When I sit in stillness and truly look within, I realize that the pain I carry isn’t born from the events life throws at me—but from how I respond to them.
Life doesn’t always unfold the way I want it to. There are moments when situations turn against my expectations, when people don’t act as I hoped they would, or when results don’t align with my efforts. But strangely, those external disappointments fade quickly, like a passing storm. Why? Because in my heart, I believe my beloved Lord Krishna is orchestrating every event in my life with divine precision. He knows what I do not. I trust Him. I trust that whatever comes is my prārabdha, my destined karma playing out—and in that faith, I find acceptance. Peace.
But then, why does sadness sometimes stay? Why does it linger even after the event is gone? I’ve come to see it’s not the event, but my reaction to it that creates a lasting wound. The pain that echoes within me arises not from what happened—but how I responded: through anger, ego, or a subtle desire for vengeance.
That is where the true inner battle lies.
My reactions come not from my soul, but from my external self (from my expectations or ego) —that fragile part of me that wants to be right, to be respected, to be in control. When something threatens that ego, it reacts. And that reaction, not the situation itself, becomes the seed of sorrow. That’s what burns. That’s what makes the mind restless long after the moment has passed.
But the soul… the soul is still. The soul knows. The soul trusts.
So now I understand: my true sādhana is not to control the world, but to master my own inner response. The real spiritual work is not in changing others or avoiding hardship—it is in choosing how I respond when things don’t go my way. Can I choose love over anger? Can I choose humility over ego? Can I pause, breathe, and remember Krishna before reacting?
Every time I do, I feel the storm within begin to calm.
So now, when anger rises, I try to witness it. I tell myself, “This is not me. This is not my essence. This is a cloud passing through the sky of my consciousness.” When jealousy whispers, I try to listen deeper—to the space in me that knows Krishna gives each soul exactly what they need for their growth. And when vengeance tempts me, I remember: what justice can I seek, when everything is already being perfectly handled by Him?
I offer it all to Krishna.
My reaction. My restlessness. My humanness.
This, to me, is the beginning of real devotion—not just worship with flowers and chants, but the worship of surrendering even my darkest emotions into His light.
I pray that one day, my heart becomes so full of His presence that these lower reactions no longer find a home in me. That my only response, even to pain, is love. That my ego melts like morning mist in the sunlight of His grace.
Until then, I walk slowly, softly, inwardly—learning to hold space for my humanness while walking steadily toward the Divine.
