As we walk the path, we receive not only support but also encounter countless traps. Falling into them is not difficult at all. Traps can be anywhere. The higher the ascent, the more refined and skillful the traps become. They know no mercy, and it is impossible to negotiate or reason with them. They possess a great advantage over human nature: traps are free from ego and pride—they work quietly and efficiently. They are not discouraged by failure and do not boast of success. They relentlessly carry out their subtle work, expertly concealing their traces and masking both their activity and their presence.
Yet traps serve an important purpose—without them, the path itself would lose its meaning. By rising above them, we become stronger, more skillful, and wiser. In this process, we have a great helper and companion who can also become the most treacherous betrayer: the mind, our constant companion. Without the mind, there would be no traps—but there would also be no path. The worst possible condition is a proud mind. Such a mind overshadows everything, and a person easily becomes ensnared in the nets laid by traps. But when the mind is recognized and its workings are clearly seen, it can become a true friend.
As I continued along my path, I began to feel that my need for certain things was gradually falling away, while at the same time I was becoming increasingly aware of the ignorance of my own mind. This is not pleasant—to see one’s own ignorance. Yet I understood that this realization was necessary for my spiritual growth, and that to move forward, it had to be accepted. Such is the paradox: you see that you have taken a step forward spiritually, and at the same time you discover even more clearly the ignorance of your own mind.
During this same period, I felt an urgent need to resolve important matters related to my musical creativity. In search of answers, I would walk forest paths for hours, seeking responses to questions shaped by time and karma. Faith in God, faith in my own path, and faith in the Teachers did not allow me to lose sight of the light at the end of the tunnel—yet the tunnel itself showed no sign of ending.
At times, the mind capitulates for a brief moment, allowing the Heart and naturalness to reveal themselves. When this happens, true decisions arise unexpectedly, like flashes of light within consciousness. With time, one becomes increasingly convinced that these decisions were right.
Thus, I decided to receive guru-diksha from the Himalayan Master whose meeting I had declined two years earlier. The mind surrendered, and I felt and understood that through this Master I needed to reconnect with that which—and with those whom—I had been linked from the very beginning of my journey, and which had always been, and still is, my own. With each passing day, my confidence in this decision grew stronger. Moreover, while reading a book written by this Master, I began to notice signs meant for me—everything described there resonated completely with my worldview.
One seemingly unremarkable story in this book held particular significance for me. The fragment itself was very simple, yet through it I understood that this path was mine. It described how the author first entered the Himalayan cave of his Guru. Inside were four great beings whose spiritual magnitude was such that they could illuminate the sky even if the Sun itself were to disappear. After they had eaten together, the author—newly arrived and filled with reverence for these great saints—decided to wash everyone’s dishes. The Guru stopped him and said: “Where are you going? Sit down. Here there is neither higher nor lower. We are all manifestations of the same essence. Leave behind the habits you inherited from society where you came from. Each person washes his own plate.” These words of the Great Yogi were like balm to my soul. In that moment, everything became clear to me. Truth is often hidden in the simplest things. I saw what I needed to see.
There comes a time when we make a decision. Everything happens in its own time, and there is nothing to do but wait. From the moment the decision was made, changes began, and invisible inner mechanisms—the wheels of intention—started to turn. I waited almost a year, and then it happened. My Diksha took place. My Guru touched me, and something new was born. Everything I thought I knew was left behind the door of the room where I received Diksha.
I prepared myself for Diksha. I let go of everything I knew, understanding that only an empty vessel can truly be filled. I wanted to be filled, and so I surrendered myself into the hands of the Lord and into the hands of my Guru.
On the night before diksha, I did not sleep. I chanted the mantra on my rudraksha, removing obstacles that the mind and ego might create. I turned to the Lord with clear intention and sincerely wished to be a channel for His energies—not an executor of my own ambitions and desires—for a proud mind and ego can create the most subtle and dangerous traps.