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Hari Om. Once again, we are in our Phīlak Āśram, and we will now go to the final round of today’s bhajan festival. The bhajan we will chant is “Do Din Kā Jagā Me Melā.” The meaning of this is: ‘Melā’ means to come together, and ‘Jagā’ refers to the world. One could say that we are meeting each other for only two days. We have today, and we had yesterday—this we still know. What will be tomorrow, we do not know, as our Guru Dev always tells us. Indeed, all of creation is a constant play of coming and going; everything is like that. It is interesting that we readily observe this in the outer world. Every day we see changes in temperature, whether there are clouds or not, whether it is spring or autumn, how the trees and flowers appear with leaves or without. We know that there is daily change. Yet, when it comes to ourselves, we do not want change. We always wish to remain good, balanced, and eternally the same. We want to hold on to whatever feels good and safe. But we, too, belong to this process of coming and going. It is the very game of creation: coming, going, and changing. If we desire something unchanging, it lies within us. We know that there is something, somewhere, which is permanent, unchanging, and everlasting. Our ātmā, our very self, knows this. And yet, we continue to search for it in the outer world. It is a powerful impulse, and we seek permanence outside ourselves. I do not know why—how amusing it is—but we search outwardly. We want enough money, a beautiful house, a family. We collect; we fill our pockets with everything. We know that in the end we can take nothing with us, yet we set this knowledge aside just to play the game. But it is a game. The Guru says it is a play of the creation, coming and going. Nothing will stay the same. We have only yesterday—this we still know—and we have today. In the whole world, this entire structure is mortal. That is why the Guru Dev tells us: go inside, meditate, repeat the name of God. Because the outer world is a game that is always changing. The next bhajan will be “Gurudeva Saṁdhātāra Jagame.” The Gurudeva is the only one who is always giving, and humans take shelter at his divine feet. He will make you immortal. In this bhajan, it is again described how great a guru is—though he never displays that greatness. Perhaps through his radiance we can feel it, but outwardly he often behaves just as we do. This bhajan is composed by Mahāprabhujī. He explains that the Satguru gives his blessings even to Brahmā, Viṣṇu, and the highest siddhas and yogīs. What a vast dimension! When I gave my promise— I do not know the English word at the moment, ‘Versprechen’— my promise to Viṣṇu, I became pure. I meditated on yogīs, avatars, and siddhas, and gained wisdom. I meditated on my sadguru, and attained mokṣa. Now we will have our last bhajan for this evening, “Śrī Pūj Dīpadāyālu Datta.” Whenever we sing this bhajan, my mind goes to Mahāprabhujī’s āśram, the old Kathā Āśram where he lived for many years. In the early years of my visits, the ground in front of the āśram was still earth—not the paved terrace that is there now. It was just earth, and there were brown, round stones of various sizes scattered about. I would think of how Mahāprabhujī had walked over those stones, and I picked up one to keep with me. Later, while traveling with Swamiji—at that time he was still riding with us in the bus—we drove one night from Nīpāl Āśram back to Jaipur Āśram. Swamiji sat up front behind the driver, and I was seated further back. I was not sleeping. I held that brown stone in my hand, and it was so full of energy that my whole hand became warm from it. In Līlā Amṛt, a bhajan is also written where Holī Gurujī tells his divine master Mahāprabhujī about his own life and offers, “Koṭi Koṭi Praṇām, Lākhom Paraṇām Praṇām”—meaning he bows down to his lotus feet millions and hundreds of thousands of times. He incarnated in Harivāsānī, a small village near Tukkatu Āśram. He was in his room—what is the English word? An honor?—it was a gift for the whole of India. About ten years ago, I was here in Vilach to see an Ayurvedic therapist who came from Sri Lanka. He is now perhaps between seventy and eighty years old. I spoke to him about Mahāprabhujī, and he said that even in Sri Lanka, they knew of Mahāprabhujī. That was truly wonderful. He enabled childless women to bear children, turned the poor into wealthy, healed the disabled, gave sight to the blind, made the paralyzed walk again, and enabled the mute to speak. All this, I believe, happened simply in his presence. And for all those who sought his shelter, he transformed them into Jīvan Muktas, liberating them from the cycle of birth and death. Even now, whenever we think of Mahāprabhujī and repeat his mantra, his divine energy and presence are with us. Some time ago, I was here in the āśram in the evening after prayer. I was praying to Mahāprabhujī because I wanted an answer to a question. Perhaps because it was just after prayer, an energy came—coming down from the sky toward me—and then I knew the answer, yes or no. The answer came. In that moment I felt that the air around us is very thick. We cannot see the air, can we? We think it is nothing, just empty air. But it is very thick. For, as we know, there exist these subtle astral levels: Mahāloka, Śivaloka, Satyaloka, and others. This entire universe is made of consciousness and energy—śakti, consciousness and śakti. As the lokas descend closer to the earth, this energy becomes thicker, more concentrated. Yet it can still come through. And that energy is supremely high; this is the light of Satyaloka. Mahāprabhujī was, and is, that light. This bhajan speaks of his incarnation: he was born in Harivāsānī and lived in Kāṭhū, and Holī Gurujī bows down to his lotus feet.