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Vairāgya is a condition of the person, a feeling, a longing for something. You miss something, and you desire to have it. Beyond that particular thing, nothing else matters; you do not want anything else, you want only that one thing. I once saw a beautiful film long ago, in 1976. It was a cowboy film titled The Ox Is Homesick—an ox, or a bull. The story was set in the Rocky Mountain region of Mexico. A cowboy from a small village was riding his horse through the hills and mountains. In a valley, he saw a beautiful meadow with grass and many wild cows. One cow had given birth to a calf and, unfortunately, died. The calf was very small, only a few hours old, and there were many wild cats around. The man felt unhappy, thinking this poor calf would be killed, so he took it on his horseback and brought it home. He had a very nice wife. Whatever he brought home, she was always happy. There are some wives who, whatever the man brings, become unhappy and say, "Again, why did you bring this?" But she was very happy. They had no children, and she was delighted to have this young calf. They had a nice cornfield, two or three dogs, and some house chickens—ornamental chickens, not for eating. Now they had a beautiful card. She used to cook in her kitchen, which had a big window facing the garden yard where her house animals and pets were. The calf was also there. She cooked tortillas and fed the calf with them as well. Very soon, the calf would stand near the window, stretching its face toward her. She would give it a big bottle of milk, sometimes tortillas, and sometimes other things. It became a perfectly spoiled boy and, very soon, a teenager. It loved her very much, and she loved it very much. She no longer cared if her husband came home or not; she had found a perfect friend. After three years, there was less rain or some such problem, so all the farmers took their cattle far away into the mountains, a few hundred kilometers distant. They also took this calf, now an ox. It was now a few hundred kilometers away, in a place with beautiful green meadows, plenty to eat, and hundreds of cattle—comfortable and happy. But it was not happy with the situation. It missed its tortillas. One night, it was very cold, and the ox began to dream of the warm atmosphere at home. It dreamed it was standing near the kitchen window, and the house lady was giving it some tortillas. It woke up. Animals also have dreams. They, too, can be homesick. They love the home where they grew up, just as we love our house. They have rights; they feel they have rights to that house, just as humans do. You know, if a dog sees another entering its territory, it becomes angry. The ox woke up, and there were no tortillas. It was disappointed. It stood up and became so homesick that it began to smell the air, trying to orient itself—to determine where it was and which direction home lay. It began to imagine that the house lady was calling it. She had given it the name Sanjo. It imagined her saying, "Sanjo, come home. You are not at home. Come quickly." You see, if you love someone, you imagine hearing their voice—your mother calling you, your father, your brother, or your friend. It decided to escape. It was dark, and the people were sleeping. It left, running through the hills and mountains. The journey was several hundred kilometers, not a matter of one or two days. On the way, it encountered some wild cats that attacked it, but, by God's grace, it escaped. Once, it met eight or nine wolves that attacked, but it also escaped from them, running and running onward. It was cold; winter had begun, with snow and chill. It came to a small village where children were playing in the snow. It liked children, so it went to them. The children began to play with it, holding its tail, and it pulled the children along the snow. The children brought it home to a nice, warm place they had for cows. It liked it and stayed with them for a few days. Christmas came, and these people decided to kill it for Christmas evening. They went for evening prayer at the church, planning to slaughter it when they returned. But the children did not like their parents' idea. They ran away from the church, came home, and freed the ox. They beat it because it did not want to leave—it was nice and warm there. But they beat it so much that they drove it away. Again, it remembered its tortillas. Again, it dreamed of its house and heard, "Sanjo, come quickly, you are not at home, I am waiting." Again, it ran quickly in the other direction. That lady was also very sad. "What happened to my ox? It's cold winter, snowing, there will be less to eat." She was sad and always asking her husband, "Why don't you go and bring him home?" "When will they come?" She was thinking of him. And certainly, that animal was also feeling. It stood on a hill somewhere, again trying to orient itself to which side the house was on. Again, it listened for the voice. It envisioned the chickens, the house pets, the cornfield, the nice window, and her cooking tortillas and giving them to it. It was so homesick, so unhappy, that it could not eat; it only wanted to come home. After a few days, it managed. It came to that village, and it was exactly ten o'clock in the morning. She was standing in her kitchen, making tortillas and thinking, "This is a tortilla for my Sanjo." Every day, she had kept one tortilla for him. There were so many dry tortillas saved for him. Suddenly, she could not believe her eyes. Through the cornfield—where there was no more corn due to winter—it came running, coming directly to the kitchen window. She was holding tortillas for it. It came—a happy ending—and she gave it all the tortillas she had saved, which were dry and very tasty. That film was a nice story that I compare to love. That love is vairāgya. So, those who are homesick for the divine, for God, are in love with God. Like Mahāprabhujī's bhajan book called Pada Virahinī. Virah means longing, love. It is a pleasure, but a suffering pleasure. I think in this country, there is a hymn saying, "Where is my house?" So, bhaktas are longing to come to God. There are many situations on the way through which we have to go, but finally, where there is a will, there is a way. The thing is, do not give up. Sometimes it can happen that temptation comes between. Temptations are the cause of death then. Temptations are the cause of distractions. Those temptations are the greatest obstacles. If one wakes up at the right time, one can overcome or escape those temptations. So, vairāgya. Vairāgya is that longing for God—to become one with Him. And that will be one day. Recording location: Czech Republic, Strilky, Summer seminar