Writings

Throughout human history, different religions and traditions have spoken of the same mystery in different languages and with different images.

• In Hinduism, Krishna and Shiva embody distinct aspects of divine wholeness.

• In Buddhism, the Buddha is the example of enlightened consciousness.

• In Christianity, Christ is the incarnation of divine love, while the Virgin Mary reflects purity and maternal protection.

• In Islam, the Prophet Muhammad is honored as the messenger of the divine word.

• In Judaism, Moses is the bearer of law and covenant.

Each figure is a gateway through which humanity may draw nearer to the Source. Those who study the paths of faith deeply discover that these are not separate gods or forces, but diverse manifestations of the One.

The teaching of a blade of grass

The masters often remind us: the Source is present not only in the great founders of religions, but also in the smallest things. A blade of grass, a stone, a drop of water – all arise from the same divine fullness. As the Hindu greeting Namaste expresses: „The divine within me greets the divine within you.” This vision not only honors the other, but reveals that every being carries the unity of the divine.

The unity of religions

Disputes among religions often arise because people see only the part instead of the whole. It is like the story of the blind men and the elephant: one holds the tail, another the leg, another the ear, each speaks truth, but only in part. The fullness is where truth resides.

So it is with the Source: one may see in Krishna, in Christ, in Buddha, in Muhammad, or in Moses. Yet whoever looks deeper recognizes that all are reflections of the same One.

The lesson

Attachment to a single figure may comfort the heart, for it offers a point of connection. But the ultimate realization is that there is no separation: the Source is all. Love, wisdom, law, compassion, silence, and light - all flow from the same infinite reality.

„Even a blade of grass is nothing other than the Source itself.” When we look upon the world in this way, every encounter becomes sacred, every moment becomes prayer, and in all things we recognize the divine.

(Narayanita)

One of the deepest and most profound koans of the Zen tradition asks:

„What was your face before you were born? What will it be after you die? Do not answer, only show!"

At first hearing, the question seems absurd. How could we have a face before entering the world? Yet for centuries Zen masters have used this koan to turn their students’ attention inward, toward the reality that lies beyond words.

The nature of the koan

A koan is not a riddle to be solved by logic. It is not an intellectual puzzle, but a tool for awakening consciousness. A koan is like a mirror: when we gaze into it, we do not see our familiar face, but our attachments, our habits of thought, and finally the silent space that rests behind all thought.

When the master asks, „What was your face before you were born?" he invites us to step beyond the limits of body and time. Hidden within the question is the recognition that within you there is something that was never born and will never die. This reality is not form, not name, not story – it is pure presence, which has always been.

The path of the student

At first, the student tries to interpret: perhaps genetics, perhaps the parents’ face, perhaps a philosophical answer. But the master rejects them all – not because they are wrong, but because they are still thoughts. A koan is not resolved at the level of thought, but when the mind suddenly sees through them and directly experiences the Source from which all thought arises.

This moment is like the wind falling still, and the surface of the lake becoming a mirror. The student does not give an answer, but becomes the answer: presence, silence, pure awareness.

The lesson

The koan teaches that our true self is not what we wear in the world: not our name, not our story, not our body. Our true self is what was before all these, and what remains after them – the unborn, undying consciousness.

Thus Zen masters say: „You must pass through the gateless gate." The gate is there, yet it has no frame, no lock, no key. It opens only when you release your grasp on thoughts and step into pure presence.

„What was your face before you were born?” – the question does not wait to be solved, but to awaken.

Koans of the masters

• A monk asked Master Joshu: „Does a dog have Buddha-nature?” Joshu replied: „Mu!”

• Two monks argued „The flag is moving.” „No, the wind is moving.” Master Hui-neng said: „It is not the flag that moves, nor the wind. It is the mind that moves.”

• A monk asked:  „What is truth?” The master replied: „It is like a hot iron ball, you cannot swallow it, and you cannot spit it out.”

(Narayanita)

The path of life is not always smooth and sunlit. There are days when our hearts feel light and everything seems in its place. Yet there are also times when clouds gather, the wind rises, and the storm overwhelms our soul. One of the deepest messages of Christian faith is precisely this: even in times of hardship we are never alone. God’s presence remains with us, even when the waves rise high.

The story of the boat

In the Gospels we read that Jesus entered a boat with His disciples. While He slept, a great storm arose, and the disciples feared they would sink. They woke Him, crying: „Master, do you not care that we are perishing?” He rose, rebuked the wind and the sea: „Peace! Be still!” And there was a great calm. Then He said to them: „Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?”

This story is not only about the disciples’ voyage, it is about our lives as well. Every one of our boats faces storms: illness, loss, disappointment, fear. At times we feel as though God is „asleep,” as though He does not care. Yet the message is clear: He is always with us in the boat. The storm is not greater than Him; indeed, even the storm itself is held within His power.

The meaning of hardship

Christian faith does not promise a life without trials. On the contrary, difficulties are often the school of faith. Just as fire purifies gold, so trials purify the heart. In hardship we learn not to rely on our own strength, but on God. And when the storm subsides, we look back and see: through the trials our trust has deepened, and our faith has grown stronger.

The way of trust

When difficulties come, the Christian heart may pray:

• „Lord, I do not understand why this is happening, but I trust You.”

• „I cannot see the way forward, but I know You are guiding me.”

• „I am weak, but Your strength is enough for me.”

This trust is not naïve hope, but the recognition that God is faithful. As the Apostle Paul writes: „I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4:13)

The lesson

The message of Christian faith in times of trial is not that storms can be avoided, but that we are never alone. God is with us in the boat, and when He is with us, fear can give way to trust, doubt to hope, weakness to strength.

The storm will pass, but the fruit of trust endures. Whoever turns their gaze to God finds peace born in the heart, even in the midst of the highest waves.

(Narayanita)

In the teachings of Krishna Consciousness, a central realization is that the human being is not merely a body, but an eternal soul. The body is born, grows, ages, and dies, but the soul remains unchanged, immortal, never destroyed. Life and death themselves are but the play of the Source. This vision transforms the way we relate to both life and death.

The difference between body and soul

According to the Bhagavad Gita, the body is like a garment worn by the soul. When the garment is worn out, we lay it aside and put on another. In the same way, when the body reaches its end, the soul departs and continues its journey in a new body. Death, therefore, is not an end but a transition, a doorway through which the soul takes on new clothing and new experiences.

This realization is liberating. When we know that our essence cannot perish, the fear of death begins to fade. Fear arises when we identify ourselves with the body and believe that when the body ceases, we cease as well. Krishna Consciousness teaches that our true self is eternal, for our self is the Source itself. Death is but a station along the soul’s long journey, through which the Source gathers experience and comes to know itself.

The moment of death and the state of consciousness

Krishna Consciousness emphasizes that the state of mind at the moment of death is of profound importance. The Bhagavad Gita teaches: „Whatever one remembers at the moment of death, that one surely attains.” Death is not merely a biological process, but a spiritual test: the direction of our consciousness determines where the soul continues its journey in the ocean of the Source.

If one has clung throughout life to the things of the material world, then at death one remains bound to them and is reborn into the material realm. But if one remembers Krishna, the Divine Source, then the soul is freed from the cycle of rebirth and returns to its eternal home. For this reason, the practices of Krishna Consciousness - chanting mantras, repeating the divine names, studying sacred texts, and serving - are all aimed at gradually purifying the mind and attuning it to the Source.

The purpose of life: Preparation for death

The teachings often declare: the purpose of life is preparation for death. At first this may sound somber, but in truth it is liberating. Knowing that death is inevitable, and that our state of consciousness at that moment is decisive, every day becomes an opportunity to draw nearer to awakening.

This does not mean renouncing life, but infusing every action with awareness. Work, family, friendship, joy - all can be part of spiritual growth when done in remembrance of the Source. Life then becomes not a fleeting sequence of moments, but a sacred practice preparing us for the final passage.

Death as the gate to freedom

In Krishna Consciousness, death is not an enemy but a gate. For one who has attuned to the Source throughout life, the moment of death is not fearful but liberating. It is like a bird freed from its cage: the limitations of the body fall away, and the soul returns to its original, eternal nature.

This vision reshapes not only our view of death but also our approach to life. When we know that every moment is an opportunity for spiritual growth, each day becomes precious. We no longer postpone, nor cling to what is passing, but seek to recognize the Source in all things.

The lesson

The teaching of Krishna Consciousness on death is, in truth, a teaching on life. It shows us not to identify with the body, but to discover our eternal essence, the soul, the Source itself. It calls us to purify our consciousness and direct it toward the Source, for this determines our future. And it reminds us that death is not the end, but a passage, a gate to freedom, if we are ready to step through.

„As a person casts off worn-out garments and puts on new ones, so the soul abandons the old body and takes on a new one.” – Bhagavad-Gita

(Narayanita)

Long ago, several blind men encountered an elephant for the first time. Each wished to understand what this great creature was like. One touched its tail and said: „The elephant is like a stick.” Another placed his hand upon its side and declared: „The elephant is like a wall.” A third grasped its ear and spoke: „The elephant is like a sail.” A fourth touched its leg and said: „The elephant is like the trunk of a tree.”

Each spoke truth – but only in part. The elephant was not merely a stick, nor a wall, nor a sail, nor a tree trunk. It was the sum of all these, and more besides.

So it is with the Source. Humanity seeks truth through different religions, traditions, and teachings. Some approach by the path of love, others by wisdom, consciousness, or service. Some discover it in silence, others in joyful song. Some find it in meditation, others in community. Each perspective is true, yet none is complete on its own.

Debates over „which is the true path” are like blind men arguing over the nature of the elephant. Each clings to his own experience, forgetting that reality is greater than what a single hand can touch.

The Source is present in every religion, every tradition, every sincere search. It cannot be confined to one form, one name, one word, or one image. The Source is the whole itself: love and wisdom, silence and song, light and shadow, fullness without beginning or end.

The lesson is simple yet profound: honor the path of another soul, for perhaps they are touching and experiencing another part of the elephant. When we listen with open hearts, we draw nearer to the fullness of truth. And when we turn to the Source with humility, we recognize that every path, every experience, every faith ultimately leads back into the same unity.

„Truth does not lie in the fragments, but in the whole. Whoever seeks the Source must learn to see the unity behind the parts.”

(Narayanita)

The disciples gathered around the master, who sat in silence and then spoke: „Life’s secret is not hidden in the past, nor in the future. The secret is in the present moment. When you eat, only eat. When you read, only read. When you walk, only walk. Do not allow your mind to scatter, for then you lose the flavor of the moment.”

The disciples engraved these words upon their hearts and strove to remain in the present with every action. Yet a few days later they saw the master sitting at the table, eating while reading a newspaper. Surprised, they approached him: „Master, you yourself said that when we eat, we should only eat, and when we read, we should only read. But now you are doing both at once. How should we understand this?”

The master laid down his spoon, closed the newspaper, and replied with a smile: „When I only eat, I truly only eat. When I only read, I truly only read. And when I eat and read at the same time, I truly only eat and read. Presence does not depend on the number of actions, but on whether you are wholly present in what you do. If your mind does not wander but remains focused, then every moment is pure, whether it holds a single movement or two unfolding together.”

The disciples then understood: presence is not determined by outward form, but by the undivided state of consciousness. The master’s words fell into their hearts like a stone cast into a lake: at first rippling, then slowly settling into stillness, until deep realization appeared.

(Narayanita)

The essence of the Buddhist vision is that everything we experience first and foremost arises within consciousness. No imagined image, feeling, object, movement, or silence exists apart from being reflected in the mirror of awareness. When we try to imagine something „outside” of consciousness, we immediately discover that the very act of imagining appears within it. This appearance itself is a manifestation of consciousness, making consciousness the primary field of experience.

This perspective reveals that the world is not a collection of independently existing objects, but a continuous arising and dissolving of forms and phenomena within the mirror of awareness. What is seen, heard, touched, tasted, smelled, thought, or felt - all appear and vanish in the field of consciousness. This is not mechanical detachment, but the most intimate play of life, where consciousness and phenomena together move the events upon the stage.

Questions and answers in the ocean of consciousness

The questions that trouble or guide us arise precisely where experience appears: within consciousness. Sadness, uncertainty, doubt, desire, relief, and insight are all born in the same space. And solutions also emerge here. When we direct our attention with mindful presence toward consciousness, clarity can arise from seemingly turbulent clouds. Buddhist practice does not seek answers outside, but shows how things are rearranged within as the quality of consciousness shifts.

This inner ordering is not magic, but refinement. Calming attention, releasing judgment, and cultivating direct, non-judging observation allow the shadows of mind to fade. Questions then take clearer form, and answers are not external advice but inner realizations.

The relationship between consciousness and the Source

Buddhist traditions do not always use the word „Source,” yet many speak of a deep, boundless ground from which appearances arise. If we understand the Source as the rootedness of consciousness, the spacious field in which all experience manifests, then consciousness is not merely a phenomenon but part of the foundation from which all existence unfolds. In this sense, there is no gap between Source and consciousness: consciousness is the opening of the Source, and the Source is the infinite, living witness from which all phenomena spring.

This realization is not abstract speculation, but practical guidance. When we regard consciousness as the vast space of the Source, personal worries and judgments become relative. „Good” and „bad,” „desire” and „aversion” simplify into subtle, dynamic movements that shine differently in the light of understanding.

The play of experience and the path of wisdom

Buddhist teachings often liken the world to a play or a flow of wisdom. Phenomena arise and dissolve like waves upon the ocean’s surface. Wisdom is the recognition of the deeper dimension of this play: the waves are not separate from the water, and the water does not strive for the waves - yet they arise, happen, and fade. From this perspective, every appearance in consciousness can be seen as an activity of mind.

The practical path is simple and consistent. First, stabilize attention and strengthen mindfulness. Next, investigate: how do thoughts, sensations, and emotions arise? How do we cling to them, and what do they become when we allow them to flow through us? Finally, practice openness and letting be, so that consciousness does not merely react but patiently observes every subtle movement.

Practical guidance for daily life

Begin with a short mindfulness practice. Sit for a few minutes, observe your breath, and allow thoughts to arise without grasping them. When an image or feeling appears, ask: „Where did this phenomenon come from, and what does it stir within me?” Notice the body’s movement, the sound, the thought - but do not cling to them, simply experience them.

Practice letting be. If fear or desire arises, let it pass through the field of consciousness. Watch how it changes over time. Lift your gaze to everyday actions. Every movement is an opportunity for gentle awareness: eating, walking, speaking - all are training grounds for the awakening mind.

Recognizing the vastness of consciousness

When the vastness of consciousness opens, duality gently dissolves. The aim is not to deny the diversity of the world, but to see and experience the unity behind appearances. Questions arising in consciousness and answers appearing in consciousness are not different, only the level of recognition shifts. Buddhist teachers show this in many ways: through direct meditation, analogies, and everyday examples. Each points to the same mystery, that all our experiences are rooted in the Source and are the play of consciousness.

In closing: this realization is not abstract philosophy, but the practical exercise of life lived with elevated awareness. When we learn to focus our gaze upon consciousness, the whole world becomes at once more peaceful and free. In consciousness there is no isolation, only continuous presence. And as the Buddhist tradition suggests, when the mind is calm and clear, the world itself speaks in its truth.

(Narayanita)

We often try to summarize the world and its phenomena with two words: good and evil. As if every event, every object, and every decision had a predetermined place upon these two shelves. Yet when we grow still, we notice: good and evil are rarely hidden within things themselves, but only within our way of seeing, our understanding, our intention. The forms of the world are many, yet all flow from the one Source; and we, with our feelings, fears, and desires, attach labels to everything.

Things in themselves are often neutral; it is consciousness that gives them meaning. A brick falling on our foot is bad. The same brick built into our home is good. If we simply walk past it, it is neutral. The brick has not changed, the situation and perspective have. So it is with much of the world: tools, events, encounters receive „value and meaning” only when seen through the mirror of mind. A knife may open a package - practical and joyful. The same knife may wound - painful and to be rejected. The object is neither „good” nor „evil”; only intention and action fill it with meaning.

Perspective is often hidden, yet decisive. What is good for me, comfortable, useful, advantageous - may be burden, loss, or pain for another. In nature, everything is interwoven; my own benefit cannot be torn from the fabric in which I live. This is why we need inner vision, which senses that good cannot be possessed, but only shared. The Source’s perspective is spacious: it does not measure by narrow self-interest, but by the order of the whole - where action and consequence weave into one fabric.

Distinguishing between good and evil is not meaningless. The task is not to neutralize everything in thought and turn away in indifferent silence. The task is to recognize that our judgments often spring from fear, habit, or desire, and are therefore limited. When we attune our gaze to the Source, our vision expands: we see intention, connection, and the dignity of another being. Thus true discernment is born - not mere liking or disliking, but responsible seeing and experiencing, which places action within the order of love.

Everyone seeks good for themselves, this is natural. But seeking good becomes fruitful only when we remain mindful of our environment, our community, the living and the non-living world alike. My own good becomes true good only if it does not destroy the good of others. In this vision, good is not short-term advantage, but harmony: an order in which action and consequence do not tear themselves from the whole. The Source teaches this: good is never private possession, but a shared melody in which every note has its place.

When we do not assign good or evil to things in advance, responsible decision becomes easier. We may ask: what intention guides me? What does this action serve? What effect will it have on others, on the community, on creation itself? A knife may be a careful tool - in moderate, attentive, loving use. It may also be an instrument of harm - in anger or negligence. The question is not the object, but the quality of presence with which we touch it. Presence is what transforms the neutral into a sign: either of love or of division.

Good and evil are therefore matters of perspective, but not of just any perspective. A perspective closed in upon itself is fragile and often mistaken. The perspective of love is spacious, and sees the whole. The perspective of the Source embraces all: it does not divide, but unites. When we step into this wide vision, our judgments grow gentler, our decisions clearer, and our inner confusion in the noise of the world lessens. We do not deny suffering, but we do not identify with it. We do not erase difference, but we do not become its prisoner. We allow reality to be present in its fullness, and we respond to it.

Thus in daily life there is room for living discernment:

• Does our intention point toward love?

• Do the consequences of our action build, unite, or destroy?

• Is our presence mindful and measured, or hurried and driven by impulse?

When we take these questions seriously, attributing good or evil is no longer mere labeling, but a responsible response aligned with the order of the Source. The brick, the knife, cold and heat - all are neutral expressions in themselves. The question is always: what do we convey through them?

Finally, in silence we may understand: good and evil are not judgments carved in stone, but garments of the mind. When we see in the light of the Source, we lay aside the garments that are too narrow, and walk the world with a wider gaze. Things do not change because of what we call them, but our hearts do, and thus the world itself may become a better place. Not because everything suddenly became „good,” but because the order of love begins to gently permeate all that we see. And so the brick, the knife, cold and heat, meeting and letting go - all weave into a single song: the quiet, ceaseless hymn of the Source.

(Narayanita)

The Source is not merely the origin of all things, but Reality itself - the ground from which everything is born and to which everything returns. When the mind grows quiet, we begin to see: there are not two - Source and what it creates, but one. Diversity, the multitude of forms, is simply the expression of the Source; as light is one, yet shines in countless shades. The Source is what is; beyond it there is nothing. Every manifestation is the Source, both with form and without, in movement and in stillness.

If we hold a bundle of wooden planks and a handful of nails, we can create many things: a house, a chair, a shelf, or a fence. Yet when we look at the finished work, we still see the same reality: wood and nails, simply in another form. So it is with the Source. The Source brings forth people, animals, plants, planets, sun and moon, air and motion, sound and silence - and whoever truly pays attention discovers that all of this is nothing other than the Source itself, for it could not be otherwise. The differences of form are the richness of expression, but the essence remains one.

We may speak of prey and hunter, of sun and moon, of day and night: one does not exist without the other. Light gains meaning in shadow, movement is movement only in relation to stillness, sound is born from silence and returns to it. Dualities interweave, and whoever looks deeply awakens to the truth: all is the same, the rhythm and play of the Source. Apparent duality is but the reflection of unity, like the surface of a lake that holds many waves, yet the water is one.

The Source steps from unity into duality in order to experience, and through experience to know itself. This play is no mistake, but sacred intention: Life examining itself, Being gazing into itself through the dance of forms. Whatever happens to us, whatever stirs within us, flows into this knowing. Pain, joy, loss, and delight are all teachings of the Source: opportunities for the heart to expand, for vision to clear, for trust to deepen.

When we accept that the Source is the one reality, peace reigns within us, not conflict. Difficulties are not enemies, but gateways: entrances into wider understanding. When the heart opens and the gaze sees beyond form, we recognize: good and evil are matters of perspective, but the essence always points back to unity. Work, rest, loss, and celebration all become prayer, for each arises from the Source and returns to it.

Life grows lighter when we attune our attention to the Source. We need not deny pain; it is enough to embrace and experience it, for it too is but experience. We need not cling to control; it is enough to be faithful to what we see clearly. Observe the phenomena: joy, anger, laughter, disappointment, the emotions and thoughts that arise and fade within us. In this way the soul is freed from the net of resentment, and the heart hears again the quiet song of unity.

In the end, every movement, every thought, every breath is rooted in the Source. Forms bend back to their origin, differences intertwine, many voices gather into a single music. This music is what we call life: the play of the Source in diversity. When we consciously join in, the heart finds its way to peace beyond all understanding. The Source is not distant: it is what is. And when we truly pay attention, we see the Source in everything - for nothing else exists but the Source.

(Narayanita)

The path of life is often winding, filled with unexpected turns, joys, and trials. Each of us carries burdens that at times seem too heavy, raising questions within us: why now, why with us? In such moments it is easy to forget that everything that happens flows from the Source, and nothing is without meaning.

The Source is the wellspring of our lives, permeating every moment with its presence. When we look from this perspective, difficulties are not merely obstacles but opportunities for growth, for purification, for deepening faith and trust. In the struggles of daily life, our task is not to control every circumstance at all costs, but to recognize: there are things we can change, and there are things we must release.

What we can make better - be it a relationship, a habit, or a decision, let us work on with humility and love. The possibility of change is a gift, drawing us closer to the life the Source intends for us. What lies beyond our strength, what we cannot control, let us let go. Frustration, bitterness, and anger only separate us from inner peace and dim the light of the Source within.

Everything unfolds as it must. This is not a call to indifference, but to trust. The wisdom of the Source far surpasses our understanding, and what now appears as a burden may later be revealed as a blessing. Seen in this way, even hardships gain meaning, and peace is born in the heart.

True freedom does not lie in holding every circumstance in our hands, but in entrusting ourselves to the Source. Then life becomes not mere survival, but a path of trust, hope, and love.

Let us allow the Source to guide us: to change what we can, to release what we cannot, and to remember that every moment - whether joy or trial - is a gift of the Source. In this way, the burdens of daily life grow lighter, and we discover the peace that surpasses all understanding.

(Narayanita)