḍaleśwar Gyāneśwar Purī sent it to me. “Rata” means repeat. So “mana”—O my mind—repeat the name of Guru Deva, Nama. Because this opportunity will not come again and again. The Vedas and all the saints are saying this: Satguru will remove all your doubts, and your mind will be happy, and your body. You will receive the Guru Kṛpā, the mercy of Gurudeva, when you meet him, when you get his darśana, and you will realize Ātmā. He is beyond the four states, Turīya and Turyātīta. Pālaka Viśvakārī—he is the protector of the whole universe. Śrī Lālānandajī is every day singing of the glory of Mahāprabhujī, Śrī Dīpa Nārāyaṇa Bhagavān. Śrī Dīpa Nārāyaṇa Bhagavān Kī Jaya; Śrī Svāmī Lālānandajī Mahārāja Kī Jaya. Before prayer, we can have a little meditation. Some of you were in VEP now, but most of you were not, so I can say again the same thing. Just something about the rāga that will be part of the meditation. Some of these melodies from Indian classical music are called rāgas; they have either a certain story behind them, or some meaning, or a purpose. This rāga apparently is to awaken or strengthen within us a longing. Usually in our yogic endeavors, longing or desire is not really a good thing, but the longing that is being watered with this kind of music is not a material longing—it is the longing for God, longing for awakening, longing to purify the heart, and so on. So make yourselves comfortable for a moment. If it’s easy, switch off the lights. Come to your favorite meditation posture. Close your eyes. Together we will chant Oṁ three times. Whilst chanting the mantra, feel the resonance of the Oṁ in your whole body. Deep inhalation. Feel and relax your whole body. Feel your body from the toes to the top of the head. Relax, relax your face muscles. Relax your shoulders, relax the abdominal muscles, and relax your legs. Withdraw your awareness away from the external world and come into your inner world. Feel the gentle movement of the breath, and with the observation of your breath, relax inwardly. Leave behind the whole day of different experiences. Let go of any expectations or visions for the future. Allow for these few minutes to be here, relaxing, one with yourself. Feel your presence, your being here again in this hall. All of us together, surrounded by our friends. And as we chant Aum three times, let us unite our hearts together. Deep inhalation. [Meditation and three Oṁs] Rub your palms and share this prāṇa with your face and your eyes, and open your eyes.