TV Channel

Oṁ Pūrṇamadaṁ, Pūrṇamidaṁ, Pūrṇāt, Pūrṇamudachyate, Pūrṇasya, Pūrṇamādāya, Pūrṇamevāvaśiṣyate, Oṁ Śāntiḥ, Śāntiḥ, Śāntiḥ. We know this is the mantra of Pūrṇatā, of fullness. That is full, this is full. From fullness, fullness proceeds. Taking fullness from fullness, fullness alone remains. This mantra reminds me of Mahāmaṇḍaleśvar Gurudev, who is no longer physically here. He was once at a World Peace Council in Bratislava. During an ākhāṛā gathering, when he was asked to give a speech, he simply sang this mantra into the microphone. Everyone wondered what it meant. He then said, "This is the essence. What more do you want?" I will not do that, but I would like to share an experience with my Holī Gurujī. Some decades ago, when I was going to India for the first time, we newcomers received six typed pages of instructions on what not to do in India. I tried to learn it all. Being a secondary school teacher, I thought, what kind of example would I set if I couldn't? At least three of those pages were about what not to do when seeing Holī Gurujī at the āśrama. Of course, it was impossible not to see him. I didn't know anyone. I was alone among 500 people. When I saw an orange form in the distance that didn't look like a typical point or a Swāmījī, I frantically searched my memory for all the prohibitions. As this orange point came nearer and nearer—it was, of course, Holī Gurujī—I became so unsure that I simply turned around and walked the other way. I did not know what to do. The next day, the same situation arose. I had no more room to escape, so I had to at least go and greet him. He smiled, and I was dismissed. Day by day, this continued. Near the end of my first two months in India, I was working in the kitchen. Suddenly, a Slovenian bhakta of his came and asked if I would prepare and clean some vegetables for Holī Gurujī. Of course, I did. Then, in my final days, this same bhakta came to me and said, "Tomorrow, Holī Gurujī said you should come to Bhakti Sāgar and help me serve him his meal." I became nervous, but I went. He simply asked me to give him water and then to sit down. When I looked up—this was the old Bhakti Sāgar with a grass roof—the sun shone through the grass. His face was in shadow, but everything around him was radiant light. That image I have never forgotten. From then on, whenever I returned to India, I never tried to escape again. Whenever I had the chance and he was sitting somewhere, he would just call me, "Sit down." Another time, after our sannyās dīkṣā, Swāmījī said we should go to take blessings from him. There were three of us special ladies. We stood before his hut, debating who should go first. The one in the middle said, "No, you go." The wisest one at the back said, "No, one of you two should go; I will be last." This went on for about ten minutes. Finally, I said, "Okay, I will go first." I went inside, made praṇām, and I thought I was already outside again quickly. I looked back, but the others were not coming out; they were sitting inside with him. The next morning, I couldn't sleep. We had received sannyās dīkṣā around two o'clock at night. At about four-thirty, I decided to get up and go to the Śiva temple in Barikatu (this was Barikatu, 2001). I planned to do parikramā, then morning prayer, and return to my room. I went up the stairs and looked toward the Śiva temple. Suddenly, on the left side, I saw Holī Gurujī on his bed. At 4:30 in the morning. Again, I didn't know what to do. But I decided, "You came to do something, so do it, and then we will see." I did what I had come to do. On my way back, Mahārāj Gurujī called me. "Come, sit down." Of course, we didn't understand each other's language, but he said, "Sit down. It's okay. Don't touch here." So I sat there, and it was nice. He gave me a kurta and some other things. Suddenly, he said, "Okay, finish." I left with a very open heart. I came downstairs, and suddenly Śivjī was there, looking very intense, his hairs standing on end. "What are you doing there? I should go there!" I didn't know what to tell him. The whole story—he wouldn't have listened, he might not even have believed it. But at that time, our Gurudev told me just one sentence: "You are so happy now, but you don't even know if you will remain a sannyāsī." I was not in a position to say anything aloud, but I thought to myself, "I am happy now. Please don't take this away from me. I am not giving you my happiness now." (Ja som mu povedala, ja som teraz šťastná, tak mi to, prosím, ťa neber, teraz svoje šťastie nedám.) But that sentence he spoke remained deep in my heart. Because in 2011, I needed to do something. I closed myself in my room for six days to think things over. There was a big storm brewing in Koper, Slovenia, and I needed to clarify myself. I wanted to know what answers I should give to others who would listen, knowing there would be little chance to change my words later. (A ja som sa tam zavrela, rozmýšlela nad tým, aké slová mám použiť, alebo ako mám komunikovať, aby ti ostatní nemali šancu moje slová zmeniť.) Who knows what might have happened without that sentence from him? So, thank you. Śānti.