TV Channel

Part 1: A Gathering on Spiritual Unity We can now begin. We have come together for a wonderful discussion on the unity of spirituality. As we know, the world is in a difficult situation today. One could say this almost every ten years. We are all wanting to know what truth is and where it lies. This search is very interesting. In my own life, I personally wanted to discover truth. I thought I would explore the spiritual world to find truth for myself. Yet, we encounter many places that reassure us, saying, "We know truth, we know truth, come and follow us." Despite this, our world remains full of antagonism, aggression, and hatred. So, are we truly finding our way to truth? The subject of unity today is very important for all our hearts. It is almost like we are speaking to the converted here, because I am sure all of us present feel that unity is a very important thing. We are all perhaps—I was going to say old enough—I must speak for myself. We start to realize there is no point in fighting all the time. We must come to some sort of peaceful agreement. So, welcome, everybody, to this place. This is Yoga and Daily Life. It is a beautiful ashram that has been here a long time. We waited for Mataji, and she is a very special guest, so welcome. It is lovely to see you again. She has been part of this from the very, very beginning. Thank you for being patient and waiting for her. We have special guests as well. In fact, as I understand it more and more, you are all special guests. So, welcome to all of you, special guests here. As we will find out in our discussions on unity, we will discover that the specialness lies in all of us. We also have honored guests. We have already started with Swāmī Avatthapurījī. He is continuing Swāmījī’s legacy. We are so grateful that the continuation of the path is such an important thing. It gives surety and consistency for the next generations of seekers. Besides Swāmī Avatthapurījī, we have Lunda Vandenberg. She has come to talk to us a little about insight meditation, which is part of the Buddhist tradition. As part of what she teaches—she is a teacher in that tradition—it is Vipassanā, which is very popular these days. Many young people try Vipassanā. They offer free classes. I am not sure if that is part of her tradition; she can tell us. But Vipassanā is part of the Buddhist tradition. She will give us insight into the Buddhist tradition from her personal perspective. Beside her is Gabrielle Meach. She is a long-term yoga practitioner and teaches yoga here in town. She is a wonderful yoga teacher. She is also a Paramahaṁsa, a Yogananda meditator and practitioner. She will speak about her understanding of life from this perspective, which is also a meditation path. Most of us here practice meditation in some form. Beside her, we have Chris Drauffer. I knew I would get that wrong even before I pronounced it. Christopher. Chris is part of the Sufi tradition, the Islamic tradition, specifically a Sufi school of teaching. He is a senior person in the Wellington, New Zealand area and a teacher in the Sufi tradition, having practiced for a long time. Beside me is Maldogard, who is Bogard. It is a 'B'. Thank you, Mel. She is part of the Quaker group, a Christian derivative with Christian roots. They were originally called the Religious Society of Friends, a lovely name. Now, most know them as Quakers. Each person will have a chance to talk. You will also have a chance to ask questions at the end, if time permits. I will keep an eye on the time. Please, let us keep to our time. The format will be that people will first talk about their own personal experience on their path. As we know, when we start to search, we look for differences. It is very interesting. When we first want to find a suitable path, we want to know our path is the right one and another may not be. So, initially, we look at differences. Once we are on a path for some time, we perhaps start looking at similarities. To begin, I would like people to express what drew them to their path and what is special about it. This way, we can see how they entered a deeper world of truth. We will have a pause. Good evening to all of you present here, Gyanānandjī, Gaṅgā, Landa, Chris, and Mel, and all you special guests, as Gyanānandjī just mentioned. My lovely brothers and sisters from around the world who are watching. They told me I must start by telling something about myself, which arouses our beautiful enemies residing within us: kāma, krodha, moha, lobha, and ahaṅkāra. Out of these, one is ego. So, talking about myself is about 'me, myself, and I', but okay—a little introduction. As many may or may not know, but will now know, we have four āśramas in our tradition: Brahmacarya Āśram, Gṛhastha Āśram, Vānaprastha Āśram, and Sannyāsa Āśram. To simplify and shorten it, so we can fit it in the time—because once we start talking, we can go endlessly—I will try to be brief. Essentially, these are four transitional stages in life. The first is as students, brahmacarya āśram, where we gain knowledge. The second is gṛhastha āśram, where we have our household, grow our family, work, and move forward in life. The third stage is vānaprastha āśram, where we slowly drift towards spirituality with our partner or alone, focus more on the spiritual path, and let the next generation take over the business or work. The fourth and final stage is Sannyāsa Āśram, where you become a monk, renounce things, and fully immerse yourself in that life. You might wonder how a 26-year-old jumped to a 75-plus-year-old Sannyāsa Āśram. A little context: I feel truly blessed to have been adopted by my Gurudev, Vishwaguru Mahārāj Maheśvara Nanda Purījī, at the age of six hours. I was basically a baby when he adopted me. As we always sing: tvaṁ eva mātā ca pitā tvaṁ eva, tvaṁ eva bandhuś ca sakhā tvaṁ eva—you are my father, you are my mother, you are my brother, you are my friend, you are everything. For me, he is my entire world. That is how I came into sannyāsa āśram, skipping the other three stages. You might think, "Okay, he didn’t live anything, didn’t see anything, didn’t experience the outer world. How could he decide? Was he forced?" No. As I grew up, I also studied in a normal boarding school in Bangalore for two years. There, I wore normal clothes and saw normal life, but after a few months, I felt uncomfortable. I told Swāmījī, and I returned. It was a period where he wanted me to see the outer world. It was a purely vegetarian, boys-only boarding school, but it was an experience for me to see a bit of the outer world. When I turned 18, Swāmījī asked me if I wanted to live a normal life, have a family, or whatever. But no. As I was brought up in this beautiful family of mine, I feel this is what I was born for. This is why Swāmījī raised me, and I wish to continue this. That is how I am in this sannyāsa āśram from the beginning of my birth until now, and hopefully until the end of my life. It is a very beautiful, lovely experience. The playground was our meditation halls and ashrams. My friends were these beautiful people always sitting around with us. This is my family. Many may say I did not have similar age contact when I was younger, which might be true. But that beautiful family of mine never let me feel I was missing out on something. I did not have FOMO—fear of missing out—as we call it in the new world. I never had that feeling. I am truly blessed to be part of this beautiful paramparā. 'Paramparā' means lineage in Sanskrit. Even in our families, we have a grandfather, great-grandfather, father, son, grandson. Similarly, in our traditions, we have paramparā, where ancient knowledge and teachings are passed down from guru to disciple, continuing on. I, and those part of it, are blessed to be in this beautiful paramparā. It was started by Śrī Ālok Purījī, whose picture is near the lamp. You may have heard of the river Alaknandā in the Himalayas, the beginning of all rivers. His disciple was named Nandā Devī. At the end of her life, she asked her guru Ālokpurījī if her name could also be remembered, so the river became Alaknandā. After him came Śrī Devapurījī Mahārāj, who meditated a lot in the Himalayas and then came down. That is the work of great saints and Mahāpuruṣas. I believe they are much happier up there, but still they come down to this Māyā world, this illusion and Mṛtyuloka, to help and guide other souls, hoping to help us attain our ultimate goal of self-realization and mokṣa, liberation. He came down to Rajasthan and established his āśram in a village called Kailāś, like Lord Śiva’s mountain. After him was Mahāprabhujī. His ashram was also in Nagar, Rajasthan. He helped thousands of people and even brought people back from the dead. After that was our great-grandmaster, Hindu Dharm Samrāṭ Paramahaṁsa Mādhavānandapurījī, the Gurudev of our beloved Swāmījī, who continued this beautiful teaching and message of our paramparā. Then came our beloved Gurudev, His Holiness Vāśvaguru Mahāmudrā Śrī Maheśvarānand Purījī. He decided this should not be contained only in India, so he carried this message throughout the whole world, coming to the West between 1960 and 1970. He started traveling and created this beautiful system, Yoga and Daily Life. Yoga does not only mean āsanas. Yoga is about unity and connecting with higher consciousness. He created this beautiful family of mine. If I were in a normal household, I would have 10–15 people in my family. Now I have millions around the world. I am very grateful for this beautiful family he gave me. Yes, this is my life in a nutshell. Lovely, thank you, Avatāpurījī. Very nice. Thank you, everyone. What a beautiful invitation I found in my email box a little while ago. My heart was really opening because I so recognize what you say, John. I felt drawn to a particular tradition, and now I am at a stage in my own development where I start to get more and more curious about what brings us together—so timely. I would not dare to claim that I could present myself as representing the Buddhist tradition, because the Buddhist tradition is vast and wide. So, I will just take the doorway of my own personal journey: why I felt drawn to Buddhism and what it has brought me. I grew up in an agnostic family in the Netherlands, focused on daily life, getting on with daily life. Holidays were probably the main thing my parents were striving for, as that was a moment of well-being and ease. I did not grow up with any understanding of religious teachings, what it means to be a human being in this world, or what it means to be a good human being. I was happily going along. Then, as so many of us experience, suffering arrives in our lives at some point. I was fortunate and privileged in my upbringing, so this came quite late for me, in my 30s. I too was experiencing suffering and looking for relief. Initially, I ended up in what I may call a happy-go-lucky American New Age movement in the late ’80s and early ’90s. Perhaps some of you have had those experiences—looking for happiness. The slogan of that movement was, "You create your own happiness because you’re the master of your mind." I felt so drawn to that idea and practiced sincerely. But after several years, I concluded, "Ah, yes, there is truth in that." There is beauty in learning the power of the mind, how it leads to limiting beliefs and impacts our lives. Yet, there is suffering in our lives well beyond our control. Causes and conditions come together. No matter how much I train my mind, suffering can still be part of my life. So, I looked for something else. I knew Buddhism had been informing this American New Age movement, so that is how I got interested. I thought perhaps it might bring me insights, and sure enough, it did. The main reason I felt drawn to Buddhism, now for over 20 years, is this profound understanding: yes, suffering—dukkha in our Pāli language—is part of life. It is just what it is to be a human being. Yes, there are joys, and at times we meet suffering. That means when we encounter suffering, it does not mean we are doing something wrong. I got to practice in that tradition initially in the United Kingdom, then I moved to New Zealand. There are many lineages in Buddhism. I am trained in what we call insight meditation—the Pāli word is vipassanā. Many know vipassanā through the Goenka tradition, but as in any tradition, there are many flavors. I am trained in insight meditation more through the Western lens by people like Joseph Goldstein and Jack Kornfield. That is the foundation for my practice. Initially, for me, it started with mindfulness. We base ourselves on the early Buddhist teachings; the Buddha taught about mindfulness. That was so helpful—to recognize a thought is just a thought, an emotion is just an emotion. That mindfulness practice leads to embodied insight. One phrase in our tradition, which sounds catchy but is true, is: pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional. You may have heard that. What it points to is: yes, pain is part of life because we live in a human body in a human world, but we can train our mind to relate to pain skillfully so we do not add extra suffering. That was the opening for me. After a few years of mindfulness meditation, I got interested in the wider Buddhist teachings. Some people say, "Oh, those Buddhists, they are always just talking about suffering." But there are many Buddhist teachings that point to the importance of well-being, happiness, and joy. There are dedicated practices for that. Nowadays, we speak of gratitude practice or mettā, loving-kindness practice. They all come from the Buddhist tradition as the Buddha taught. So, I started to learn about joy and well-being practices, and the importance of ethical practice: what it means to be a good human being—right speech, right action, right livelihood. These have been so inspiring, a call for what it means to be of service in this world. The last thing: the reason I got drawn to Buddhism was the beautiful wisdom practices underneath. What I really like is the deep understanding of causes and conditions, all leading to this very present moment. That makes it easier to be with times of difficulty—oh, causes and conditions coming together. The other part of wisdom practice is, as you already referred to, the tendency of the mind around "I, me, my," and how much suffering that can lead to, and loosening that understanding of what it is to be a human being with a human mind. Did that answer your question, John? That’s lovely. Thank you, Landa. Very interesting—as you were talking, it brings together what Swāmījī spoke about only a couple of years ago in his series of talks around the world: "What is it to be a human being?" He brought up many of the points you mentioned. So, unity is already beginning to arise. Thank you very much. Gabrielle, would you like to introduce your experiences through Christianity? Shift to mic. Oh, yes. Thank you. We’ll swap the mic over. Thank you, Landa. There’s a good example: we learn from each other with the mic, which side is the sticky side. Through our paths and coming together, we also learn from each other. I feel my life keeps building on the wonderful array of teachers and paths I have been through. I was raised Catholic, and that was a gift. It showed me there is more than the material world. I did not have a deep understanding then, but it was a gift to know life was not just about the next holiday or how much you earn. Then I discovered yoga in my early 20s. I realized that when we can fully relax our nervous system—which yoga really helps with—and develop our strength and power, not in an egotistical way, then there is an opening. We start to know ourselves as not just this body, not just this mind; there is a part of me that sits outside that. Following Yogananda’s word, there is a soul—we may have different words for this part of us. This part is part of all of us. It is that part that connects us all. For me, when I found Yogananda and his teachings, which focus on meditation, I discovered that meditation is the time when we come to be very still, come inside, and settle. As we settle into that field, we open and expand. That openness and expansion is our soul, our connection to God. That inspires me to meditate more. I am working on this; it is not a fait accompli. But one can start to express, through our voice, hands, and feet, that oneness we feel inside in deep meditation, in everyday life. I find that tremendously inspiring. I see that in all paths. The focus on meditation helps one start living in the truth of that, which brings its own challenges around how we should live. Yoga is very good at setting guidelines for how we communicate with ourselves and others. My experience is that your understanding deepens with practice, as your understanding of everything deepens. As that happens, the boundaries between us all soften more and more. As I have been sitting here, thinking about what to say, of course, I will start at the beginning: seeking something and not really knowing what it was. I get asked that a lot. This is a Christian-based country, so that is where I looked first. I found many wonderful things in those traditions. I always seemed attracted to people with Christian connections and felt very much at peace in churches. It probably has something to do with my grandmother, who was Jewish. A friend once told me I could be on social security in Israel if I said "Cheers to do," which I would not. But I looked in those areas as well, and that taught me a lot. You were speaking about suffering. All the mistakes we make and the places we go—you look back and think, "Oh, my goodness"—but they are all teaching mechanisms, allowing us to move to the next phase. To write a book would be something like, "I thought it was a good idea at the time," and that got me into interesting places. But right now, I realize that is really just God pushing you there. When that happens, it is often uncomfortable because it is not what you expect. About 20 years ago, I realized I really needed a teacher after these seeming failures that actually moved me along the path. It took a couple of years. Then my wife introduced me to Rumi. That really got me—that path of peace and love. He has a way of explaining truth that is so beautiful and gentle. At some point, I found people who were part of a Sufi meditation group. Just to interrupt you there, Chris. So, Rumi and Sufism, or the Sufi tradition, are basically the same thing? There are many lineages of Sufism. They all have roots in the beginning of Islam, but they are all different. With Rumi, he had a particular experience of realization with another Sufi called Shams, who metaphorically knocked him off his donkey and made him start writing poetry. Among that was the movement I follow—the Derbyshire? The Derbyshire, yes. The traditions I follow are silent Sufi meditators. We do that sort of thing inside. Several things bring all Sufi traditions together and make them Sufism. One is the heart, which I think we will discuss a lot. It is the receptacle of truth and the closest thing we have to God in our bodies. That really brings a lot of Sufi traditions together. When I started meditating with the group, it was the truth that shone through, and the experiential side I really liked. There is a term called contemplative witnessing. It is like if you go to university, you use your mind, have books, learn stuff, get a certificate. With the heart, it is very different. Sometimes what you learn, you do not even know is in there until a particular time. It is different for everybody. I was attracted to it because of the experiences I had. Nobody told me what to expect; it just really resonated. I think that is probably about it. Thank you. Okay, thank you. So, Mel is going to introduce us a little to the Quaker tradition. It is another very interesting tradition. We all probably know the name Quakers, but many may not know how the tradition works on a weekly or day-to-day basis. So, tell us, Mel. Welcome. Part 2: Finding the Stillness Within: A Journey to Unity Tēnā tātou katoa. My name is Mel, and I live in the shadow of this lovely mountain, Mā Tairangi. This is my home. Years ago, in my childhood, I lived on a farm in Hawke’s Bay. I was then sent to an Anglican boarding school where we had chapel twice a day—a quarter of an hour each morning and night. It was arranged with readings, Bible study, and hymns. It was traditional and rich in its way, but on Sundays, we had the longer services of matins and evensong. On Saturdays, we practiced the singing required for the week. I was steeped in that environment, yet I grew to reject it. I found it oppressive. No one talked about God in a deep way; we talked about the Bible, with endless readings, psalms, and hymns, but we never had profound discussions about the divine or what it means to be human. By the end of boarding school, I rejected the whole lot. I thought, "I’m out of school, I’m leaving that behind me, and I will never again have to worry about that. Phew!" That was my wisdom at sixteen. Then, at twenty-five, I was pregnant with my first child. I was happy, but halfway through the pregnancy, I was assailed by a huge feeling. Suddenly, I was not the master of my own ship. I was just a tiny cog, an atom in something much bigger than me—life itself. I was overwhelmed with a sense of needing to express this feeling, to learn from it. I was new to this experience and did not want to go near the religious stuff I had left behind in my youth. I was casting around for how to give expression to this overwhelming feeling, searching for the least offensive alternative—a term that comes from jails and schools. I wanted something that wouldn’t upset me but would help me find my way through. I had known about Quakerism from a flatmate many years before. I thought, "Well, it’s only three blocks away. I’ll go down there and see what I can find." I walked into that first meeting. There’s a little meeting house here in Mount Victoria—a square, plain building less than a third the size of this room. People sit in two or three concentric circles in complete silence. They don’t do anything; they just sit there, worshipping God in their own way. I sat through the first hour of worship, and by the end, I had an overwhelming sense of having come home. I knew I had arrived at a place that would let me be and let me express and explore all the things I needed to. There were one or two items of ministry that day. Quakers don’t talk; we sit in silence, waiting on God. But sometimes, maybe one, two, or three people will say something of moment, prompted by God. That’s how we say it—you speak and deliver your message. It might be two or three minutes or one sentence; it doesn’t matter. Then the rest of us sink back down into what I call the mud and contemplate. If it doesn’t speak to me, I can let it go. It’s a very powerful thing, though it is so simple. That was in 1980—45 years ago. I’ve stayed in the Quaker movement since then. It was originally called the Religious Society of the Friends of the Truth. Now it’s called Friends, or the Religious Society of Friends. There are very few of us in New Zealand, about 700 or 800, but it is meaningful to me. We’ll talk later about the various testimonies. We’re a peace church, and we have testimonies to truth, simplicity, integrity, and so on. It’s part of this great, rich way of finding our way to God. I think that’s probably enough from me. On Unity and Oneness Continuing a little about Quakers: we have no creed, no dogma, nothing we have to believe. But we do have a bunch of testimonies, which are dispositions about how we behave. First and foremost, we are known as a peace church. Many Quakers have done much work in the world of peace. Outwardly, in the 1940s or 1950s, Quakers as a whole were given the Nobel Peace Prize. It’s astonishing to learn that, but of course it comes back to us: how do I deal peacefully with my family, my neighbors, and in my work? That’s always a challenge. Integrity: we let our yes be yes and our nay be nay. If I say something, I usually mean it. Simplicity: we try to live in a simple way, not acquiring lots of stuff, which is a challenge in the world. We strive for equality—not just between men and women, but between different ethnicities and countries. We’ve had statements on homosexual law reform and all sorts of ways equality manifests in the world. Again, how does that manifest for me? We don’t take honorifics. It’s no good offering me to be a sir or a dame; it won’t work. We won’t even take Mr. and Mrs. usually. It sounds small, but it’s a way of saying everyone in the world is equal. There’s a movement amongst Quakers adding animals into that, which will be familiar for some of you. Peace, integrity, simplicity, equality, and truth—we strive for the truth. All of you have a version of that, I’m sure. Those are dispositions amongst us all. What do I do to become in unity with my meaning and my world? When I go to a meeting, I sit quietly, just like in meditation. First, I have to let go of the layers to sink down inside. I sit quietly and let go of the world outside—the news I’ve been hearing, the city around me. Then I try to let go of the people around me. I wish them well, but I let go of their concerns. Then I arrive at my own body, and I let that go as well. I try to sink down into—we’ve talked about the heart and the core and the essence—and try to arrive at that place where you are really still. We have a saying: silence is to the soul or the spirit what sleep is to the body. It’s true rest and nourishment. We try to arrive in that silent place, and in that, there is a unity achieved. I think within the meeting, that’s quite big, and that’s quite enough. Chris (Sufi Tradition): Sufism, in a nutshell for our tradition, is polishing the heart. When we’re born very young, there’s not much in the way of a pure heart, but this world soon affects it. You could call it rust or darkness. We are affected by that, so it’s good to have a mechanism to either clear that or prevent that darkness from affecting us. In the meditations we do, the saints of old have taken the spiritual heart and dissected it a little with different qualities. Our meditations are quite specific; that’s another thing I like about our tradition—it’s systematic. Over time, with meditation, we work on different aspects until the entire heart really begins to be a reflection of the divine. That illustrates one of the essential goals of Sufism: to develop good character and have that reflect in everything you do—in your work, community, and family. By having that receptacle of truth, your heart reflecting the truth (which is the divine), having that manifested in your ordinary life is really what we need to be doing. As far as unity, there’s an Arabic word called farāsa, which has no equivalent in English. It describes people meeting one another and knowing in that moment that they can trust each other. I think that has a lot to do with two hearts understanding each other and communicating. I do like that concept. So that’s unity between individuals, within societies, and within countries. The unity expands out to a wider world. It’s just humans all coming from that place, and then we all trust and love each other. Well, what else do you want? Gabrielle (Yoga Tradition): From a philosophical perspective, Yogananda was given the undertaking by his guru to come to the West, to America, and to bring together the teachings of traditional yoga and Christianity, to bring out the unity in each. Christianity had been emphasizing different aspects. For instance, "Be still and know that I am God"—I was familiar with those words, but they weren’t emphasized when I was brought up as a Catholic. That is very well understood by yogīs: to know ourselves as the divine within us, whether through polishing the heart or some other silent practice, we need to be still. It’s very much inherent. In his practices, he encourages us to read widely from other traditions and to see the oneness in them. We can see across saints of all paths that they have that ecstasy of God, and it resonates through them. So part of our teaching is to learn to see that and celebrate that across all, and to see everyone as our brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers. Like Swami Avatthapurījī was saying, our family—see everyone as family regardless of skin colour or sexual preference. It’s the inside that matters. For myself, when we really get still and go within, there is no within. There’s no Gabrielle inside once you move past the thoughts, ideas, and beliefs. You go deeper and deeper, and there, just there, just is. There’s just being and consciousness and spirit or soul or heart or whatever word. There is no word; there are just pointers. But there is this beauty, and this beauty is in all of us. If we’re able to externalize this beauty in our external world, then we have peace. It’s finding the peace in us through our practice, and the peace within us enables us to move to a more peaceful world and see the unity there. Hopefully, one day, through more and more people practicing. Alonda (Buddhist Tradition): It’s lovely to hear, my Kalyāṇamitra, my spiritual friends, using your language and tuning into how that rings true in my language too. I use different labels. Instead of the divine, I might speak about Buddha nature, but it’s all pointing to the same thing. One way to look at it is through our wisdom practices. I already mentioned the teachings around what is traditionally called dependent origination or dependent co-arising—the understanding that everything, in any moment, is just an arising of causes and conditions, which immediately points to the unity of all things. Related to that are the Buddhist teachings around emptiness: nothing inherently exists as such. I loved what you said, Gabrielle, and I’ve had that experience too. At a relative level, sure, there is an Alonda, but when you deeply go into your personal meditation practice, there’s no Alonda to be found. How could that be? So those two teachings really help us to understand that, ultimately, there’s no separation between anything. One Buddhist teacher I really like in that context is the Vietnamese monk Thích Nhất Hạnh, who so beautifully and eloquently pointed to this using the language of interdependence, bringing that to everything in our world—including animals, flowers, and rocks. Everything ultimately is related. Through the lens of our wisdom practices, in a practical way, how can we access that in our personal practices? In Buddhism, I see two main pathways. One is concentration practices: calming the mind, letting go of thoughts and being caught in entanglements of thoughts, emotions, and bodily feelings. One calms the mind, and at some point, one can really get an experience of the unity of all. The other lens is insight meditation: noticing moment to moment what is arising in the mind, seeing that it is impermanent and fleeting. That too can bring us to that space of understanding unity and emptiness—or fullness, one might say. Finally, the sense of unity and acting accordingly is a really important part of our practice. That goes back to what it means to be in service. It’s beautiful to experience that on your own meditation cushion, but what does that mean about how you want to live your life? I’m thinking of my personal path: because of my meditation practice, I decided to radically change careers towards the end of my professional life by becoming a trauma therapist. I wanted to use those profound insights to do good in the world. Isn’t it wonderful how, from separation and a sense of individuality, we can come to a sense of unity? You can also feel the energy arising in the space as we start talking about oneness—how the space comes together again, and all of us feel that little more connection, even though we’re from different parts of the world and different belief systems. Swami Avatthapurījī (Yogic Tradition): Thank you. First, I would like to say that all of you are pretty much more experienced and knowledgeable. It was very nice to hear all of you and learn a lot about many things. It made me realize the saying we have in India, Vasudeva Kuṭumbakam, which means everything unites to the same thing; we are all the same. As Holy Gurujī used to say, "all in one, one in all." It’s really seen in this panel today as we share many teachings which are pretty similar or identical in all our ways of living and spiritual paths. In our yogic system, we have four types of yoga. I just noticed you have a bell, so in case I go over the time limit, just ring it. That bell was for everybody else except me, but it can apply to me also in case I go, because it’s not me who’s speaking. I believe that, because before I start speaking, I always sing, "Nāhaṁ kartā, Prabhudeep kartā, Mahāprabhudeep kartā hi. Kevalam," which means, "I’m not the doer, he’s the doer." So whatever comes through comes from there. Once I’m off this āsana, then I’m the 26-year-old from Tarpuri. When I’m sitting here, it’s someone else speaking through me. So in case they speak through me a little longer, just ring it. We have these four paths in yoga: bhakti yoga, jñāna yoga, rāja yoga, and karma yoga. For context, bhakti yoga is what Madhuramjī was doing—singing bhajans, playing flute, immersing ourselves in that joyful atmosphere of kīrtans or melodies which give us inner peace. Jñāna yoga is the literature part, when we read scriptures or any type of knowledge. That’s why Swamiji gave him the name Jñānānanda—he’s full of wisdom and knowledge. Jñāna means knowledge, and Ānanda means happiness, so he’s the embodiment of both. Then comes karma yoga, which is very similar in many traditions. In our ashrams, service is key—but what type of service? Selfless service. If we do good deeds like sweeping the ashram, cleaning streets, or taking trash from beaches, but there’s a cameraman recording it for Instagram or Facebook, that isn’t selfless service. Seva dharma, paramo dharma: the highest way of living is through service done without any expectations. Expectations can be for views or recognition. As Mel said, we don’t accept recognition. If we do service, we do it not to get recognized but with love and feeling. I think that is the same in all traditions. I believe we are all rivers. To say this path is right and that path is wrong is not spirituality at all. We are all rivers; we might have different currents, flow in different ways, some stronger, some slower, through mountains or valleys. But we need to realize all those rivers are merging into the same ocean. At the end of the day, we are all uniting in that same ocean. Like a tree with many branches, the trunk is one, and we are going into that same root. That is all the teachings we have been learning: non-violence, truth, and many things. In our tradition, these are part of the aṣṭāṅga yoga, the eight limbs of yoga. The first two, which we’ve been discussing, are yama and niyama—the do’s and don’ts, the starting path. The last one is samādhi, a higher, deeper state of meditation. But it’s not instant coffee; instant samādhi is not possible. We need to start with the beginning: the do’s and don’ts. In that, we have ahiṃsā, non-violence. Non-violence is not just harming other creatures, but also not saying harsh words to others and to ourselves—not saying, "I am not good, I am not worth it." Self-love is very important. Then satya, truth: telling the truth, but how? Is it harsh or not? All these paths are the same teachings. We are not different; we are not higher than each other. We all have the same base. The knowledge passed down uses different words, but it’s the same thing. Yama-niyama teaches us truth, not lying, not stealing. Not stealing doesn’t just mean robbing a bank; if we steal someone’s time or energy, that is also stealing. We try to follow spiritual practices as much as we can because that is the greatest gift given by our paramparā or any tradition. We have mālā, mantra, kriyā, meditation, Vipassanā—many paths, but they all have the same teaching. If we read all scriptures, it is all basically the same. Instead of creating differences that this is better and that is better, no, they’re all the same. It’s very simple. But we humans are the ignorant ones who create those divisions in our mind. It’s not higher spirits or aliens; it is us. Why? Because we humans have a monkey mind—it is restless. Our mind creates all obstacles in our spiritual path, all problems, all differences. If we look within our heart, we will realize all is the same. But we need to look within, not externally. We try to find peace everywhere, but that is momentary peace. We might find joy in something, but we should try to find inner peace. Once we find that inner peace, once we realize this ātmā is immortal and this body is perishable, and when this ātmā and the highest spirit, Paramātmā, unite—that’s the highest thing. How do we unite those? By these teachings, by realizing we are just the observer, not the doer. We are not the ones doing anything; what happens in this world will happen. Many times we say, "Are we on the same page?" In this interesting world, we’re all in different books for now. But if we all had the decision to come and sit here together, at least we’re in the same book, functioning on the same frequency, and most probably on the same pages. That’s the beauty of this unity—we’re all sitting here listening to each other without other interesting emotions arising, sharing the same wisdom. That is the beauty of Sanātana Dharma. That is the beauty of all these beautiful ways of living. It’s interesting: it is said that if Buddha, Kṛṣṇa, Muhammad, and Christ were sitting in a room together, would there be any arguments? No, they would all be just sitting together, perhaps even in silence, enjoying the space itself. It is we who create the problems, and we must look to ourselves to find the solutions. All our teachings are leading us back to the same place, back to unity. It is we who create the divisions, and we must learn to come together.