October 2026
A message at Lausanne Ashram, 4 October 2026
Dear friends,
During these travels, a very small incident made me reflect upon something that concerns all of us, especially those who carry responsibilities in the Mission. A family in Geneva lovingly invited me to their home. Their wish was simple and beautiful. They wanted to experience Heartfulness meditation and receive the introductory sittings.
Naturally, my first response was, ‘Why not? Let me go.’ When someone opens the door of the heart, should we not respond? But then another thought came. If I visit their home, what will happen? They will become concerned about receiving me: Is the house ready? What should we serve? Where will Daaji sit? Who else should be invited? Have we made all the arrangements properly?
Instead of preparing the heart for meditation, they may begin preparing the house for the guest. Hospitality may overshadow receptivity. Excitement may replace inwardness. And something that began as a spiritual aspiration may quietly become a social occasion.
My son expressed another concern. Considering my health and the demands of travel, he felt there was no reason for me to undergo such a plan. Why not ask them to come to the ashram? They could receive their sittings here peacefully. His concern was genuine.
Some of our functionaries saw the situation differently. They felt that perhaps I should accept the invitation. Such a visit could strengthen Heartfulness activities in the region. Relationships might develop. There could eventually be greater support for the Mission, including support at the material level. Their reasoning was also understandable.
Now imagine my condition! First, the family says, ‘Please come.’ From another side, the son says, ‘Please don’t go.’ And from yet another direction, the functionaries say, ‘Daaji, you should go!’ So what should this poor fellow do?
This is where spiritual life becomes interesting. If one choice is obviously right and another obviously wrong, we would hardly need wisdom. The real test comes when several reasonable choices stand before us, each supported by a legitimate argument. And yet a decision has to be made. So how do we choose when nobody is wrong?
I have been reflecting upon this through the principle of Aryaman. Aryaman represents nobility in relationship, honour in conduct and a refinement that allows us to move together without unnecessary friction.
I like to understand the Aryaman approach as choosing the path of least resistance in the service of the highest purpose.
Please notice both parts of the sentence. The path of least resistance does not mean the path of convenience. Convenience asks, ‘What is easiest for me?’ Calculation asks, ‘What will benefit us most?’ Fear asks, ‘What will people think?’ Ego asks, ‘Whose advice should prevail?’
Wisdom asks something altogether different: ‘What is the highest purpose here?’ That one question can change everything.
What was the original purpose of the family’s invitation? Meditation. Not hospitality, meeting Daaji, strengthening an organization, cultivating a useful relationship or raising support.
Aryaman represents nobility in relationship, honor in conduct and a refinement that allows us to move together without unnecessary friction. I like to understand the Aryaman approach as choosing the path of least resistance in the service of the highest purpose.
It was meditation. Once we remember this, many complications disappear. If the family comes to the ashram, nobody has to entertain anybody, prepare a special meal or wonder whether everything is worthy of the occasion. They can simply come, sit, close their eyes, receive and perhaps discover something within themselves that no amount of hospitality could ever provide. Then the higher purpose has quietly rearranged all the lower ones.
And this brings me to something I feel is very important. The higher purpose does not have to reject the lower purposes. It simply puts them in their proper place.
Life constantly presents us with many purposes: personal comfort, family considerations, relationships, organizational requirements, financial needs, reputation and expansion of activities. Then, there is the spiritual purpose. All may be legitimate. The mistake begins when we place them all on the same level.
Suppose an opportunity arises to strengthen the Mission materially. There is nothing wrong with that. Buildings require resources, centres require support and activities require organization. But if the possibility of material support begins determining how we arrange a spiritual encounter, something has quietly become inverted.
An organization exists to serve spirituality. Spirituality does not exist to serve the organization. Money must serve the work. The work must never begin serving money.
Relationships can facilitate spiritual growth, but spiritual encounters should never become instruments for cultivating advantageous relationships.
These distinctions may appear subtle, but for a spiritual organization they are fundamental.
So from time to time, perhaps we should ask ourselves an uncomfortable question: Are we serving the higher purpose, or have we quietly begun using the higher purpose to serve something lower?
That question can save an individual. It can also save an organization.
There is another subtlety in this incident. Suppose I decide not to go to Geneva because my son advised me not to go. Someone may say, ‘Daaji is being influenced by his son.’ But suppose I decide to go precisely to demonstrate that I am not influenced by my son. Am I free then? No. In the first case, his advice determines my decision. In the second case, my reaction against his advice determines my decision. Obedience to pressure and rebellion against pressure can both be forms of bondage.
So from time to time, perhaps we should ask ourselves an uncomfortable question: Are we serving the higher purpose, or have we quietly begun using the higher purpose to serve something lower? That question can save an individual. It can also save an organization.
So what is freedom? My son may advise me. The functionaries may advise me. The family may express its wish. I should listen to everyone sincerely. But after listening, I must become inwardly silent enough that none of those voices dominates. Then there is only one question: What does the higher purpose require?
If the answer agrees with my son’s advice, so be it. If it agrees with the functionaries, so be it. If it agrees with neither, that too is fine. The decision must not be for someone or against someone. It must be for the purpose.
And this applies equally to every functionary. A good decision is not one in which our opinion wins. A good decision is one in which the purpose wins.
Whenever we carry responsibility, intelligence immediately begins calculating. ‘If we do this, perhaps that person will help.’ ‘If Daaji meets this individual, something may develop.’ ‘If we cultivate this relationship, perhaps the centre will benefit.’ ‘If this person becomes close to Heartfulness, perhaps many doors will open.’
There is nothing inherently wrong with practical intelligence. But spiritual work also requires another intelligence. It requires sensitivity to the invisible. Sometimes what appears advantageous outwardly may create heaviness inwardly. And sometimes what appears to be a lost opportunity outwardly may preserve something far more precious inwardly.
This is why I would like to refine the idea of the path of least resistance. It does not mean doing whatever is easiest. It means choosing the route of least unnecessary interference with the higher purpose.
Think of a river. A river does not hold a committee meeting at every stone! It encounters the stone, adjusts its course, and continues towards the ocean. The stone is not its enemy. The bend is not a failure. Changing direction does not mean abandoning the destination.
Firmness about the destination. Flexibility about the route. For me, that is one beautiful expression of Aryaman.
If we function so that one person says, ‘This is administratively correct,’ another says, ‘This is financially beneficial,’ another says, ‘This person is influential,’ another says, ‘This is what we have always done,’ and another says, ‘Daaji should do this,’ then Daaji is left standing somewhere in the middle!
Firmness about the destination. Flexibility about the route. For me, that is one beautiful expression of Aryaman.
Suppose, instead, everyone becomes quiet and asks, ‘What best serves the highest purpose?’ Many arguments immediately lose their force, not because they were foolish but because they have simply found their proper level.
We sometimes speak about the Master’s intuition. I would hesitate to give it such a grand name. Perhaps intuition is simply when personal preferences become quiet enough that the heart begins to recognize what the situation itself is asking of us.
Preference says, ‘I feel like doing this.’ Fear says, ‘I had better do this.’ Calculation says, ‘Something useful may come from this.’ Ego says, ‘I must show that nobody controls me.’
Intuition is quieter. It does not shout. It does not need to win an argument. Often it simply recognizes the direction in which there is the least inner contradiction.
That is why meditation is so important even for decision making. We generally think meditation is for spiritual evolution and meetings are for decision-making. Why separate the two? What is the use of becoming meditative during meditation if, the moment we enter a meeting, we become argumentative?
Intuition is quieter. It does not shout. It does not need to win an argument. Often it simply recognizes the direction in which there is the least inner contradiction.
The meditative condition must eventually enter the meeting room. It must enter administration. It must enter financial decisions. It must enter disagreements. It must enter our conversations. And especially, it must enter that difficult moment when somebody opposes our favourite proposal. Then decision making itself becomes part of sadhana.
Before deciding, become quiet. Let personal preference settle. Let fear settle. Let ambition settle. Let the desire to please settle. Let the desire to prove our independence also settle. Let the anxiety about what may be gained or lost settle. And then look again. Very often, after all these voices become quiet, the heart does not have many choices left. It simply knows.
There is one caution, however. Please don’t turn ‘the path of least resistance’ or ‘psychological friction’ into a philosophy of avoiding difficulty!
Sometimes the path of least resistance inwardly requires tremendous effort outwardly. A river follows the path of least resistance, yet over time it can carve through mountains. The sun does not struggle to give light. A flower does not strain to release fragrance. There is tremendous activity throughout nature, yet very little psychological friction.
Human beings are different. We can make even a small decision into a Mahabharata! Why? Because we bring ourselves into it: my opinion, my proposal, my reputation, my relationship, my department, my centre, my achievement, my disappointment. The moment ‘my’ becomes heavy, resistance increases.
When ego interferes, there is friction. When ambition interferes, there is friction. When attachment to our own opinion interferes, there is friction. But when everyone bows before the purpose, cooperation becomes natural.
That is Aryaman. It invites us to become lighter. It is not passivity, compromise, convenience or avoidance. It is nobility without friction.
So what about our family in Geneva? Perhaps they will come here to Lausanne, sit quietly in this ashram and nobody will have to impress anybody. Perhaps the host will disappear and only the seeker will remain. Perhaps the guest will disappear and only meditation will remain. And perhaps, because all these peripheral things have been removed, something much more important can happen between their hearts and the Source.
My son may be satisfied that unnecessary strain has been avoided. The family may receive what they were truly seeking. The functionaries may fulfil their deepest responsibility, which is not merely to expand activities but to facilitate transformation. And Daaji may be rescued from everybody! More importantly, nobody loses.
We often imagine decision-making as choosing a winner among competing interests. Spiritual decision-making is different. When the highest purpose becomes clear, the lower purposes begin finding their proper places around it. The higher does not destroy the lower. The higher harmonizes the lower.
So I would like to leave a small practice with all of you, especially those who carry responsibilities. Whenever a difficult decision arises, don’t begin by asking ‘What do I want?’ or ‘Who is right?’ or ‘What will benefit the organization?’
First, become quiet and ask, ‘What is the highest purpose here?’
Once that becomes clear, ask, ‘Which course allows that purpose to unfold with the least unnecessary interference?’
Then wait. Don’t hurry to answer. Let the heart participate. You may discover that many complicated decisions become surprisingly simple. Perhaps this is one of the signs that meditation is truly entering our lives.
At first, we meditate for half an hour. Then meditation begins to enter the remaining twenty-three and a half hours. It enters our relationships, our speech, our reactions, our administration, our disagreements and eventually our decisions.
Then perhaps we will no longer have to ask so often, ‘What should I do?’ The heart will become sufficiently quiet to recognize what ought to be done.
The real proof of meditation is not only how peaceful we become while sitting with closed eyes. The proof comes when three people give us three contradictory pieces of advice, each perfectly reasonable, and still the heart remains quiet enough to recognize what is essential. Then we are no longer choosing between people or between opinions. We are choosing according to purpose.
And perhaps there is an even deeper stage. In the beginning, we ask, ‘What is the higher purpose?’ Later, the heart becomes so attuned to it that we hardly need to ask. Like water finding its way to the ocean, the movement becomes natural.
There will be no unnecessary resistance and a total absence of psychological friction. No insistence, no politics, no need to win. Only alignment.
Keep the destination sacred. Keep the route flexible. Keep the heart free.
When the heart is free, the higher purpose has a chance to speak. And when the higher purpose speaks clearly, perhaps the noblest thing we can do is simply not to stand in its way.
Thank you,
Kamlesh
A message at Lausanne Ashram, 4 October 2026
