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In this modern world, certain events come with pleasant background music. Here, in this hall filled with many stars, you automatically have some beautiful background music. You see, every tune, every sound is simply a sound. There is no such thing as a misclang, a wrong sound. How you perceive it depends entirely on you. Patañjali speaks of kliṣṭa and akliṣṭa vṛttis—the thoughts that disrupt you and the thoughts that help you. The question arises: in what way do external sounds, visions, or smells disturb you? Perhaps you don't like them. But it cannot be that everything must be to your liking. What one person likes, another may dislike. This liking and disliking is the problem. What you dislike, you feel disturbs you, but someone who likes it creates that very sound. Therefore, Patañjali advises: withdraw your senses and be one with thyself. Merge with your own inner sound. Then, suddenly, you will find you no longer hear those sounds you thought were disturbing. Long ago, around 1975 or 1976, in Prague at the university clinic—the largest hospital—I used to visit Czechoslovakia frequently then, more than I do now. Dr. Dostálek and his colleagues wanted to study how a yogi's brain waves behave during meditation. They attached many wires all over my head. As you saw in yesterday's video, Nārada declares, "Ahaṁ Brahmāsmī"—"I am Brahman." Nothing can touch me; I am unattached, above ignorance. Everything happening is merely of the body. The body is mortal, but I am immortal, beyond all fear. Yes, it should be like that, but it isn't always so. By the grace of God, such a state of being often comes only in the last minutes of life, though you may have glimpses of the knowledge of Brahman that allow you to say "Ahaṁ Brahmāsmi," to be a Brahmaniṣṭha Śrotriya. But the vṛtti—the mental modification—is constantly changing. The view, the position, the situation, thought, feeling—all are in constant flux, not only on this planet but in the entire universe. Constellations change; everything is in movement. It is very hard to remain fixed in one thought, idea, or feeling. So you may say "Ahaṁ Brahmāsmi," but it does not last long. If you say, "Yes, I am Brahman, I have knowledge of Brahman," you should understand the distinctions. There is a Brahmin, which is a caste. Brahmā is the creator. And Brahman is the universal God, the entirety of the universe, above all trinities. That is called Brahman. Ahaṁ Brahmāsmi means "I am that Brahman." Yes, you and I. We have often had experiences of Brahman. You have had many glimpses of that Brahman, that nectar—when you came to me for a mantra, or in satsaṅg, in one way or another, you received that divine immortality, the nectar. There are many kinds of amṛta. Yet, at the same time, the opposite breeze comes. It is like wanting to fly in one direction in a glider without an engine, only to encounter a headwind. Similarly, our breath, the changes in this body, create different waves of uncertainty. "Should I or shouldn't I? Is this right or wrong? Should I take it or not?" These questions arise from our ignorance: why, how, and so on. So, while practicing meditation with a mantra, while studying the beautiful ancient yogic literature concerning God-consciousness and this entire creation—body, emotion, thoughts, fear, memory, intellect, anger, hate, jealousy, conflicts, and further, the consciousness and its different levels—we discover that one layer after another is hidden within us. Back in 1975, I was a little younger. To put it plainly, the horses were young and wild; it was not easy to keep them on track. When you know a little, you sometimes feel like claiming to know everything, challenging this and that. I was practicing every day, a minimum of six hours of Haṭha Yoga kriyās, āsanas, prāṇāyāmas, meditations, mantras, and more, no matter where I was. I was solid and sure within myself. So there I was, sitting in a small room as the doctors tried to attach all these wires. I said to Mahāprabhujī, "Please control the electricity." I was concerned about my heartbeat and the electrical flex. There was no chance to pull out just one wire; they were everywhere. I said to Mahāprabhujī, "In this physical form, I hope this is not the final praṇām." You see how suddenly fear arose. I was surprised. I thought I had no fear in me. Similarly, you might think you have no jealousy, that you are above it. I wouldn't be so sure. The best thing is to be on the good side, to surrender. Completeness often comes in the last minutes of life. The doctors asked me, "Swāmījī, can you meditate and try to influence or still your citta vṛtti?" Nirodha means one-pointedness. I said, "Yes, I will do it," but I was afraid of the electric wires. My heartbeat grew stronger. "Do you think I will feel the current?" I asked. He said, "No, no, you will feel nothing, Swāmījī." "Are you sure? Or will you put it on high volume?" "No, no, Swāmījī, it's not like that." Well, I performed some prāṇāyāmas: kapālabhāti, bhastrika, bandha, uḍḍīyānabandha, jālandhara bandha, mahābandha, influencing my chakras to balance the flow of prāṇa and apāna, and then I sat in meditation. What they did was flash a big bulb light on and off in front of me, and then they played various sounds to see how my brain waves would or would not change. Yes, I listened. I made a gesture, then said no. Now I am in Mahānanda. Nothing exists around me. In that minute, despite the light and sound, everything was completely balanced. They gave me the printout—the results. I have it somewhere in my records; perhaps it will appear in a book one day. They gave me a time limit, and I said my ending would be signaled by chanting Oṁ. I had no problem sitting for a long time. I was sitting in the lotus posture. I weighed only 55 kilos then; now it's nearly 88. Everything, my dear. You know, you spoiled me with Czech sandwiches and cheese and this and that, and in the ex-Yugoslavia, the kajmak—oh, kokoruca, the khaimak. And they would say, "Swāmījī, please, Swāmījī, one more, Swāmījī." A great yogī once said all indriyas (senses) can be controlled, but the testing indriyas are very hard to master. Anyway, I chanted Oṁ. They observed that during the chanting of Oṁ, a lightning-like vibration traveled along the spinal column, an effect they had never experienced in any of their many experiments. This is how God Kṛṣṇa said in the Bhagavad Gītā a yogī should be: like a tortoise, an animal that can at any time draw its limbs in or expand them out. Similarly, all these vṛttis are around you—worshipping, talking, speaking—they should never disturb you. They come to you and go from you. Sometimes you sit somewhere and a bad smell comes. What will you do? Avoid it. Go away. Do not remain with the bad smell. You should not cry over it. So, master thyself. Master the situation. Withdraw your senses. That is what any yogī can be: extroverted or, at any time, introverted. Therefore, for meditation, kāya—steadiness of the body—is essential. If one finger moves, it creates immense waves and disturbances in your aura. You think it doesn't matter? "I can do like this, it doesn't matter." Let me say, I often admire modern technology, which confirms what yogīs have always said and what Kṛṣṇa said: "Not a blade of grass can move without my will, my energy." The leaves of the trees, the wind—all this is by the Almighty God. "Nothing is hidden from me, oh Arjuna. In the entire universe, there is nothing I cannot have, but still I am acting." I am doing karma yoga, karmasu poṣa. So how do vṛttis disturb? How does a yogī control vṛttis? Consider an alarm system in a house. You sit within its range very peacefully, without any movement. If you move one finger, the alarm will sound. Similarly, in meditation, if you just move your lips, your entire aura, your beautiful energy, is disturbed. A gap appears between the waves, different thoughts enter your consciousness, and your breath becomes more agitated. It has been said that a butterfly can cause a hurricane. When a very silent butterfly flaps its wings, a little wind starts. That little wind begins, gains support, and can become a very large one. So a little thought, a little thing, a little negative speech or sight can cause you great trouble and push you down. Conversely, a little thing can uplift your consciousness. When someone who cannot swim falls into the water, a very thin thread hanging somewhere can be grasped, allowing them to pull themselves out. So, learn to have a steady position, upright, with a straight spine. Then you will see, when you are doing chakra śodhana or other kriyās or prāṇāyāmas, how the energy flows. But mostly, I see people sitting slumped over, doing their anusandhāna or chakra śodhana. First, master your body so you can sit steadily for at least one or two hours. Then everything becomes balanced. Negative energy is filtered. The mantra continues, and then there is just the consciousness of doing little things, and then nothing. That's okay. It is better than nothing, but it will not solve our problems nor help us achieve our destiny. Therefore, prepare today and tomorrow. Eat little. I tell you, if possible, avoid grains, especially in the evening. Avoid bread. Eat little bread or little rice. Have more of some different hot soup or something. In the morning, you will be full of vitality, and you will be able to sit steadily like this.