All these processes of chariya and kriya come under the lower category of worship, which gradually gravitates into pure worship which does not require flowers and bilva leaves. Internal worship is, nevertheless, a worship. We perform the worship in the same way as we would with material offerings, but here the offerings in a material form are not necessary.

Internally, we can offer worship to God. We can collect the flowers. We can climb the tree and bring bilva leaves. We can light the lamp. We can clean the floor. We can perform the ritual and mentally chant the mantras. Everything is done without external appurtenances. Finally, we enter into deep contemplation on the very form of the deity, culminating in the union of the meditator with God Himself.

These are some of the very interesting scientific processes described through the philosophical system of Saiva Siddhanta; and, there are similar systems and processes mentioned in other schools of thought. I am coming to the point of karma, upasana and jnana. Unselfish service, service of the Guru included, is necessary. It is something unavoidable, especially in the tradition of India. No one can say that he is a Guru himself; it is a very preposterous assumption. Everyone is a very humble servant until the end.

Thus, service to the Guru, service to God, service to humanity, service to everyone who needs our service may be summed up under karma, and this includes every religious ritual in any form of religion. Upasana is the direct inward attmpt at worship, without too much external appurtenances. Meditation in the lower forms comes under upasana. But, in the higher forms, meditation merges into the wisdom of God, jnana, or the feeling of inward communion of oneself with the Almighty. All these stages are included in the system of Patanjali. The eight limbs of yoga comprehend all that one can understand by karma, upasana and jnana, without mentioning these words.

We have traversed through the necessary stages of the understanding required for the practice of the last step in yoga, which is meditation. The meditation process is, for a beginner, an inward operation of the psyche, or an activity of consciousness—though it is not, really, an inward activity of consciousness, for the reasons I mentioned earlier. For consciousness, there is no ‘inward’ or ‘outward’. Yet, inasmuch as we cannot escape the notion that we are inside these bodies, for all practical purposes it appears as if our meditation is an internal process. It is not an external activity in the sense of going to a shop or to a railway station. It is something that is taking place inwardly, within our outlook of consciousness.

In the earlier stage of meditation, which is sometimes called dharana, or concentration, a great effort is necessary. It is not easily achieved. Effort is necessary because we have to struggle hard against those thoughts which we do not want to interfere with the thoughts which we consider as the right thoughts in meditation. We cannot help making a distinction between necessary thoughts and unnecessary thoughts in meditation. This is so because we are still in the novitiate stage. When we go into the meditation hall, we struggle to concentrate our minds through certain processes of thinking and try to exclude thoughts which we consider as irrelevant for the purpose or perhaps as even obstructing the very attempt.

There are four facets of effort involved in the process of dharana, or concentration of the mind. The first is the consciousness that we are concentrating. We cannot escape this consciousness. “I am seated in the meditation hall. I am in the temple. I am in the meditation cottage. I am in my room.” We cannot avoid this idea that we are sitting there for meditation. This is one aspect. The second aspect is the consciousness that we are meditating on something. This consciousness, also, cannot leave us. The third aspect is the consciousness that the mind is working, or operating, in a particular manner. The fourth consciousness is the consciousness that we have to set aside certain thoughts which are irrelevant to the process of meditation.

Thus, four aspects operate simultaneously in dharana, or concentration: I am concentrating; I am concentrating on something; the mind is thinking something at the time of concentration; it is trying to avoid certain thoughts during the time of concentration. This is a very difficult thing, not an easy job. We will be tired in a few minutes by thinking like this, because mental fatigue tells upon us more than the fatigue caused by carrying bricks.

When we construct a house, we can carry bricks and we will not be tired; but to think like this is a great exhaustion. We will sweat and say, with a yawn and a sigh, that it is enough for this time. To streamline the activity of the mind is harder than any other job, because the mind is very rebellious in its mood. It is unyielding, even until the end. It will have its say always, and will not listen to what we want it to do.

The conflict between relevant thoughts and irrelevant thoughts is a very important matter to consider. That we are conscious that we are concentrating, and that we are concentrating on something, and that there is something taking place within the mind is all right, understandable, because they are almost friendly processes. But there is an unfriendly kick given by another aspect which we consider as undesirable in the process of concentration. Our consciousness that we are concentrating, and our consciousness that we are concentrating on something, and that the mind is thinking of the object, is a friendly process. Let those thoughts be there; it does not matter. But, we do not like to be aware that some thoughts are intruding into this holy of holies—this ‘in camera’ process going on. This is a very secret thing that we are conducting within ourselves, and we would not like anyone to eavesdrop or probe into what is happening and interfere with us with shouts, noise, clamour, and demands. This is very unfortunate, and that tension is a real difficulty. We would be trying our best to set aside these irrelevant thoughts, and they would be coming again and again, like a river in flood, trying to break the bund that we have put against this inflow. Here, we would be struggling against odds for days and months and years.

We may be wondering why there should be such a difficulty in setting aside extraneous thoughts. After all, they are extraneous; we have concluded that they are irrelevant. When we have concluded that they are irrelevant, there should be no difficulty in setting them aside. Why is it so hard? How is it that we have to put forth a Herculean effort in setting aside things which we have concluded are definitely unnecessary things? Nobody would like to purchase trouble. When we have been convinced within ourselves that these thoughts are not good for us, it should be very easy for us to set them aside. Why should we struggle against them? Why is it that people always complain that they find it very hard to set aside unnecessary thoughts? The difficulty is that they are not really unnecessary thoughts. We are not really convinced that they are irrelevant to us. That is why there is a struggle.

We may imagine that these thoughts are irrelevant, due to an emotional enthusiasm—a spurt of an idea that we have to sit for meditation in order to attain the goal of life. Maybe it is all very praiseworthy. Yet, in the heart of our hearts, we have not been wholly, entirely, totally convinced that these so-called irrelevant things are really irrelevant things. There is a little taste in the honey of this world, though it may be scattered over poisonous shrubs. What of the poison in the shrub? Nevertheless, there is a drop of honey on top of it. We would like to lick this little honey. This is very unfortunate, and we may accept that it is very unfortunate. “I am very sorry that this should be the state of affairs.” But, what is the use of saying that it is unfortunate? It is still what it is.

The craving of the senses, the desire of the mind, is inordinate. Nobody can escape it, not even a great saint. No saint ever maintained a continuous spiritual consciousness from birth to death. Impossible is this task. There are ups and downs in the lives of anyone, even if he is a great man. Unavoidable is this difficulty, man being what he is and God being what He is. Yet, we have to swallow this bitter pill and live in this world, whatever it is, and take things for what they are and not imagine what they are not.

These little desires of ours—our thoughts, which are so-called irrelevant events in the process of concentration—have been our own children. Now we are trying to abandon them. Abandoned children are also, after all, our own children. They were born to us. Just because we do not want them now—they are burdens on the family, and we want to throw them out—they have not ceased to be those born to us. “I cannot sustain, maintain you naughty boys. Go!” we may say to them. Yes, they understand that they are unwanted children in the house; yet, they were born to us. They say this, and loudly say this. We have to go on listening to the loud noise and clamour of these children of ours, though they have now become very undesirable.

These so-called undesirable things are the insistences of the processes of the fulfilment of desires which we entertained once upon a time, in earlier lives. The pains of life today are the consequences of the pleasures that we sought in earlier lives. Today they have become pains; and, the pleasures that we seek today will become our pains in the next birth or in future lives to come. Beware! We have to be very cautious when seeking for pleasures and satisfactions of the ego, whatever they be. When we asked for pleasures in an earlier life, they did not come. They were not presented before us, for reasons God only knows.

All of our desires are not fulfilled, though they will be fulfilled one day or the other. Do we think that everything that we ask for in this world is given to us? Nothing of the kind. Something is given; many other things are not given. But, these many things that are not given to us for certain reasons are going to be given to us afterwards, when we will not want them. This is a travesty of affairs.

They may come to us after centuries, saying, “Here are the things that you wanted, sir.” “When did I ask?” “You asked for them many centuries back.” “I don’t remember. Go away.” We may remember or not; these are the things that we wanted, and they shall be heaped upon us. Then we say, “Oh God, unkind One, why is this terror coming upon me now?”

God has never been unkind. He has been a systematic computer, an electromagnetic force—no friend, no enemy, nothing of the kind for God, the Universal Law. Two and two make four; and they shall always make four—nothing more, nothing less. We should not say, “Why should I have to pay four rupees to the creditor? Let less be given to the creditor.” Nothing of the kind—arithmetic is arithmetic always, whether it be for the creditor or the debtor. These irrelevant, unpleasant and painful things, the things that we want to set aside, are those things which impinge upon us as necessary consequences of the earlier operations of our own mind.

So, what is to be done? “I understand what you say, but what am I to do?” In the process of concentration, we have to increase the intensity of this positive thought on the ideal we have chosen. The intensity of this concentrational process will be able to force aside the other thoughts—as, in Allahabad, the power of the Ganga pushes aside the Yamuna and creates great floods and havoc, because the force of the Yamuna is less than the Ganga. There are two rivers meeting in Allahabad. When they are in spate, the Ganga is so powerful that she does not allow the Yamuna to flow so easily and join her. The Ganga elbows and pushes the Yamuna, and on the other side there is a rising up, and the bridge over the Yamuna breaks.

Likewise, the Ganga of our concentrational process should have a stronger current than the other currents, which should be pushed aside by this power. If we elbow them continuously, they get famished and go elsewhere. Famished desires dry up. They get extinguished, like fire that is not fed with fuel. This is a very hard thing in the earlier stages, a terrible thing —very painful because we go on thinking of them again and again even though they are undesirable things. A thought of the undesirable is also a thought, after all; it does not cease to be a thought.

In the earlier stages, meditation is not an easy, happy thing. It is very difficult and painful. But, when we invoke the glory, the majesty, the power and the bliss of God’s existence by our positive processes, they will inundate us enough to give us the strength to bear the onslaught of these irrelevant ideas.

Suppose we get a telegram that we have won a hundred million dollars in a lottery, but to get it we have to walk to Delhi. We will certainly walk to Delhi in the hot sun. The pain of walking in the hot sun will not be felt because of the joy that we are going to get a hundred million dollars. “Let me walk to Delhi. Walking is good. After all, I have not walked for years.” We will have good arguments for this. We will walk to Delhi in the hot sun, for a hundred million dollars. The joy of the positive side completely swallows the pain that is involved in the process of the attainment of this joy because it is larger, greater and more intense.

Thus, the glory of God should be able to set aside every other thought in our mind. “What wonder; what grandeur; what majesty; what perfection! What perfection and what completion it is that I am going to attain, wherein I shall become immortal forever!” These insistent contemplations will slowly set aside the irrelevance and absorb it into this force, as the Yamuna will slowly be made to flow together with the Ganga. They become a terrific flood.

Similarly, all this phenomenal experience will be inundated by the great flood of meditation. The power of the noumenal will make the whole of phenomena melt down. The world will converge into God, and the solid earth will melt under our feet. When the light dazzles from every corner of the earth, we will find that the weight of the body, and the weight of the very earth, will vanish. Life will become a buoyant and happy process of a Godward movement. This is the final aim in meditation.