Be Giver – In Gita Verse 2.1 Sañjaya said: Seeing Arjuna full of compassion, his mind depressed, his eyes full of tears, Madhusūdana, Kṛṣṇa, spoke the following words.
As Arjuna stood on the battlefield, his heart heavy with turmoil and his soul on the brink of surrender, tears became the silent testament to his inner battle. With Arjuna’s defences lowered, his logical mind spent, and his heart open, Lord Krishna chose this sacred moment to impart his divine wisdom.
At the very edge of his consciousness, Arjuna was finally ready to hear. Krishna, the embodiment of the eternal divine, recognised this stillness within Arjuna’s turmoil as the fertile ground from which understanding could bloom.
The Lord whispers to us in calmness; it is the entrance to profound silence. When our relentless logic exhausts us and we are submerged in the unconscious, we inch towards tranquillity. It is a signpost indicating the direction of silence, yet not the totality of it.
Calmness and silence – often mistaken as one – are distinct. Calmness is a conscious effort, a deliberate act of suppression, a surface where underneath, the waters may still be tumultuous. In the forced quietude, we risk becoming like the sad saint who fears laughter lest his facade cracks, revealing the suppressed chaos.
Children instinctively know this; they close their eyes, hold their breath to contain their mirth, only to reveal how superficial their calm is. True silence, conversely, embraces laughter, for nothing can disturb it.
Real silence is not fragile. It exists vividly amid the uproar of life; markets, chaos, and mountains alike amplify its presence. With true silence, the external din only serves to deepen the inner sanctuary of quietude. One does not need to flee to the Himalayas; the chattering of the mind will follow. There, against the backdrop of silence, the internal chatter becomes conspicuous.
What’s unshakable once realised, this profound silence, cannot be disturbed by the peripheral dissonances of life. If disturbance comes, know that the silence was merely a facade, a calmness cultivated, not the deep-rooted serenity of understanding.
The universe, in its boundless compassion, responds to our frequencies: it listens when we are lost, whispers when we find a semblance of peace, and merges with us in silence. It is in our receptive silence that the universe’s presence becomes a melody, transforming the cacophony of existence into a harmonious symphony.
As Arjuna relinquished his arms and allowed the waves of emotion to purge his persistent reason, he found himself in a receptive void, ready to hear Krishna – not with the ears of his mind, but with the totality of his being.
Krishna’s words were not merely addressed to a strategist prince weighed down by foresight, but to a warrior hollowed out by his inner conflicts – a soul on the brink of profound change. The scene was set not just for Arjuna’s transformation from the confines of conventional reasoning to the expansive territories of spiritual enlightenment but also for his awakening to the grace of becoming a true giver, one who contributes with an open heart.
Listening transcends mere auditory perception. It is an encounter of souls, a meeting point of consciousnesses. As Krishna’s words flowed, they were not merely sounds to Arjuna’s ears but a celestial instrument tuning the discordant strings of his soul.
This dialogue is not a mere exchange of words but a transformative interaction. In that hallowed instant, each of Krishna’s uttered syllables carried the transformative power to lead Arjuna back into the luminescence of awareness – to the core of his very being.
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