The particular attention that the mind and the senses pay to a given object at a
particular time is an indication of the preponderance of the particular vritti at that
particular time in respect of that object, for the sake of fulfilment thereby. But the
fulfilment by contact of the senses with the objects is variegated, and it is not of any
specific character. The reason why there is an endlessness of desires, and a
continuous dissatisfaction felt even in spite of the fulfilment of desires, is due to the
presence of infinite urges in the mind which want to press themselves forward in
respect of their own objects. But, due to unfavourable conditions, all of them cannot
press themselves forward at the same time. Though a hundred people may have a
hundred desires in their minds, it may be that every desire cannot be fulfilled at the
same time because of the different conditions which contribute to the fulfilment of
these desires, so each desire will raise its head at the appropriate moment. Hence,
the mind is filled with these urges and is made up of these urges. How will we bring
all these urges together in a compact mass and focus the whole of them into the
direction of the object of meditation?
The very first step is the most difficult step. This requires a very terrible adjustment
of ideas. The sadhaka, the seeker, has to work very hard to introduce some sort of an
organisation in the midst of the variegated ideas which run hither and thither in
disparity—just as the head of a family, if he is wise enough, may bring about some
sort of an organisation in the family in spite of the fact that the members disagree
among themselves, as otherwise there will be only disagreement and no such thing as
a family. The very purpose of there being a head of the family is to introduce system
into the chaos that would be there otherwise. The aspiration for the realisation of a
higher goal acts like the head of a family which brings this disparity of ideas into a
focused attention. It does not mean that the mind is really united in the act of
concentration, or dharana. It is still disunited inside; therefore, there is a vast
difference between the stage of dharana and the further advanced stages, which are
yet to be reached, where there is a complete union of ideas. There is no such
complete union in dharana—there is still restlessness. But there is a force exerted
upon the mind as a whole by the aspiration that is at the background of this effort at
concentration.
The fixing of the mind on the point also implies the choosing of the point. What is the
point on which we are concentrating? We have the traditional concept of the ishta
devata, a term designating the nature of the object of meditation, which gives a clue
as to what sort of object it should be. It should be ishta and it should be our devata.
Only then we can allow the mind to move towards it entirely. We must worship that
object as our god or goddess, our deity, our alter-ego, our centre of affection, our
love, our everything; that should be the object. And, it is the dearest conceivable.
There is nothing in this world so dear to us as that—such a thing is called the ishta
devata. What is there in this world which is so dear to us, which we worship as God
Himself? Is there anything like that? If there was no such thing as that, it would have
to be there; otherwise, the mind will not move towards the object. How can the mind
move towards an object which it does not regard as the highest ideal, which it regards
as only one among the many? If the idea is that there is a possibility of other objects
also, equally valuable as the one here presented, why should not the mind turn to
other directions?
When there is an equal reality or value recognised in the other objects of the world,
then there is every chance of the mind moving towards other objects also, because of