They sing My glories always, strive with firm resolve to reach Me,
Bow to Me with devotion, and worship Me in constant union.
(Bhagavad Gita, 9/14)
Translation: They sing My praises at all times, make every effort to attain Me, practice self-restraint and righteous conduct with unwavering conviction through the observance of disciplines and rites, bow to Me with devotion, and thus worship Me in perpetual union.
Verse translation:
In constant song of praise they worship only Me,
And bow with single-hearted devotion, ever joined in worship.
(Mahapayanamrit Gita, translated by Vishnudeb Mukhopadhyay)
Significance: When human beings, through countless virtuous deeds, attain the lap of divine nature—that sattvic consciousness which conduces to liberation—and become great souls, then their mode of worship of Me is what is being spoken of here. They sing My glories always, for whenever in this world one must sing the praises or greatness of anything whatsoever, whether in the path of knowledge (formless meditation) or the path of devotion (with form), it is ultimately Brahman, Consciousness itself, that is being invoked and glorified. But those great souls—they know, they understand, they perceive directly that I am all. Thus when they sing praise or greatness, they are glorifying and celebrating Me alone.
The widespread practice of name-chanting and sacred utterances in our time is but a distant echo of this very principle—'they sing My glories'—for all the means employed in awakening Consciousness are ultimately the worship of the Divine. The Named dwells within the name itself: "In the name itself dwells Krishna; worship with steadfast faith./ With the name abides the Lord Himself, Sri Hari." (From the 'Hundred and Eight Names of Sri Sri Krishna,' composed by Sri Narottam Das) . . . Those who directly perceive the truth of these verses—their chanting of the name becomes fruitful, and such is the glorification spoken of in the Gita. This means that knowledge of Brahman and Brahman itself are fundamentally one reality (as the head of Rahu and Rahu are one entity), so that when knowledge of Brahman is attained, Brahman itself is attained. Yet such comparison holds true only when the name, the worship, the worshipper, and the worshipped all become one and dissolve into the Divine.
Any name-chanting that ignores Me and wanders aimlessly toward the manifest deity of the heart, without first following the preliminary path of attaining the formless Brahman, is but preparation and practice preceding true chanting. Mantra-recitation may be counted among this kind of singing. If during recitation the mantra does not become suffused with, united with, and touched by Consciousness, then such recitation cannot be called true recitation—it is merely the practice and preparation before entering into true recitation, much as the seeker closes their eyes countless times and sits in stillness before truly entering the realm of meditation. (Compare this to how one must persistently sit at the table with books and notebooks before study, even when reluctant, thereby training the mind to eventually enter the world of learning.)
People exert intense effort to attain me. The intensity of one's effort determines how near the self, the jiva-atman, draws to me. Those who believe that all happens through God's grace alone, without effort or striving—that when the appointed hour arrives, He calls us to Him and accomplishes everything Himself—even they must make the effort and exert care to realize this all-encompassing divine compassion. To wait for that appointed time when God shall call, and until then to silently endure the blows and counter-blows of the world—this very effort and care is the essential thing. Nothing in this world is obtained without visible, tangible care; nothing is gained without a price. We must never forget that grace itself is costly. God's grace does not rain down of its own accord; one must strive for it, one must pay the ultimate price. Before saying "I did not receive it because God did not grant it," one must have given one's whole self in the struggle to attain it.
These words are true whether they please the ear or not. Wherever we see something obtained without visible effort or care, we must understand that effort and care were hidden from our sight. The student who wanders about all day yet does well on exams—we see his wandering, we see less of his studying. But here is the point: when we observe care arriving bit by bit, then we know that God's grace itself is manifesting in the form of care. Care is where work begins; striving is the first stage of God's grace. Sincere care never fails. In the great souls, in those of divine or sattvic nature, in those free from craving for results or from desire itself—through them this sign shall surely manifest. How does one work without attachment to results? When a physician examines a patient, he must concentrate solely on the work at hand, not dwelling on fees—thus reputation and prosperity shall increase manifold of their own accord. When a teacher instructs students, if he keeps his mind not on his salary but on the quality of instruction, then both good name and livelihood come most naturally.
'Dridha-vrata' means: one who observes a discipline with certainty and without doubt; one who becomes firmly resolved to attain God and adopts some special vow or practice. Such special disciplines are called vrata or austere practices. Some chant the divine name, some perform austerities, some meditate, some practice yoga, some worship—each of these is a different path or method contained in the word 'vrata.' In all such acts and observances, there must be firmness—that is, the unwavering conviction that "surely through this I shall attain God; there is no doubt whatsoever in this matter." This certitude, this doubt-free knowledge alone is the sole means to reach the feet of God.
Whatever one does—there is no quarrel about the forms of worship—one must possess a firm and unwavering knowledge in what one does. To perform one's own work completely and correctly—this is dharma. If day after day one cuts the earth with a spade, and through this work develops a firm conviction or knowledge free from doubt, then through that very labor one may attain God and awaken consciousness. There are many who perform their evening prayers, recitations, and austerities meticulously each day, yet there is no steadfastness and wholehearted engagement in their work—that is, they have strayed from the faith that through performing these acts, they are simultaneously gaining the company of God. They think it enough to do the work anyhow, that in time, through mere repetition, they will come to feel God's mercy. It does not happen thus. If it did, nearly everyone would attain God.
Of course, there is no fault in their thinking—people are as they are—but what must be said is that they have not yet tasted the joy of gaining God's company through such work. Never is there any need to alter one's own path of practice. Let the Shakta remain Shakta, the Vaishnava remain Vaishnava, let the Hindu, Muslim, Buddhist, Christian each remain in their own faith—whoever does whatever—practice becomes supreme only when there is no gap in that practice, and when through the practice one observes this truth: that the practitioner himself is wholly immersed in the practice. Only then can such a practitioner possess firm conviction or freedom from doubt. Before one becomes established in such understanding, such feeling, such knowledge, if someone claims to have become resolute, then such a claim is not credible in any way.
Those who are mahatmas, those who have attained divine nature—they alone become firm and especially vigilant in seeking to attain God; they alone become resolute and committed to realizing God's all-pervading nature. Those who seek Him—these two marks of steadfastness and vigilance naturally manifest in their character. Others, though they may seek Him, do not find Him, because the very path of their seeking is mistaken. Without knowing how to seek, no amount of yearning avails. The yearning of the fool or the ignorant comes to nothing.
Namasyantash cha mam bhaktya—"Bowing to me with devotion." Through the word 'bhakti' we understand directly, in plain speech, 'love' itself; this is what comes to our simple understanding. No one objects to such a meaning. There is no need to explain to anyone what love is, for all beings possess it in some measure, particularly humans. Love for God is called bhakti, and apart from this, no other love is bhakti. How may one attain love or devotion to God? But bhakti is an eternal substance—that is, there exists no means or method by which bhakti would come into being.
All other love in the world is born of intimacy with favourable objects or persons, but love directed toward God—that is, devotion—is not of this kind. It is causeless, free from the craving for self-interest, and utterly transcendent. Devotion is eternally established in the heart of the living being, ever-present and self-perfected. It is not something that arises from performing certain acts, nor does it vanish if those acts are left undone—devotion is not contingent; it is self-evident. Because most cannot acknowledge that whom they truly love is God himself, they remain bereft of this eternal devotion. We can never truly love another; as long as there persists the duality of knowledge, the sense of separation between I and thou, true love cannot flower—it remains merely a practice of loving. We love ourselves most of all—in this there is no doubt. And this love we bear ourselves requires no special reason. Not for a single moment can I bid farewell to myself, nor do I wish to. Nor is farewell even possible, for to do so I would have to step outside myself, which can never occur. In joy and sorrow, in heaven and hell alike, everywhere I hold myself within myself.
This exceptional affection I bear toward myself—is it something to be gained through practice, or is it self-perfected? If that 'I' within me could be understood as God, as the supreme Brahman, as Consciousness itself, then devotion would become something the devotee naturally possesses, for the devotee was always holding that inner 'I' within himself—only he could not recognize it clearly. The confusion arises precisely here—we suppose that whom we love cannot be God. That he is merely myself, merely the individual soul—and therein lies all ignorance, all unknowing. We can love the 'I,' and yet cannot bring ourselves to believe it is God; thus we, though swimming in the ocean of devotion, remain poor and devotionless. This is why Sri Krishna himself pointed out with his own finger—the nature of the 'I,' the greatness of the 'I,' the glory of the 'I'—when all this becomes clear to the heart, when we come to know what the 'I' truly is, we shall no longer need to run from door to door seeking devotion. The home of devotion dwells within the 'I' itself.
Knowledge and devotion are in truth one and the same. Self-knowledge and self-love differ only in word; in essence they are identical. As long as God remains a separate being, as long as such knowledge of separation endures, true devotion cannot come forth. He who is my very self, beyond whom nothing else exists, who is the ultimate destination and the witness of all things—He alone is God, Consciousness, the supreme Brahman. Until one surrenders the self to God, God remains other; and can one ever truly love another? He who is my very self, though he is self by nature, dwells also in the form of other. By 'I' we grasp at best only the intellect. Beyond even this intellect dwells he who is my true self, he who is other yet intimately my own, he who is the purusha and Brahman, he who is the supreme purusha. The love between us is that self-love which takes the form of love for the beloved. The Vaishnava scriptures declare: one need not love him, for love itself is his very nature, love itself is self-evident there. To ascend to that form of love is to attain self-love in the form of love for the beloved. On the path to this state, many preliminary signs manifest themselves—trembling, tears, bodily quivering, perspiration, hair standing on end, dancing, song and the like. All these are born of proximity to the beloved.
When through self-love one arrives at the form of supreme love, what transpires there cannot be told; it is like the silent savoring of sweets—where reason and argument fall mute—what I myself understand, I cannot make another grasp as I do, much like a mute person tasting sweetness—unable to express what he has perceived. Then there is no division between word and mind; heart has merged with heart! I am not, and yet only I am—there love and the lover cease to be distinct. That truth is beyond all beauty, that love is beyond utterance—it is that which must be gained, that which must be understood.
We need not pine for love. The love that we possess by nature—we must begin to acknowledge it as God; we cannot conceive of God as something apart. He is self-evident, present always as the atman within the heart of all. If we cannot discern any other mark of Him, then He who cannot be absent without my very self ceasing to be, He who is the I of my 'I'—He is surely God, or Consciousness, or Brahman, or the individual soul.
He in whose being my being resides, He who is the I of my very 'I'—can there be any need to say how infinitely dear He is to my innermost soul! Understanding this, the head bows of itself. Reverent obeisance flows forth naturally. In perceiving God in this way, one must worship while remaining eternally united with Him. Thus do the great souls worship.
Lord Sri Krishna says: (1) constantly singing the praises, (2) striving with full effort, (3) firm in vow, (4) offering obeisance to Me in devotion—in these four ways My worship comes to pass. In the Gita, verse 7.16, it is said: "Four kinds of virtuous people worship Me, O Arjuna"—namely, (1) the afflicted, (2) the seeker of knowledge, (3) the seeker of wealth, (4) the wise. So long as a person calls upon God to rid himself of affliction, he is 'constantly singing' (chanting). When he becomes a seeker of knowledge, he is 'striving with full effort.' When he seeks wealth, he is 'firm in vow.' And when he becomes wise—precisely then does he offer 'obeisance to Me in devotion.'
From this it becomes quite clear that until there is knowledge, the knowledge of Brahman itself, one has no claim to reverent obeisance. And if such an obeisance could be offered even once in a lifetime, that life becomes fulfilled. We are unable to do so, and therefore we enact devotion and reverence again and again—in the hope that through such enactment, one day we shall be able to offer obeisance in true devotion, that is, the day we discover only the form of knowledge itself, transcend all forms of dualistic knowledge, and arrive at the supreme bliss—that non-dual supreme abode of bliss.
Therefore, whether knowledge is greater or devotion, whether knowledge is better or devotion, whether the path of knowledge is easier or the path of devotion—instead of wasting time with such questions and their answers, one must take refuge in Him who is Knowledge itself, who is Love itself, and then all doubt will dissolve of its own accord, and life will be sanctified. Surely prayer is more urgent than questioning.
Nityyukta—its meaning: to be united with the eternal nature of all things, with the Self, with God; to remain united with Him, or to abide in that union always…through all conditions and circumstances, one must remain united with Him. How to maintain this union is explained through phrases like 'satatam kirtayan'—constant remembrance. The word 'upasana' means to take one's seat near—to draw close to Him, to approach His proximity through acts of remembrance and devotion; that is worship. Whether it be practice or discipline, if during one's daily cultivation and devotion one does not truly experience God's immediate presence—if one does not feel daily, continuously, that I am wholly and intimately present before Him (as consciousness itself)—then it cannot be called worship at all. This is why, having performed all the rituals and ceremonies of faith and duty throughout a lifetime, one may still look back in remorse, realizing that true worship was absent, that one's life passed unfulfilled. Every obligatory action must be undertaken with the sincerity and wholehearted surrender that belong to worship itself. Only when we develop the capacity to perceive, through each act we perform, that we are drawing near to His presence—only then does true worship arise. Otherwise nothing of worship exists; all remains mere mechanical action. When one is united with God, every existence becomes God Himself—becomes consciousness, becomes Brahman, becomes the Self, becomes the supreme Nature's eternal 'I.'