In plain words
Now, from the womb of this rajoguṇa was born the arch-villain Kāma. From tamoguṇa were born four sons as well: anger, hatred, envy and ostentation. And over all of them Kāma stood as captain. In everything, this fellow called Kāma takes the lead. This Kāma enters every man's heart and steals the jewel of Jñāna he should keep hidden within himself. So, what makes man today do even the things he thought he must not do? What makes him tell the untruths he thought he must not tell? What makes him take to the adharma he said he must not take to? This Kāma alone is the cause. Today there is no end to wishes. As the water in a well keeps springing up when you pump it, so man's desires: when one is fulfilled, another, and when that is fulfilled, another, so that the whole of life looks like nothing but a bundle of wishes. So, life is a long journey. On this long journey we must try to cut down, to some extent, this luggage called desires. With this very thing in view, the railways said, ‘Less luggage, more comfort; make travel a pleasure.’ What must we do to cut down these desires? There is no end to these desires. To this very thing, in the Bhagavad Gītā, Kṛṣṇa has given the name mahāśana. Whatever offerings you make to fire, it never says, ‘They are enough.’ However much you put in, it says, ‘Still more, still more.’ It only grows further; this fire does not die down. In Sanskrit this has been called anala. Alam means ‘enough’. Anala means ‘not enough’. That is, desire is of a kind with anala. However many experiences it enjoys, however many desires are fulfilled, it goes on knowing only the discontent that says, ‘Still more, still more.’ You know Rāvaṇa. However many comforts he enjoyed, he was never satisfied, and in the end he brought his life to an end through this very desire. He was a great devotee too. He would chant ‘Oṃ Namaśśivāya, Oṃ Namaśśivāya, Oṃ Namaśśivāya’ unceasingly. Does one become a devotee merely by saying the Name Namaśśivāya? Does one become a devotee merely by saying ‘Rāmā’? Or does one become a devotee merely by saying ‘Sāīrāmā’? No, no. As great as the difference between hearing the word ‘food’ and eating food, so great is the difference. As great as the difference between saying ‘food’ and eating food, so great is the difference. So, saying ‘Rāmā’ is saying ‘food’. Experiencing Rāma is eating the food. We must eat the food; hunger is not appeased merely by saying ‘food’. So we must experience God; merely saying God's name will not do. Man must realise God. See God, think God, talk God. This is true religion.
Through real experience it spreads into our very nerves and pervades the whole body. Food set on a plate is only seen by the eye. But when food goes into the stomach, it spreads through all the limbs and gives strength. In the same way, when God is experienced, all the divine powers come forth. There is no gain in merely remembering God. We must try to experience it. But for such experience we must kill these desires called Kāma. How are we to control these desires? However much we look at the darkness and fight with it, however much we curse the darkness, the darkness does not go. Light one lamp in the place where that darkness is, and that is enough: the darkness runs away. In the same way, when this darkness of desires called Kāma enters our heart, if we light the lamp called Jñāna, that darkness goes.
To restrain our senses, we need the Jñāna of the Ātma. Truly, our senses themselves are what put so many kinds of obstacles in our way. A small example. When we wake at daybreak and stand with our face turned away from the sun, our shadow is many feet long. But as the sun climbs higher and higher, the shadow grows shorter and shorter. At last, when the sun's rays fall on our head, even our image falls beneath our feet. In the same way, if we would shrink this shadow called swollen desires, when we develop Jñāna, the light of the sun, the shadow dwindles.
How is this Jñāna to be gained? One must carry out the enquiry by oneself. Our mind wanders all the time, at every moment, only in the world, which is like a padmavyūha. We must try to turn inward the mind that wanders in the world, a thing conjured up of what is seen. A small example. In the world every object is made of these five elements alone: fire, water, air, space and earth. In man too these five elements are contained. They alone make up every body. Yet he longs again for these very five elements. What is this? In its naivety, this mind longs for the very thing that is within itself.