This story, A Candle in the Heart, is more than a simple bedtime tale—it’s a story of quiet resilience, the kind that grows deep within when the world feels uncertain or unkind. Inspired by the journey of a young boy who faces hardships and feels deeply alone, this story brings a gentle message of comfort from the Holy Spirit, reminding us of the divine light within.
Sometimes, life’s challenges make us feel disconnected from hope, peace, and even love. This story is meant for anyone who needs to be reminded that, despite the struggles we face, there is a place of warmth, love, and resilience within us all. It’s a light that guides us, bringing comfort and strength even in the darkest times.
For children, this story can be a reminder that they are never truly alone and that they carry a special light within. For adults, it’s a story that acknowledges the hard moments we sometimes carry into adulthood and the hope that we are always guided by love.
So, whether you are a child or an adult, I invite you to listen to this story with an open heart and let it remind you of the inner peace and strength we all carry within us. May it be a small light to guide you toward hope and healing.
A Candle in the Heart
Once upon a time, there was a boy named Dicky who often felt alone. Life was hard for him, and he spent many days feeling as if he were walking through a dark forest without a light. He dreamed of being somewhere else, somewhere where he could feel love, and he wondered if such a place even existed. Sometimes, in the early hours of morning, he would imagine angels nearby, their gentle presence filling his heart with a quiet peace that seemed to whisper, “Keep going, Dicky.”
As the years passed, Dicky grew older and became known as Richard. Though his life had its difficult moments, he’d come to believe that there was goodness in the world, even if he hadn’t fully found it yet. Richard read books about great teachers who had lived many years before, and one day, he found a book that spoke about how God lived within him, like a quiet candle always shining in his heart. This idea made him smile. “If God is here with me, maybe I can find peace, even in my solitude,” he thought.
One night, as he was about to go to sleep, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Just then, he felt a gentle, familiar presence—the same one he’d felt as a child, and he knew it was the Holy Spirit, the comforting whisper of God.
The Holy Spirit spoke softly: “Richard, my child, you have walked a long and hard road. But remember, I’ve been here in your heart all along, like a candle you can always find, no matter how dark it seems. You are never alone.”
Richard felt a warmth in his chest, as if a gentle flame was lighting up his heart, bringing him comfort and peace. “But why has life been so hard?” he asked, his voice filled with sadness. “I feel like I don’t belong in this world.”
The Holy Spirit replied with love and kindness, “Richard, sometimes the light we bring into the world shines brightest in places that need it most. You may not see all the lives you touch, all the people you help by simply being yourself, by offering words of hope, by holding onto love and compassion even when it feels heavy. Your words are like breadcrumbs for others to find their way, a gift that only you can offer.”
The Holy Spirit continued, “You have become a teacher, a light for those who are lost or weary. Every time you write, every time you share your love, you bring a bit more light into the world. Your life has meaning beyond what you see, and it is woven into the lives of those you touch.”
Richard felt a gentle peace settle over him. He no longer needed to worry about the end or about finding the perfect place of belonging. He realized that he had become a vessel of love, that he was part of something much larger than himself. In the quiet of his room, he could almost feel a presence of angels, as he had as a child, watching over him and reminding him, “Everything will be okay.”
With the Holy Spirit’s words in his heart, Richard drifted off to sleep. He knew that, even with life’s challenges, he was surrounded by a love that had been with him all along.
Goodnight, dear one. Remember, the light within you is part of something greater, and it will always guide you home.
🙏🕊️🙏
If you’d like to explore more bedtime stories for children, including tales that nurture compassion and mindfulness, you can find our collection here.
With each breath, I honor my body’s pace and wisdom. Rest is a profound act of strength, nurturing my spirit and guiding me toward balance. In stillness, I find resilience and peace, knowing each small step is part of my healing journey.
“With each breath, I honor my body’s pace and wisdom. Rest is a profound act of strength, nurturing my spirit and guiding me toward balance. In stillness, I find resilience and peace, knowing each small step is part of my healing journey.”
For many years, the mental events that disturbed me the most were those that questioned, “Am I doing this right or wrong? Am I achieving anything beneficial, or am I just wasting my time?” But today, these doubts had no effect. I simply said, “Not this, not this,” recognizing them as just mental events arising. This mantra is bringing me a freedom from years of anxiety and self-doubt. It’s a significant release. How can I nurture and deepen this newfound freedom in my meditation?
Dear friend,
What a significant and liberating insight you have encountered! For many years, those persistent questions—”Am I doing this right?” “Am I wasting my time?”—have cast a shadow over your practice, pulling you into a cycle of doubt and anxiety. And yet, in this round, you have discovered a simple and profound truth: these doubts are nothing more than mental events, no different from any other thoughts that arise in the mind.
Doubt, particularly the kind that questions whether we are on the right path, can be one of the most insidious obstacles in our practice. It arises from the ego’s need for certainty and validation, from a fear of failure or the unknown. These doubts can be particularly disturbing because they strike at the very heart of our efforts, making us question whether we are moving forward or merely spinning our wheels.
But now, you have seen through the illusion. By applying the mantra “Not This, Not This” to these doubts, you have recognized them for what they are—simply thoughts, passing phenomena in the mind. They have no more substance or power than any other mental event. In meeting these doubts with “Not This, Not This,” you have taken away their sting, their ability to disturb your peace. They are no longer something to fear or wrestle with; they are just another ripple on the surface of the mind’s vast ocean.
This realization brings with it a profound freedom. No longer are you bound by the need to do things “right” or the fear of doing them “wrong.” Instead, you can rest in the simplicity of the practice, free from judgment, free from the constant questioning that once held you back. This freedom is not a small thing; it is a significant release, a letting go of years of accumulated doubt and anxiety. It is a gift that allows you to move forward with greater ease and confidence, trusting in the process without the need for constant validation.
Indeed, this is a significant moment in your journey. The doubts that once plagued you have lost their power, and in their place, you have found a deeper sense of peace and self-acceptance. This is the true power of the mantra “Not This, Not This”—it transforms not just your meditation, but your entire relationship with yourself. It frees you from the chains of doubt and allows you to walk your path with a lighter heart and a clearer mind.
My dear friend, this is a beautiful and important step on your journey. Continue with this practice, allowing the mantra to guide you ever deeper into the heart of stillness and clarity. Trust in yourself, and know that you are moving in the right direction, free from the burdens of doubt and self-judgment.
During my recent practice, something new occurred. Instead of feeling disturbed by the usual mental events, memories, and thoughts, I found myself experiencing a sense of amusement and relaxation as they arose and passed away. It was as if I could observe the busyness of my mind with a lighthearted detachment, seeing these thoughts as just part of the mind’s activity. Is this sense of amusement a positive development in my practice, or is it just another mental event to be noticed and let go?
Dear friend,
What a beautiful shift you have experienced in your practice! The transition from feeling disturbed by the mind’s activities to watching them with a sense of amusement is indeed a significant one, and it speaks to the deepening of your understanding and awareness.
You have touched upon a subtle but profound truth: that the mind, in its busyness, is simply doing what it has always done—arising and passing away, presenting thoughts, memories, and experiences. And now, rather than being entangled in these mental events, you observe them with a light heart, a sense of amusement. This amusement is not trivial; it is a reflection of your growing detachment, your ability to see the mind’s activities for what they are—transient phenomena that do not define you.
This sense of relaxation that accompanies the amusement is a sign of your deepening practice. No longer do you resist or try to control the flow of thoughts. Instead, you allow them to arise and pass away, knowing that they are but fleeting ripples on the surface of a much deeper stillness. This relaxation is the fruit of your perseverance, a gentle release that allows you to rest more fully in the present moment.
While it is true that amusement is itself a mental event, it is one that points toward equanimity—a state of balance where the mind’s activities are met with calm and openness, rather than resistance or attachment. This is a significant step on your journey, as it reflects a mind that is beginning to find peace amidst the fluctuations of thought and feeling. You are learning to greet whatever arises not with annoyance or disturbance, but with a kind of playful acceptance.
Indeed, dear friend, this experience is a step in the right direction. It shows that your practice is maturing, leading you to a place where the mind’s busyness no longer holds the same sway over you. You are learning to watch the mind with a sense of lightness, knowing that its activities are not a reflection of your true self, but simply the passing clouds of thought that move across the sky of your awareness.
Continue with this practice, allowing the amusement and relaxation to guide you further into the stillness that lies beneath all mental activity. Trust in the process, and know that you are moving ever closer to the peace and clarity that are your true nature.
How does coordinating the Neti Neti mantra with the breath—such as repeating it during the inhale, pause, exhale, and pause—enhance the practice and contribute to deeper relaxation and mindfulness?
Dear friend,
It is a delight to hear of your latest insight, where you have begun to coordinate the mantra with the breath. This practice, so simple and yet so profound, brings together the rhythms of the body and the mind in a harmonious dance, guiding you ever deeper into the stillness that lies at the heart of all being.
When you synchronize the mantra “Not This, Not This” with your breath, you are creating a unified rhythm that anchors you in the present moment. The mind, which so often wanders, finds a steady focus in the regularity of the breath, and this focus is reinforced by the repetition of the mantra. Each inhale, each pause, each exhale becomes a part of the sacred cycle, a cycle that quiets the mind and brings it into alignment with the natural flow of life.
The pattern you have described—three repetitions of the mantra on the inhale, three on the pause, three on the exhale, and three on the pause—establishes a gentle, balanced rhythm. This regulation of the breath not only deepens your relaxation but also enhances your ability to remain present. The breath, in its quiet regularity, becomes a soothing presence, guiding you back to the center each time the mind begins to drift.
In this practice, concentration becomes almost effortless. The mind, drawn into the rhythm of the breath and the mantra, finds a natural focus. The distractions that once seemed so persistent begin to fade, replaced by a calm, steady awareness. This concentration is not forced but arises naturally from the coordination of breath and mantra, leading you deeper into the silence and stillness that are your true nature.
As you continue with this practice, you may find that your awareness expands to include both the body and the mind. The breath, as it flows in and out, becomes a bridge between the two, creating a sense of wholeness and integration. In this state, the mind is no longer separate from the body but is experienced as part of the larger rhythm of existence. This integration brings a deep sense of presence, a presence that is both peaceful and powerful.
My dear friend, this practice you have discovered is a beautiful and effective way to deepen your meditation. Continue with it, allowing the breath and the mantra to guide you ever deeper into the stillness that lies within. Trust in the rhythm of the breath, and let the mantra carry you beyond the thoughts and distractions of the mind, into the infinite peace of your true self.
How Mindful Observation of Emotions Brings Inner Peace and Clarity
Dear Diary,
I write to you today, not with answers, but with the tenderness that comes from watching the sky change, hour by hour, and wondering what it all means. Have you noticed, as I have, how emotions can rise like a storm? Sometimes, they begin softly—like a gray mist that hangs just above the earth—and at other times, they roll in like thunderclouds, filling the horizon. It is so tempting, in these moments, to reach out, to try and push them away, or to brace ourselves for the deluge we think must come. But what if, instead, we learned to be still?
I have come to realize that our emotions are not permanent; they are travelers, passing through. And though they demand our attention, we are not them. We are not the sadness or the frustration, nor are we the joy that sometimes feels so fleeting. We are the sky, vast and unshakable, watching with quiet patience as each cloud forms, darkens, and eventually dissipates.
To witness without judgment is a practice, one that asks of us not resistance, but gentleness. It is in this gentleness that we find our true strength—not in control, but in allowing. We can observe the emotions without being drawn into their storm. When anger swells, or grief lingers, we remind ourselves that they are like clouds: they have shape and form, but they will pass. And we remain, unbound, beneath it all.
I share this with you because I, too, am learning. Each day, I remind myself that I am not the shifting weather, but the sky itself. And I hope, in your own moments of storm and stillness, you might find comfort in this, knowing that the vastness within you remains untouched, no matter how strong the winds may blow.
How does the mantra Neti Neti help the ego by constantly negating experiences, and how does this practice relate to moments of rig-pa or the experience of deep relaxation without a sense of self?
Dear friend,
It brings a quiet joy to hear of your continued practice with the mantra “Not This, Not This.” There is a deep wisdom in the way you have approached this mantra, almost as if you have gently given the ego a new role—one that is not about grasping or achieving, but simply letting go. By assigning the ego the task of negation, you are engaging it in a way that transforms its usual tendencies, guiding it to release its hold on whatever arises in your mind.
Imagine, if you will, the ego as a diligent worker, tirelessly trying to define and control your experience. But now, you have given it a simpler, more profound task: to say “Not This, Not This” to whatever appears before it. In doing so, the ego no longer needs to dominate or possess; instead, it becomes an instrument of release, of gentle detachment. This redirection of its energy allows you to experience a profound relaxation—a state of being that is free from the usual burdens of identification and striving.
You mentioned Rig-pa, the pure, pristine awareness described in Tibetan Buddhism. This state, as you know, is one of complete clarity and non-duality, where there is no separation between observer and observed, no “I” to claim the experience. It is true that when one is fully in Rig-pa, there is no one there to say, “I have experienced Rig-pa.” It is simply the natural state, beyond all dualistic notions of self.
Perhaps you have touched upon moments of this awareness in your practice, moments so simple and clear that they passed by without fanfare. This is often the way of such states—they do not announce themselves with grandiosity but arrive in the quiet spaces of the mind. The fact that you find this mantra particularly relaxing might suggest that you are indeed drawing nearer to this natural state, even if it is not fully apparent to the ordinary mind.
The relaxation you feel is not just a fleeting sense of comfort—it is a deep, existential ease that arises when the mind is no longer tasked with searching or solving. “Not This, Not This” allows you to set aside the need to be anything other than what you are in this moment. It is a relaxation that goes beyond the physical or mental, touching the core of your being. This is a sign that you are moving in the right direction, toward a state of pure being, where the entanglements of the ego are gently unraveled.
Continue with this mantra, my dear friend, for it seems to be guiding you beautifully on your journey. Trust in the relaxation you feel, for it is not merely a sign of peace, but a deepening into the essence of who you truly are. Whether or not you recognize moments of Rig-pa, know that you are cultivating the conditions for this awareness to arise naturally, in its own time and in its own way.
Your path is unfolding with grace, and this mantra is becoming a trusted companion, leading you ever closer to the stillness and clarity that lies at the heart of all being. Continue with gentle persistence, and allow the simplicity of “Not This, Not This” to carry you further into the depths of your own true nature.
“Having known the Self, which is awareness, there is nothing more to know. That which is, is consciousness itself. To seek it elsewhere is to wander far away.”
— Ramana Maharshi, Forty Verses on Reality
There comes a moment in each of our lives when the questions that have followed us, haunting our thoughts, cease to carry the same weight. It is as though we have been wandering through a vast wilderness, searching endlessly for something, only to realize that it has been with us all along. This, Ramana tells us, is the moment of true knowledge—the moment when we recognize the Self, and in doing so, find that there is nothing more to seek.
This knowledge is not like the knowing of facts or the gathering of worldly wisdom. It is the unveiling of the very essence of awareness, that which sees all, yet remains unseen. To touch this awareness is to come home, to realize that the search has always been for ourselves.
And how often we search elsewhere! How often we cast our gaze into the far distance, imagining that the truth lies in some distant land, or hidden in the words of another. But Ramana reminds us that to seek it elsewhere is to wander further from the source. The truth we seek does not live in far-off places; it lives in the heart of our own being, as close as breath, as present as this very moment.
Like a mirror reflecting all without judgment, true knowledge is the simple, clear awareness of what is. When we come to see that all that exists is consciousness itself, we are no longer captivated by the shadows on the wall. We see, instead, the light—the steady, unwavering light of awareness, which has been with us from the beginning.
To know the Self is to realize that there is nowhere else to go. The seeking ends, and in its place arises a quiet, unshakable peace. It is not the end of curiosity or wonder, but the end of searching outside ourselves for what can only be found within.
To know that there is nothing more to seek is not to say there is nothing more to do. In the realization that the Self has always been present, there is still the practice of abiding, of resting in the gentle awareness that is always here. It is this abiding, this quiet discipline of being, that becomes the ongoing practice.
Yes, the search has ended, but the journey of returning, over and over again, to the pristine mind continues. For in this ordinary mind—this space filled with distractions, thoughts, and the pull of the world—there is the temptation to forget, to stray from the simplicity of awareness. And so, we practice. Not as seekers anymore, but as those who have touched the truth and wish to live in its light.
The practice now is not one of effortful striving, but of allowing—of surrendering into the effortless effort, the gentle doing of non-doing. This is where the paradox lives: to rest in what is, and yet remain disciplined in that rest. It is not that there is nothing more to do, but rather that what is to be done is a continual letting go, a surrendering to the ever-present awareness that requires nothing from us but our willingness to be with it.
And so, we abide. With each breath, with each passing moment, we return—not to search, but to rest. And though the Self needs no searching, the practice of staying with it remains. In this, there is the dance of wu-wei, the graceful action of inaction, the peaceful unfolding of all that is.
Perhaps one day the effort, too, will fall away, and only the abiding will remain.
Coming Up Next: Verse 4
In the next verse, we will reflect on the nature of thought and the root of all actions. How do our thoughts shape our reality, and what lies at the core of true understanding? Join us as we continue this journey through the depths of Ramana Maharshi’s teachings.
How can the mantra Neti Neti continue to arise spontaneously throughout the day, and how might one practice it during ordinary tasks and interactions in the dualistic world
Dear friend,
As your practice deepens, it is only natural that the mantra “Neti Neti” begins to echo beyond the confines of formal meditation, weaving itself into the very fabric of your daily life. This is a beautiful and auspicious development, for the true power of this practice lies not only in moments of stillness and silence but in its capacity to transform your experience of the world in each passing moment.
Imagine, if you will, the gentle rhythm of “Neti Neti” accompanying you throughout your day. Whether you are engaged in the simplest of tasks or the most complex of interactions, this mantra can serve as a quiet, steady undercurrent, reminding you of the deeper truth that lies beneath the surface of all appearances.
As you move through the day, allow “Neti Neti” to arise naturally in your mind, especially when you find yourself caught up in the dualities of life—the push and pull of desires, the highs and lows of emotions, the ceaseless demands of the world around you. When a thought or feeling arises that seems to pull you away from your center, gently remind yourself, “Not This, Not This.” This simple act of negation is not a rejection of life, but rather an invitation to see beyond the fleeting, to touch the eternal within the everyday.
Consider the ordinary tasks that fill your day—the washing of dishes, the folding of clothes, the tending to work or errands. These moments, though seemingly mundane, are fertile ground for your practice. As you engage in these tasks, silently repeat “Neti Neti” to yourself. Notice how this mantra helps to dissolve the sense of separation between you and the task at hand. The distinction between the doer and the doing, the subject and the object, begins to fade, leaving you with a simple, clear awareness of being.
This practice brings a certain lightness to even the most routine activities, a reminder that nothing in this world can truly define or confine you. “Not This, Not This,” the mantra whispers, freeing you from the weight of identification, allowing you to move through your day with a sense of ease and grace.
And what of your interactions with others, in this dualistic world where we often find ourselves entangled in the roles we play—the parent, the partner, the friend, the colleague? Here, too, the mantra “Neti Neti” can be a guiding light.
When you feel the pull of attachment or aversion in your relationships, when you sense the stirrings of ego in your interactions, gently remind yourself, “Not This, Not This.” This does not mean withdrawing from the people you care about or disengaging from the world. On the contrary, it allows you to engage more fully, with a heart that is open and free from the constraints of egoic identifications.
In this way, you interact not from a place of separation or need, but from a place of wholeness and completeness. “Not This, Not This,” the mantra says, and in doing so, it clears the way for true connection, untainted by the projections and fears that so often cloud our relationships.
As you continue to carry “Neti Neti” with you throughout your day, you may find that the boundaries between your formal meditation and your daily life begin to blur. The mantra becomes a thread that connects all aspects of your existence, reminding you constantly of the truth that lies beyond all appearances.
There will be moments when the mantra arises spontaneously, without any effort on your part. In these moments, let it guide you back to your center, to the stillness that underlies all movement. And in the spaces between the mantra, rest in the awareness that is your true self, free from all identifications, all dualities.
Dear friend, this is the essence of living the practice—allowing the wisdom of “Not This, Not This” to permeate every aspect of your life, transforming the mundane into the sacred, the ordinary into the extraordinary. It is a journey of continual letting go, a path that leads ever deeper into the heart of your being.
May your practice bring you the peace and clarity you seek, and may you walk this path with the gentle strength and quiet joy that comes from knowing you are always, already whole.
When post-viral ME/CFS first appeared in my life over 30 years ago, it was like a sudden, uninvited guest that turned everything upside down. The plans I had carefully laid out—the career, the teaching, the travel—came to a screeching halt. My body, which once felt like a reliable vehicle for my ambitions, became a source of constant limitation.
For many people today, especially in the aftermath of COVID, the experience of long COVID or post-viral ME/CFS can feel like a similar trainwreck. The life you knew, the expectations you had, are suddenly out of reach, and you’re left grappling with a new reality—one that modern medicine often struggles to explain, let alone resolve.
I remember the early days well. The confusion, the depression, the overwhelming frustration that came with the unrelenting fatigue. In the beginning, it was hard to see any way forward. It felt like I was being asked to surrender everything I had worked for, again and again. Every time I hit a new limit, I had to lower the bar, lower it again, and lower it even further. It was a painful process of letting go, not just of my physical abilities, but of my identity and the future I had imagined for myself.
But over time, and through countless moments of surrender, I began to see that while the path I had planned was no longer possible, there was another way forward. It was a quieter path, more inward, but it was no less valuable. Writing became my outlet, my way of contributing to the world, even while living in solitude and spending much of my time in bed.
For those of you reading this who are newly facing the reality of post-viral ME/CFS, I want to acknowledge that this is not an easy journey. It’s okay if you need to take breaks, both from reading and from the mental and emotional load of processing what this diagnosis means. Be gentle with yourself, and if you find the post too long, take it in pieces, come back when you’re ready. The key is to pace yourself, in life and in reading.
Surrendering to a New Reality
One of the hardest lessons I had to learn was surrender—over and over again. Post-viral ME/CFS teaches you that you can’t control everything, no matter how hard you try. Every time I felt like I was getting close to managing the illness, there would be a setback. My energy would crash, and I’d find myself in bed for days or weeks at a time. At first, it felt like defeat. I had to give up so many aspects of life I’d taken for granted.
But over time, I realized that surrendering wasn’t about giving up. It was about accepting what is, rather than constantly struggling against it. The more I fought the reality of my illness, the more frustration I experienced. Letting go didn’t mean that I had to stop hoping or working toward better health, but it did mean that I had to stop resisting what I couldn’t change in that moment.
Surrendering, in this sense, became a way to make peace with the limits of my body, to find moments of ease even when everything else felt out of control. It was an ongoing practice, one that I still revisit, especially on difficult days.
Navigating Others’ Reactions
In addition to learning how to surrender, one of the most difficult challenges I faced early on was dealing with other people’s reactions. In those early days, many people didn’t even believe post-viral ME/CFS existed. I heard things like, “You just need to drink more coffee,” or, “Have you thought about taking naps?” Even when I was officially diagnosed as disabled by the government, my own mother thought I was just lazy and needed to be more active.
This kind of misunderstanding, disrespect, and dismissal is, unfortunately, a common experience for many who suffer from post-viral ME/CFS. Family, friends, and even doctors would question or deny my experience. I’ve heard stories of doctors telling their patients not to even talk about ME/CFS because it “doesn’t exist.” It was often treated as a garbage-pail diagnosis, or dismissed entirely.
While there is more understanding of post-viral ME/CFS today, the stigma still remains. Making peace with this aspect of the illness has been a long journey. What helped me most was cultivating compassion, not just for myself but for others. As Jesus said, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Having compassion for the people in your life who may deny or diminish your experience is a key part of finding peace.
An Evolving Perspective on Post-Viral ME/CFS
In the early days of my journey with post-viral ME/CFS, I found myself going through what felt like the stages of grief as described by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross. At times, I thought I might be dying, and I cycled through stages of anger, grief, depression, and confusion. Acceptance didn’t come quickly, and it took years of processing and reflection before I could reach that place.
One of the major steps toward acceptance came when I read How to Be Sick by Toni Bernhard. This book resonated deeply with me, and for the first time, I felt like someone truly understood what I was going through. Toni’s reflections on illness gave me a new sense of validation and self-respect, and her practical tips helped me develop a healthier way of relating to my experience. I highly recommend this book to anyone struggling with post-viral ME/CFS.
Then, during a meditation class organized by students of Sogyal Rinpoche, based on The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, I began to find deeper peace. It was around this time that I discovered a Tibetan sutra titled Transforming Suffering and Happiness onto the Path of Enlightenment. This teaching profoundly shifted my perspective once again.
As I read the sutra, I realized that my anger, frustration, and negative emotions were not only draining my energy but also exacerbating my symptoms. It became clear to me that these stressful emotions were making my condition worse, and that when I was able to relax, let go, and find inner peace, I had greater capacity and longer periods of activity without crashing—or without crashing as severely. This was an important revelation: cultivating acceptance, forgiveness, and inner peace didn’t just feel better, it actually minimized my symptoms.
Shifting Perspective: The Sutra That Changed Everything
One passage from the Tibetan sutra resonated deeply with my experience of post-viral ME/CFS:
“Whenever we are harmed by sentient beings or anything else, if we make a habit out of perceiving only the suffering, then when even the smallest problem comes up, it will cause enormous anguish in our mind.”
This teaching hit home because, for a long time, I had been focusing only on the suffering. Everything in my life had become an enemy—my body, my circumstances, even the people around me. The more I centered my awareness on the pain and limitations, the heavier everything felt. Even the smallest setback would feel unbearable.
The sutra showed me that the more we focus on suffering, the more it grows and colors everything we experience. By recognizing this, I began to understand that shifting my focus away from the suffering and toward acceptance could help me find peace. It wasn’t about denying the reality of the illness, but about no longer letting it dominate my entire perspective.
The true transformation came not only by making peace with suffering but by learning to approach both suffering and happiness with the same equanimity. I had to remind myself that when I’m unhappy, this too shall pass, and when I’m happy, this too shall pass. This reminder became a useful way to stay balanced through the ebb and flow of life—the good days and the bad days, the good months and the bad months.
Additionally, I found comfort in William Blake’s words: “He who kisses the joy as it flies lives in eternity’s sunrise.” It reminded me to appreciate the little moments of happiness, to savor them without attachment, knowing that they, too, are fleeting. This perspective helped me not to be disturbed by the constant changes and to find a sense of peace amidst it all.
Discovering a New Path: Writing as Healing
As I continued to navigate the ups and downs of post-viral ME/CFS, I eventually found a new passion that helped me stay connected to the world and give expression to my inner journey: writing. Although much of my life is spent in solitude, and my physical abilities are limited, writing has become my outlet, a way to contribute and share what I’ve learned.
Through writing, I’ve been able to explore the lessons of impermanence, forgiveness, and acceptance, not just for my own growth but as a way to offer encouragement to others walking a similar path. Chronic fatigue may limit what I can do in the physical world, but it has opened up this creative space where I can still connect, reflect, and contribute.
In this way, writing became not just a coping mechanism but a practice of karma yoga, an offering. It’s a way to kiss the joy as it flies, even amidst the challenges of chronic illness, and to embrace each moment—whether in suffering or happiness—as an opportunity for growth.
🙏🕊️🙏
“He who binds to himself a joy Does the winged life destroy; But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity’s sunrise.”
In the previous post, we explored the nature of imagination and sleep as mental events, recognizing their potential to distract us or be witnessed with clarity. Now, Patanjali takes us further into the exploration of mental events, focusing on memory and the practice of non-attachment.
1.11: Memory is the retention of mental impressions from past experiences. 1.12: Non-attachment is the practice of detaching from mental events, leading to mastery over them.
These sutras offer a profound reflection on how the mind holds onto the past and how cultivating non-attachment can free us from the grip of these mental events. Memory, while useful, can often bind us to patterns of thought that shape our perception of the present. Non-attachment becomes the key to releasing these patterns and living more fully in the pristine mind.
Memory: A Mental Event That Holds Us in the Past
Memory (smriti) is a powerful mental event that allows us to recall past experiences, feelings, and thoughts. On a practical level, memory is essential for learning and functioning in daily life. However, when we become overly attached to our memories, they can cloud our present awareness, trapping us in patterns of the past.
For example, we often replay old memories in our minds, reliving past successes, failures, or emotional moments. These memories can influence our current perception, making it difficult to see the present clearly. They create mental events that may feel real but are rooted in the past, shaping how we engage with the world around us.
Just as with imagination and sleep, memory is simply another mental event. The more we engage with it, the more it pulls us away from the present moment. However, by recognizing memory as a mental event, we can observe it without becoming attached, allowing it to arise and pass without coloring our awareness of the now.
Non-Attachment: The Key to Mastering Mental Events
Patanjali introduces the practice of non-attachment (vairagya) in Sutra 1.12 as the means by which we gain mastery over the fluctuations of the mind. Non-attachment doesn’t mean suppressing or avoiding mental events; rather, it is the practice of witnessing them without becoming identified with them.
In the case of memory, non-attachment allows us to remember the past without letting it control the present. By practicing Neti, Neti. I am the witness. I am the Seer., we remind ourselves that we are not the memory, but the one who observes it. This simple practice of non-attachment creates space between us and the mental event, freeing us from the patterns of the past.
Non-attachment is not something that happens overnight. It is cultivated through disciplined practice, returning to the awareness of the pristine mind again and again. As we grow in our ability to observe mental events without attachment, we strengthen our capacity to remain present, no matter what arises in the mind.
Bringing It Into Practice: Letting Go of Memory’s Grip
When memories arise during meditation or daily life, it’s important to acknowledge them without getting caught in their narrative. You can simply remind yourself, “Neti, Neti. I am the witness. I am the Seer.” This helps create the mental space to witness the memory and let it go without attachment.
In doing so, we train ourselves to let go of the past and stay rooted in the present. We begin to see memory as just another mental event, not as something that defines who we are or how we must respond to life. With each practice of non-attachment, we loosen the grip that memories have over us, freeing ourselves from the patterns that bind us to the past.
This practice doesn’t diminish the importance of memory but helps us place it in its proper context—as a useful tool rather than an overwhelming influence. As we continue to practice non-attachment, we experience more freedom, clarity, and presence in our everyday life.
Maintaining Discipline in Non-Attachment
The discipline of non-attachment requires patience and consistency. The mind will naturally want to hold onto memories, but each time we observe them without attachment, we take a step closer to mastery. Non-attachment isn’t about becoming indifferent; it’s about becoming fully present, without being swayed by the mental events that arise.
Through this discipline, we can cultivate a deeper awareness of the pristine mind—a state of clarity, peace, and presence that is untouched by the mind’s fluctuations. The more we practice non-attachment, the easier it becomes to witness mental events and remain centered in the Seer.
Coming Up Next:
In our next post, we will explore Sutra 1.13 and 1.14, where Patanjali explains the importance of disciplined practice in achieving mastery over the mind. We’ll reflect on how consistent effort and non-attachment work together to bring us closer to the realization of our true nature. Join me as we continue this journey toward deeper self-awareness and inner peace.
Why does the mantra Neti Neti feel more relaxing and effective compared to other mantras like “Who am I?” or “What is this?” and how does it help in negating both subject and object without stimulating a desire for answers?
Dear friend,
It brings me great joy to hear that you have found a mantra that resonates so deeply with your heart and mind. The simplicity and profound wisdom of “Not This, Not This” are indeed a balm for the soul, especially for one who has journeyed far in search of answers. In this mantra, you have discovered a path that requires no seeking, no striving—only the gentle negation of all that arises.Let me share with you some reflections that may deepen your understanding and ease your way as you continue with this practice.
In the practice of “Not This, Not This,” there is no need to engage in the endless search for answers. Unlike the questions “Who am I?” or “What is this?”—which can stir the mind into seeking—this mantra offers a different approach. It does not ask you to solve a riddle or uncover a hidden truth. Instead, it invites you to simply let go, to recognize that whatever arises—whether it appears as a thought, an emotion, or even an answer—is not the ultimate reality. By gently negating each thought or feeling, you are led beyond the confines of the mind, into a space where true peace and stillness reside.
As you continue with this practice, you may find moments of clarity where you can distinctly see both the subject and the object—the observer and the observed. This is a crucial insight, for it shows you that what you are perceiving, what you are witnessing, is still within the realm of duality. The mantra “Not This, Not This” serves as a reminder that neither the subject nor the object is the true self, the Atman. The duality that appears so real is, in fact, just another layer to be gently set aside, leading you deeper into the heart of non-dual awareness.
One of the great gifts of this mantra is the relaxation it brings. When you are no longer compelled to search for answers, the mind can rest. There is a profound release that comes from knowing that you do not need to grasp at anything—whether it be a thought, an experience, or an identity. Each time you repeat “Not This,” you are allowing yourself to let go of the burdens of the mind, to release the tension of trying to understand or control. In this letting go, you find a deep and abiding peace, a state of being where you are free from the demands of the ego and the constant chatter of the mind.
This practice is gently guiding you toward a state of non-dual awareness, where the distinctions between self and other, subject and object, begin to dissolve. As you continue with “Not This, Not This,” you may notice that the boundaries you once perceived are fading away, leaving you in a space of pure being. In this space, there is nothing to seek, nothing to achieve—only the simple, profound experience of existence itself, free from all labels, judgments, and identities. This is the true essence of Atman, the pure awareness that is your deepest self.
As you walk this path, my dear friend, know that you are not alone. The wisdom of the ages supports you, and the truth of your being is always present, waiting patiently for you to recognize it. Continue with your practice, allowing the mantra to guide you ever deeper into the heart of silence and stillness. And remember, there is no rush, no destination—only the journey, unfolding moment by moment.
May your practice bring you peace, clarity, and the deep joy of simply being.
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