This is the central principle of meditation: we become what we meditate on.
At the first gate, the gatekeeper asks, “Is this true?” At the second gate, he asks, “Is it kind?” And at the third gate, “Is it necessary?” If we applied this proverb strictly, most of us would have very little to say. I am not recommending silence, however, but control over our speech.
The popular etymology of the word mantram gives us some clue what it means to have the holy name at work in our consciousness. It is said that mantram comes from the roots man, “the mind,” and tri, “to cross.” The mantram is that which enables us to cross the sea of the mind. The sea is a perfect symbol for the mind. It is in constant motion; there is calm one day and storm the next.
It is a very difficult secret to understand that when we do not want to possess another selfishly, he or she will always love us. It is when we do not want to possess, when we do not make demand after demand, that the relationship will last.
Patience is an unfailing remedy for friction in personal relations. Even if a person has never won a beauty contest, has no money in the bank, can’t even change a flat tire, if he or she has inexhaustible patience, then we will find that life with such a person will never grow stale.
I am time, the destroyer of all; I have come to consume the world.
There is a tale of a man who found on the road a large stone bearing the words, “Under me lies a great truth.” The man strained to turn the stone over and finally succeeded. On the bottom was written, “Why do you want a new truth when you do not practice what you already know?
The effect of the mantram is cumulative: constant repetition, constant practice, is required for the mantram to take root in our consciousness and gradually transform it, just as constant repetition makes the advertiser’s jingle stick in our minds.
The goal of meditation is awareness, not relaxation.
Each time a divine incarnation comes to us, it is not to bring new truths or to establish a new religion but to remind us of what we have forgotten: that we are all one, and that we must live in harmony with this unity by learning to contribute to the joy and fulfillment of all.
Don’t try to control the future,” he would say. “Work on the one thing you can learn to control: your own responses.
Fasting may not be as easy as feasting, but after a while it is not too different. Both are extremes. It is not hard to go the extreme way, but what is really difficult is neither to fast nor to feast, but to be moderate in everything we do.
As long as there are poor people in the world, as long as there are people who are deprived and handicapped in the world, if we are sensitive, we will not load ourselves with unnecessary adornment.
The Buddha said, “When you are walking, walk. When you are sitting, sit. Don’t wobble.
I still remember a dying seal looking at me in mute appeal as if to say, “You people are supposed to protect us. You are the trustees of our world. Why aren’t you doing your job?
Those who indulge themselves in sense stimulation throughout their lives often end up exhausted, with an enfeebled will and little capacity to love others.
The Lord is present in every one of us, and when we love those around us, we are loving him.
Undivided singleness of mind” is what the Gita means by yoga. It is the complete opposite of the incessant civil warfare among intellect, senses, emotions, and instincts which is our usual state of mind. Yoga is the complete reintegration of all these fragments on every level of the personality. It is the process of becoming whole.
When we do things with only a part of the mind, we are just skimming the surface of life. Nothing sinks in; nothing has real impact. It leads to an empty feeling inside. Unfortunately, it is this very emptiness that drives us to pack in even more, seeking desperately to fill the void in our hearts. What we need to do is just the opposite: to slow down and live completely in the present. Then every moment will be full.
We ourselves are responsible for what happens to us, whether or not we can understand how. It follows that we can change what happens to us by changing ourselves; we can take our destiny into our own hands.
Often, it is this anguish of parting – the death of a loved one, the breaking apart of a deep relationship, even the growing up of our children – that propels us into the search for a reality that will never let us down; so this opening passage illustrates, through the experience of Maitreyi, the state of seriousness, of being shocked into alertness, that makes one ready to absorb spiritual insight.