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This is my contribution: Hari Om. When I come to an ashram and am asked to say something, I say "Hari Om" three times. There is a Hindi saying: "Do akshar kā hai, vah do akshar kah do"—it is of two syllables, so say the two syllables. So I say "Hari Om," and then they ask, "What next?" I reply, "You only asked for two words." They insist, "But you must say something more." I answer, "But in my Hindu repertoire, there is no more." So that is all for today: Hari Om. The first topic Svāmījī gave for Kriyā Anuṣṭhāna was the Upaniṣads. Yesterday, he made a slight change with Līlā Amṛt. Today, I would like to return to the Upaniṣads, and especially to the bhajans. The Upaniṣads are part of the Vedas. There are four parts: the Mantra Saṁhitā (a collection of mantras), the Brāhmaṇas (which explain how to perform various rituals), the Āraṇyakas (for deeper study), and the last part, the Upaniṣads. This final section is also called Vedānta—the essence or the end of the Vedas. But the problem is that you cannot understand the Upaniṣads, because they are not written for us to understand them intellectually. They are written so that we may become aware, so that we may realize. The Upaniṣads are essentially a discourse on that which cannot be spoken of. They were written by witnesses who have realized the highest truth and who strive to share it with us. They face a problem, however, because they do not know how to share it. The highest truth is unity, but the medium for sharing it is language, which is based on duality. Language can explain attributes: it is like this, not like that; it is a man, not a woman; it is black, not another color; he is big, not small. We define things through differentiation. Therefore, the highest truth cannot be spoken of in an ordinary manner. The Upaniṣads use three methods to give us a hint of this truth. The first is negation (neti neti), where we say what it is not. This is an orientation where I say to myself, "It is not this, nor that, nor this—it must be different." The second way is paradox. For example, it is written: "Ātman is the greatest, but also the smallest." Such apparent absurdities confuse our mind. On one hand, the intellect wants to grapple with it, but on the other, it cannot. In the end, the intellect surrenders, and that is precisely the moment when realization can happen. In Zen Buddhism, this is turned into a practice through koans. The master gives disciples a riddle, such as, "What is the sound of one hand clapping?" It is impossible to answer intellectually, but you must meditate until you find the answer. It is like trying to grasp a slippery coconut; the intellect cannot hold it. The most beautiful way to speak about the inexpressible is through stories. Every saint uses stories. Even the New Testament is full of parables that Jesus used. You will also find many stories in the Upaniṣads, like the story of Nachiketa and Lord Yama we spoke of last week. One must be careful not to misuse these stories by over-explaining them—"this means this, that means that"—because then the intellect says, "Yes, now I understand," but in reality, we have understood nothing. The stories are meant to touch something within you, to inspire you to keep going. The Upaniṣads are for those who speak directly about the highest truth, and of course, this is not for everyone. It is only for those who are truly spiritually seeking, who follow the master and practice. The word "Upaniṣad" itself means "sitting close to" the master and listening. Therefore, Upaniṣad means to sit close to the guru and listen to him. There are certain scriptures closely associated with the Upaniṣads, such as the Bhagavad Gītā, which is called an Upaniṣad at its conclusion. Other examples are the classical yogic scriptures, like Śaṅkarācārya’s text on Viveka, and the complex Vedānta Sūtras. These all have the character of the Upaniṣad. Now, let us look at our bhajans. We have many bhajans about bhakti, but in our bhajan book, there is a group called "Upanishad," where Mahāprabhujī and other witnesses who have the authority speak about the Upaniṣads. Four of these bhajans are quite exceptional. Two are from Ādi Śaṅkarācārya: "Śivo’ham" ("I am Śiva")—one version is in Hindi, and the original is in Sanskrit. The other two are by Mahāprabhujī, similar in music and meaning. These four bhajans are clearly like our Upaniṣads, though we have several others as well. The Upaniṣads explain through paradox, negation, or story. When we look at Śaṅkarācārya’s bhajan, we have "na, na, na"—"no, no, no." This is very clear, like the meditation of the Jñāna Yogi: neti, neti—"I am not this, I am not this." Śaṅkarācārya says: I am not the five jñānendriyas (senses of perception), not the five karmendriyas (senses of action), not the five tattvas (elements), not the four antaḥkaraṇas (inner instruments), not the four puruṣārthas (goals of life). He keeps repeating, "I am not that." Positively, he says, "Śivānanda," "Śivo’ham." My form is Śivānanda, and we always say sacchidānanda: reality, consciousness, and bliss. "Śivo’ham" literally means "I am Śiva," where Śiva represents the highest divine consciousness. Originally, this is not a bhajan but a poetic description of six steps of nirvāṇa. Yet, we can sing it as a bhajan. It explains nirvāṇa samādhi very clearly in just one line: "Bhojana" means to eat. "I am not the one who eats. I am not the food. I am not the act of eating." Do you understand? This is exactly what Svāmījī says about samādhi: I am not the meditator, I am not the object of meditation, and I am not even the process of meditation, because all has become one. This is a sentence that speaks about unity. The highest philosophy is called Advaita, non-duality. The problem is how to speak in duality about that which is not dual. The two bhajans by Mahāprabhujī also speak of this highest truth. Svāmījī spoke about this often. "Mere Sadguru ne diyo sandeśo"—My Sadguru gave me a message. "Maine pahachāna apnā svarūpa"—I have realized my true essence, my own form (sva means self). Here we do not have as many negations; we have more paradoxes. Sometimes one thing is said, and then something else that seems to contradict it. For example, Mahāprabhujī says, "Naukar hū̃, malik hū̃"—I am a servant, and I am a master. What now? This does not seem to fit together. This is the most important verse. If you were an orthodox Christian, you might call this blasphemy. When Mahāprabhujī says, "Māhī māhī kī mahimā gāū̃, sunat hū̃ maiṁ"—I sing the glory of myself, and I am the one who listens to it. Have you ever wondered what exactly we are singing? "I sing about how wonderful I am and listen to it." Who has the right to speak this way? Only one who has realized who they are. This is what he says at the beginning: "I have realized my true self. I know that I am God. And I sing of the glory of God, and I am happy to be able to listen to it." At that level, there is no longer any separation or importance. If we were to repeat these statements without realization, it would not be wise. This is a great problem in Jñāna Yoga. These declarative sentences are correct when spoken by one who has realized them, but they are excellent traps for the ego. When we begin to identify with these sentences, it is the ego speaking. Therefore, we definitely need a superior guide—the guru. Svāmījī often spoke about this bhajan. Now, let us turn to the other bhajan, "Mere Satguru diyo sandeśo." Svāmījī spoke very rarely, or not at all, about this bhajan. Here again are sentences that can shatter our mind and seem to contradict what Svāmījī teaches us. From Mahāprabhujī, this bhajan is a little psychological. I believe that when someone truly understands this yearning, it serves as a warning. How often do we, as individual souls, get stuck when we cling to certain concepts? Sometimes Svāmījī says something in satsaṅga that is completely contrary to what he constantly tells us. I have spoken with friends who realized the same thing. I believe it is because we should not cling too much to mental concepts. Reality, the truth, is beyond them. We will devote ourselves to this bhajan. "My Sadguru gave me a message." It answers the fundamental question of yoga: "Who am I?" And now you receive the answer: "Hū̃ so hū̃"—I am what I am. "Hū̃ jo hū̃"—I am who I am. What do we know now? We do not know much, but in truth, we know everything. It seems he says nothing, but in reality, he says everything. If he were to say even one word more, it would be incorrect. What more could he say? "I am significant, I am great, I am a human, I am Indian, I am old, I am wise, I am a man"? These are all incorrect concepts arising from identification with the body. But that is not us. Here, the phrase is simply "I am." I have realized being; that is the essence. It cannot be described or qualified. This is a sentence from the highest perspective. Now, for our mind, come koans we do not understand well. "Nahi Chetanātmā, nahi Īśvara"—There is no conscious soul, there is no God (Īśvara). "Nahi Brahmā, nahi Māyā"—There is no Brahmā (the creator), no formless God, no Māyā. What this wants to tell us is that all of these are mental concepts. Concepts we think we know, but in reality, we do not. Here He says, "Ek hū̃"—I am one. As Ādi Śaṅkarācārya says, "I am the One without a second." When you realize this, even the universe disappears, because that would already be a second. I am one. I am the reality. This is the great message of the highest truth. All these sounds, mantras—in reality, they do not exist. I am there, beyond that sound. There is nothing there, absolutely nothing. Only the unmanifested, unexpressed being. That is exactly what "I am" describes. You can say that being is, and that is all. Now, in his warnings, it is clearer. "Sūtrātmā na māno"—Do not accept the concept of Sūtrātmā. Sūtra means thread. The idea is that between individual incarnations, there is a red thread connecting them: in one life you are a bacterium, in the next vegetation, then a worm, a cow, a human being. Our mind wants to understand this. These various forms are like coats we put on and take off. We know the garments are not us, but we want to know who puts them on and takes them off. So, there must be something like a red thread connecting one life to another. This concept is called Sūtrātmā. Mahāprabhujī says, forget it; you simply cannot understand it. We all know the concept of how it came into being: Hiranyagarbha, the golden egg, also called Brahmā, the creator. He says, do not attach yourselves to concepts such as these. "Kaun aise āyā, ajā śambhu?"—Who came first, the unborn Śambhu? Svāmījī usually uses a different word: svayaṁbhū. Svāmījī says that Śiva is svayaṁbhū—the one who was not created, the one who created Himself. Now we have a beautiful concept: everything is created, but Śiva created Himself. But Mahāprabhujī says, that is only a mental concept. Forget all of that. It may give us some inspiration, but we must not forget that we have to realize it. Often, those who think they know struggle with what they think they know, and it bears no fruit. Now, practically, comes what Svāmījī wants to say. All these concepts are just concepts, so what are we to do with them? "Jako āyo gur ke āśara, so hoye taraṇahāra"—Whoever comes under the shelter of the guru can be liberated from the cycle of rebirth. And how? "Amara mantrā, heresu, mantrā"—Through the immortal mantra, the heresu, through the mantra. The mantra is considered immortal. As Svāmījī says, a mantra is not created by man; if it is, then it is not a mantra. Mantra is immortal and leads us to immortality. It is a very profound secret. What I am telling you now is indeed a profound secret. But you know, I cannot even teach you that mystery. I can only give a distant echo of this mystery. Mahāprabhujī gives us only inspiration. There is something there. Follow it. What I can tell you in words is like an echo, but you have the fortune of hearing it. You can receive that inspiration. So, what should you do? Go to the master, receive the mantra, and practice. Then one day you can realize the Upaniṣads, realize that mystery. And then you will have trouble explaining it to others. Let us sing that bhajan. There is one more point. We said these bhajans are like Upaniṣads that speak of the highest truth. There are two ways to do it. Some bhajans are very strong and powerful, where the saint gives us inspiration that this is the ultimate victory. Those bhajans are powerful because they celebrate victory. Then there are bhajans that are like meditation, leading us into that state of consciousness. For example, in the bhajan "Śivo’ham Śivo’ham," Svāmījī often says it is not a bhajan; it is meditation, and you should chant it as meditation. First, we will celebrate. For that, we need a strong rhythmic group. Who can play the dhol? Do you all have your maṇ�jarīs? [Bhajan is sung: "Mere Satguru diyo sandeśo..."] This is one of those powerful Upaniṣadic bhajans. The others are also very practical for us because they can lead us directly into meditation. "Śivo’ham"—I am Śiva, I am the supreme divine consciousness. The self is the embodiment of sat-chit-ānanda, and again, I am that self. The same statement we have in the bhajan. The manifest self, this self is sacchidānanda, and this is me. This ātman is immortal. Here he says that the ātman within me is the same as in the entire universe. Svāmījī often spoke about this. It is important that we keep the refrain in mind: "I am Śiva." Śiva means the formless supreme consciousness. You cannot describe it in any way because it is nirguṇa, without attributes. Whenever you say something about it, it is already incorrect. You can only say, "It is." There is nothing specific there, and yet all that is concrete arose from this. That is the origin, the root, and that is within us. Let us also sing this bhajan and try to be aware of the meaning of the refrain, more like a meditation. Now you do not need any rhythm, but inner awareness. It is not about the music now; it is a kind of poetic meditation. I am ātman. The immortal ātman. I am Sat-Chit-Ānanda. Sat: truth, reality, that which is. That which always is, always was, and always will be, because we cannot destroy it. Chit: divine consciousness—not human consciousness. We are aware of something, but this is the origin of our consciousness. Our consciousness is like a reflection. Ānanda: bliss. It is not the joy we are familiar with. Every joy we know in this world depends on certain conditions. You are hungry, then you have good food and you are happy. But that changes. After some time, you feel hungry again. In this physical world, ānanda is not at your fingertips. Ānanda simply exists; it is there. Therefore, we do not need to do anything, because that is who we are. That is our true nature. If we know this even once, then we are already in bliss. Why? Because we are that bliss. [Bhajan is sung: "Śivo’ham Śivo’ham..."] We will conclude with a gentle Oṁ.