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Knowledge is the key to liberation. Knowledge is the door, the open door, to Self-realization. Knowledge is realization. And where realization or Self-realization is present—where Ātma-jñāna is—there is no door. A door exists only as long as you are outside it. But what does "inside" mean? Which side? There is a boundary. And where there is a boundary, there is dualism. When there is knowledge, then there is no boundary, no dualism, and therefore, no door. There is a poem. In every religion or path, everyone says, "My path is the best; come to me." Everyone pulls in their own direction. It is like an advertisement or a game, where strong men or women hold a large rope and pull to see who is stronger. The rope is like religion, or God. One pulls on one side, the other pulls on the other side. Thank God the rope is so strong that no one can break it. But that is how it is. Everyone tries to pull in their own direction; everyone follows their own path, each trying to move in their own way. But there is a place—the place that those who walk a particular path seek—that no one can reach. In short, no path leads there. As long as the path exists, there is always uncertainty or imperfection. The path ends where perfection is absolutely present; then there is no longer a path. So, as long as the path exists, dualism exists, the individual exists, and ignorance, uncertainty, and a lack of readiness exist. When knowledge is there, it opens the door so wide that you no longer see any doorframe on the left or right. This is unity in every direction—below or above, left or right, behind or in front. That is unity in every direction of the heavens. When that unity is there, then one says, "One without a second." One without a second means there is no more time and space. For such a person, time is beyond time, and they are not bound to any space or plane. That is freedom. Therefore, Śaṅkarācārya says, "Know thyself." "Know thyself" means you know all, everything. If you do not know thyself, you know nothing. Self-realization is the highest knowledge one should attain in life through various practices, different techniques, efforts, and sādhanā. This sādhanā should be practiced with careful determination and clarity, not with blind faith. Vairāgya is not simply renouncing everything and not caring. No, it is not like that either. Nothing is indifferent. It is everywhere. And what is everywhere is your dharma, your duty: to respect everything, observe everything, to see everything. But slowly, slowly, you are separating yourself from it. Then there is Viveka, which is also very important: Brahma satyaṁ jagan mithyā. The world is transient, and Brahman, the highest Self, is the truth, the reality, God. We discussed Jñāna-yoga, how a Jñāna-yogī should walk on his path. Jñāna-yoga has four principles: Viveka (discrimination), Vairāgya (dispassion), Śaṭ-sampatti (the six treasures), and Mumukṣutva (intense longing for liberation). We were with Śaṭ-sampatti, the six treasures, and then we came to Mumukṣutva. Let us see what Śaṅkarācārya-ji says about Mumukṣutva. Even in the six [treasures], he says: nityātma-svarūpaṁ hi draṣṭavyaṁ tad-viparīta-gataṁ evaṁ yo nitya-ya-samyak viveko vastu na sahave. The form of the Ātman, the Self, the divine, the highest Self, is eternal, everlasting, immortal. Indescribable is the immortal Ātma, and everything else that is visible, everything you see, is transient. To realize that and progress further, according to what he says, entails certain conditions. There is another word, but I have forgotten what it is called. But one says "condition"; that too is a condition. Thank you. Vāsanā, Tyāga—renounce your vāsanās again and again, forever. What are the vāsanās? Wishes. Our vāsanā is the cause of our suffering. Vāsanā here means nothing but physical passion, if one thinks of it this way. Many perhaps are sitting now and thinking that. No. Vāsanā also means to have beautiful clothing. Vāsanā also means a beautiful balcony and having flowers. Vāsanā means to have, to possess, to desire. Everything that comes—there are different types of vāsanās. Vāsanās may be beautiful, pure, or bad. But vāsanā can also mean that which stinks: sugandha and durgandha. Sugandha is where there is a beautiful fragrance. Durgandha is where there is desire. When things rot and begin to stink, then it is called vāsanā, vasati, durgandha. This Jīvātmā, the individual soul, is so entangled or immersed in the vāsanās. This is the Vivekī, the true discrimination. The subtle element. Śama means śānta. Śānta means being patient inwardly—not immediately letting your inner things explode, not immediately wishing, "Let's do this, okay, let's go, let's do this." No, wait, wait, wait. They say, "Don't eat it too hot. Let it cool down a bit. If you eat very hot porridge, then your tongue will get burned." And so then the śama: you should inwardly cleanse all your vāsanās, whatever arises within, with your jñāna, with your knowledge, with your wisdom, gradually, gradually purifying everything. The second is dama: to restrain the externality of other objects, of images and so forth, whatever comes from outside—temptations—you should also hold that back from yourself. To separate from something is not a simple matter. If there is a beautiful piece of fruit somewhere and you pass by, you should go there, and if you continue on, you should go there once again. So that means you are not yet separate. "This fruit is so good, it smells so good, and it is completely fresh and ripe, and the fruit is so beautiful." And you pass by and should go again, and you keep walking, then ten steps, and then you come back and go into the shop and buy the fruit. Why not? The businessman should also earn something. But this is it—you have this dama, you have not yet trained yourself to maintain distance. You have not yet developed this ability. Yes, if it must be, then of course you should go and take; you should not. Pravṛtti and Nivṛtti. Pravṛtti and Nivṛtti. These are the two. Pravṛtti is that which still desires to have something, to accomplish it. You cannot retire until you have worked for so many years. So you are bound by your duty. You have a duty; you must fulfill your duty, then you can move forward. And so, we have our vṛtti, parāvṛtti. Para is something that lies beyond us and to which we are still bound. So we have no power to renounce. Vṛtti is your thought. So, your thoughts always wander, or your thoughts always dwell in material things. And when your thoughts dwell on material things, you cannot progress; you cannot go that far. Nivṛtti is the transcendence over things. They say it is not difficult for you to say no. And to whom? To oneself. To oneself. Saying no to others is easier. But saying no to oneself is sometimes difficult. Yoshi, is that right? Have you ever experienced a situation where it was difficult for you to say no to yourself? Especially so much. And then, there must be Śraddhā, trust—in the Śāstras, the Vākyas, the sacred scriptures, of holy persons and Ācāryas, your master. As long as you do not have trust in his writings and in his vākyas, in his instructions, your Jñāna-yoga, your path, will not be complete. And here you see unity again, or they share something together. Who? Bhakti-yoga and Jñāna-yoga. Jñāna-yoga and Bhakti-yoga have something in common, and Bhakti-yoga and Jñāna-yoga also have something in common. That means a Bhakti-yogī cannot progress without Jñāna-yoga. And a Jñāna-yogī who says, "I am only a Jñāna-yogī, only a philosopher; the Śāstras are philosophy"—he also cannot progress without devotion. Therefore, Śaṅkarācārya said very, very clearly: Āgama and Nigama, the Śāstras that are written, beyond the Śāstras, and the knowledge that is also told or written by the master of the future, in Śāstra, Āgama, Nigama, and Ācāryas. You should have devotion and trust. Without devotion and confidence, you cannot progress further. And Cittaikāgratā: when you do all this, then your Citta-vṛtti-nirodha will come. Cittaikāgratā. Our citta is comparable. There is an example: a water pond, a pond, a beautiful water pond, or a beautiful lake, a beautiful lake. Crystal clear water. Completely pure water. In this water, there is a reflection. You can see your face so clearly. And so the vṛtti is the citta of the yogī or meditator. During meditation, your citta should be like this—yes, your awareness, your consciousness—so clear, completely pure, perfectly clear. That is citta. And vṛtti. Vṛtti means a tiny mosquito that sits on or touches the water. Then what happens? The waves come. And the waves will continue to torment us. It torments. These waves will torment you through your vṛttis. These are all your longings and your desires. Consciousness is one field, the field of the sacred basil. One field, consciousness. Oṁ. Oṁ.... And through this, your most important path will unfold. Or your mantra. Only one, nothing else. Śravaṇa, manana, nididhyāsana. Śravaṇa means listening. Manana means reflecting. Who am I? Reflecting on the breath. That is then Bhakti, Śraddhā, and Samādhāna. In your citta, you will sit and observe all your thoughts, and during the meditations, for every thought that arises, you ask yourself: "What am I thinking? What did I think? Why should I think? And what should I think? What do I think? What did I think? What should I think? And why should I think?" Analyze your thoughts, your vṛttis, to what they are bound. And try to direct all your feelings, your vṛttis, everything in one direction: your main goal. And what is your main goal? Breath, Sākṣātkāra. Breath realization. As far as we have come and while we are doing this, during this meditation, during this sādhanā, one says, from time to time, sometimes thoughts do arise: "What is the meaning of it? Why must I suffer for so long?" Sometimes such thoughts arise. "Well, I am to enjoy my life freely, and that fits perfectly." And if we fail at everything, like now with the Guru Yoga not having been announced beforehand, what meaning does it have? And so, "Why do I do this?" And here is the fourth principle, the stage of Jñāna-yoga, namely: "He Prabho, oh Lord, oh God. One word: my liberation from this sorrowful, agonizing, painful Saṁsāra." Saṁsāra means there is no sāra, there is no essence; it is an empty shell. The lemon juice has already been squeezed out; only the peel remains here. It is Saṁsāra; it is nothing at all. And when then? It is tormented. "O Prabhu, O Lord, when and how and where will I be liberated from this Saṁsāra?" But that does not mean that one wants to die or commit suicide, no. But that I never return to this Saṁsāra again. No more in Karma Bandhana that I cannot return from. That is very beautifully said: when such strength, determination, and intellect decide for you, and there is a longing within you for God-realization or Self-realization, then Ātma-jñāna or Mokṣa becomes possible. These are the four principles of Jñāna-yoga. Once again, now Śaṅkarācārya explains even more how the sādhaka should think, in case any questions arise in your mind. And there he says something very good again. Thought—what, the illumination of thought, types, what one should think, how one should think, or how one should carry out this Self-inquiry meditation or identify with things. The sādhaka, the aspirant, the seeker, the bhakta, the practitioner, who has engaged in these spiritual practices and who wishes to continue on this spiritual path towards his realization, should be with his healthy and firm determination, with his good thoughts, with his Subhecchā. Subhecchā is good will; through his good will, he should continue on this path. Like what? Like what? Without light, one cannot perceive objects; similarly, without knowledge, contemplation, and other practices, realization does not arise. For example, it is said that without light, you cannot see objects. In darkness—in this room, for example—it is completely dark. Completely, completely dark. You cannot see where a chair is, where a table is, or where a water well is, or where a book is, or where a Google pen or Play Stick is. Is that clear to us or not? Then I would gladly have a sip of water. And so, without the light, you cannot see the objects. And so, Hāgānā, you should think that without practices, without sādhanā, you cannot attain knowledge; the knowledge cannot be reached. To reach as much of your knowledge as possible is your sādhanā; it is like a light to see other objects; it is important. Is that clearly said or not? Or say it to me once more; someone should say how, repeat, "Yoga and how?" What did he say? And? Didn't you understand then? That is it. You cannot feel around because it lies somewhere else and you do not know where it is. You can only feel your own head in the darkness. Yes, but if you suddenly enter a room somewhere, you have no idea where anything is. And you want to feel something, and suddenly there lies the cobra. And then you go to the other side, where a crocodile lies. And you get frightened and move to the other side, where there is an uncle tiger. So, I said a closed room as an example, but darkness in general. And so in darkness, it is difficult for us to find or see an object clearly, where anything lies. And so, without sādhanā, it is not easier for us to find clarity and to realize this knowledge. And so it is, he said, without Vicāra, without sādhanā. Vicāra here means cintan. Cintan means to reflect. Constantly: Ātma, Śivo'ham, Śivo'ham, "I am that, I am that. I am the Ātman." But damn it, it's not that simple. The best test, if you want to know that you are truly strong and dedicated in your practice, is that when you think of your Ātma, no one can distract your thoughts. Then I will say, go to a dentist and say, "Please, no injection, keep drilling," because I think, "Now I am Ātma, I am not the body." And then you can decide for yourself or assess for yourself how far you have come on your paths of breath-jñāna. That is all. That is perfectly clear. So don't blame your master for how far you are or why he doesn't tell you. We always said, "Well, I have been practicing yoga for so long and I am so spiritual and I have spiritual light." When suddenly the Swāmījī or the Master comes and says, "You must learn again," "I know everything," "Whatever he says, I can explain it even better." That is okay. The narration is different, but the practice is different. Tons of theory are different from a gram of practice. And so with Chānās, we say, when you say, "Ah, Chānā says, this breath has indeed spoken. This is the sound of the soul, this is the voice of the Supreme Self." And so, as I said, for all of us, easier said than done, and it is difficult to realize. Therefore, Śaṅkarācārya said, engage yourselves in vicāra, in contemplation: "I am the Sat-Cit-Ānanda-svarūpa, Śivo'ham, Śivo'ham, Ānando'ham, I am the Blissful, Ānando'ham, Ānando, Ānandam, Brahma, Ānando'ham, Sat-Cit-Ānanda, Oṁ, Sat-Cit-Ānanda, Oṁ, Sat-Cit-Ānanda, Oṁ Sat-Cit-Ānanda Oṁ Sat-Cit-Ānanda." And so, without the light, things are not visible. And so the Ātma cannot be seen or realized without sādhanā and vicāra. The proper vicāra, positive thoughts, positive vṛttis, and always contemplate: What is the Ātman? What is God? Who am I? Who am I? How did this come into being? And so Śaṅkarācārya says: Jīvaita, who am I? How did this come into being? When is the doer? There is no cause. What is there? I seek inquiry; I see. Who am I? What is this world? How was this world created? And how did I come here? Why did I come here? Who is the Creator? Who is the Doer? Who is the creator of you? Not your father and your mother, but from the very beginning. Who is the father? What does one say about my father? This father is a biological father. Isn't that what they say? A biological father or a biological mother? A biological father. That is a biological father. But the truth, the reality of your spiritual father, the one who is your Ātma, from where your Ātma comes, who has nurtured it—this whole thing, how did it come about? Who am I? Where do I come from? Where have I come to? And where am I going? And who is the Tua? Who is it that is doing all this—wondering, coming, dying, being born again, going there and here? There must be something. Some kind of wind must turn in one direction. But who has blown the wind out of the breath? That can also be. They say a small butterfly can extinguish a storm. But from the flap of a butterfly's wing, which begins this very subtle wind and becomes a great hurricane, it takes time. Isn't that so? And thus, from your beginning, your life, you become such a great, sacred, transcendent Brahma, one with Brahma. It takes time, children; you must have a little patience. Slowly, slowly, step by step. So who is the one who created everything? What is the cause of this? Why did he do this? This thought is like this, or the yogī should think like this, because all that he sees... You have fallen into a storm. You are sitting in a boat and everything is in a storm. And the thunderstorm is there, and the lake rises and darkens, and my God, sometimes such a situation can arise in life. We are neither a multitude of beings, nor a collection of senses; this very moment, a certain reflection arises, that is the essence of the Self. The first thought should be this: I am not this bundle of nerves and body, flesh and bones, and bundle of nerves. It is a bundle of nerves, and one needs a nerve saw to cut through it. First, I am not this body, bones and flesh and so on. Yes, very well said, Mr. Śaṅkarācārya-ji. If he were here, we would take him to the dentist. But unfortunately, he is very far away. But you see, I mean, proof—proof that when Mahāprabhujī's eyes were operated on, and Mahāprabhujī refused, he said, "No injection, no anesthesia, not at all." And they operated on him, all those eyes operated on him, and he didn't even say anything like that. He only first asked how long it would take, and only then did he say, "15, 20 minutes, or 25 minutes, or something like that. It can take half an hour." But then it took a long time, and when it was finished, the doctor said, "Okay," and by the way, she smiled; he smiled and he said, "But you told me it would take less time." And it took a long time. That is it. But for us, when a small blood sugar test needle goes in, we react like this. The children are still alive. And life here means, yes, we are bound to this bundle. So, that is that. Just like Chara Ātmachinden, then you stand above death and birth. When you go deep into meditation, you have already died. And you return again, new life. That is the difference between deep sleep and deep meditation. But one meditates and stops the clock, and then continues to meditate and say, "Well, now I can meditate for another ten minutes because the bus comes in 20 minutes." It happens sometimes. Yes, I need to stand up, and then, I mean, I need five minutes to get dressed, to do my hair, to take care of my hair, and I need seven minutes to lock the door and get there, and then it takes three minutes to get to the car. That is opposite, so ten minutes, and now there is still, so I can meditate for another 10 minutes; I have 20 minutes. Such meditation is not meditation. These are the vṛttis; your vṛttis move around like this. Sometimes, traffic signs are placed before tunnels, a sign to turn on the light. And there goes the light, and so many beams are shining on it. And so, when you meditate and you can see how many vṛttis are swirling around, that is not meditation; that is withdrawal, relaxation. Let us try relaxation. Meditation. Perhaps once in our life we will succeed. This is it. Abhyāsa, Abhyāsa, Abhyāsa. Practice, practice, practice. How much must one practice? And how perfect should the practice be? The practice should be as perfect as when a hungry person is truly hungry and in the darkness, he has a roll in his hand, a bread roll. He is completely dark; he sees neither mouth nor hand. But automatically, the hand finds its way to the mouth. He perceives, whether the eyes are closed or open, light or no light. The hand always finds its way to the mouth. And so the practitioner, who has practiced, no matter where he is, closes his eyes. He is in his higher state of consciousness. And so, "I am nothing of this kharpa, I am also nothing of these indriyas; I am entirely different from both." And this vicāra is what you should then contemplate; it continues; it goes on. What I had thought before about a mantra, what was it? Everything I think, and this kharpa and all of this, it all stems from ignorance. All pain and suffering and jealousy and hatred and greed and anger, attachment and all of that stand apart from my ignorance. The Ātma is free from this. That means, use your, what? Viveka. And yet, if nothing succeeds for you in Viveka, then use your Vairāgya. In the Brahmādiṣṭhāvaras: from here up to Brahmaloka, everything that stands in your way for your vāsanās, bhogas, is like the dirt of a kri. So that means, everything must be done in meditation; when difficulties arise in meditation, when you cannot meditate at all, then you should use these vākyās, these words, which are called spiritual injections—spiritual injections, injections. This spiritual injection must always be administered by yourself, as vṛttis, constantly, by being in the Divine Intoxication. You are in Divine Intoxication, Yoga Land, okay. Therefore, when you meditate, you always keep telling your wife, "I will meditate, please do not disturb me." And when she sees what you are doing, that is, you are in Divine Intoxication, they say, "Please do not disturb him; that is dangerous." Right? Exactly. Everyone should have a woman like Traude, your wife; she is so kind to you. Agyāna prabhavaṁ sarvaṁ gyānena pravilīyate sampūrṇa prapañcaḥ. Everything that has been created, all that is, that is... that is only ignorance. You can only realize this through ignorance. You can still realize; there is always something to realize. And indeed, Yoga Mitra, what? Ignorance, right? And how much—that is my God—can one wash throughout a lifetime, right? This damn stain, this stubborn spot, this greasy spot just won't go away. The garment may tear, but the stain does not. The stain is so deep. And when you have realized Jñāna, when you have attained Jñāna—Jñāna-yogī, the breath, Jñāna-Self-religion—that time, then you will see that everything is nonsense and unimportant and such. Before that, nothing. Before that, nothing. From the very beginning, when you meet a person, they are the most important person in your life. Always, your tribe is—go to that person. And after a few years, when you live along, are pampered, married, and so on, after a few years, in most cases, you say, "This is unimportant." Say, "Freddy, please be quiet." I like that very much. Or if you can realize this love for your wife or your husband, then you know how important your partner is to you. Not before. And so let everyone lie down on their sides; they do not know how important and how... They have not realized this love; that is the point. And when you have realized love, it will never be boring. Then loneliness is no longer there. There is unity. And whoever is not unity, although there are two, both feel lonely. That's right, Joghanan-ji? Yes. You can join the conversation because the television is on, the chamberlain is on my side. So, when this Jñāna is realized, then everything dissolves. It all dissolves. Nothing remains. And then, you know that many desires, your saṅkalpa is the cause of all that. You have wished for it, you have desired it, you want it. That was your vāsanās, as previously mentioned. And you have your vṛttis, Śama and Dama, which you have not yet practiced perfectly. And your Pravṛttis and Nivṛttis are not yet there; Uparati not yet perfect. And now you torment yourself in meditation and reproach yourself. Why is it not working for you? And therefore, it progresses step by step, slowly, slowly. And when Jñāna is realized, then you will experience that you must not or should not blame anyone. It is your own fault; it is your desires, your thoughts, that have brought this upon you.