In plain words
Accepting the prayers of such crops, the clouds themselves come down, give rain and nourish them. When the baby lying in the cradle longs to reach its mother's lap, that baby in the cradle cannot leap up and fall into its mother's lap. It has not that power. That is why the mother comes to the cradle, bends down and sets the baby on her lap. In just the same way, He Himself comes down to the devotee who prays for Him, and He blesses him.
These prayers are chiefly of Prema. Prema is born of the Name itself. The Name is like a mother to Prema. From the Name Prema is born, and from Prema Paramātma is born. So Prema is the basis of the principle of Paramātma. The Name is the basis of Prema. Bhāva is the basis of the Name. For all of these, the power of will is essential. We need not strive for each one separately. Mamaivāṃśō jīvalōkē jīvabhūtas sanātanaḥ. Dear one! You are a part of Me alone. You are not a part of the world. You are not a part of the five elements. You are a part of Me: how far do you believe the word that says so? We go on uttering the words, but we do not try to gain the experience that comes in practising them. 'Amṛtasyaputraḥ,' said the Bhagavad Gītā. Dear one, you are a son of immortality, not a son of untruth. You are a son of Consciousness, not merely a son of clay. Unable to recognise this truth, we go on simply reciting the words. 'Amṛtasyaputraḥ': what is the meaning of this? When does one become a son of immortality? He who recognises the secret of the field and the knower of the field, he alone is a son of immortality. The field is the body. We must enquire well into the body. It holds nothing but filth, urine, foul smell, flesh and blood; there is nothing in it at all that is truly good.
Look at the belly: it is a tub of filth and urine, mind you; the whole body is a mound of stench, mind you; this body is, for the Ātma, a strange rented house.
… a strange rented house, this body, for the Ātma. That is why, as for this:
A dirty hovel, a servant's basket rotting with diseases, from birth a tuber set stirring, a thicket that cannot cross the ocean of worldly life, a quiver of arrows; rise and look: whenever we think on it, the body, do not trust it as steady; take refuge, O mind, at the feet of Hari.
When we enquire well into this body, when we enquire well into this body, a disgust is born for it, free of every illusion about it.