If I live life as it comes, what harm is there? I simply become a witness to the story unfolding — not forcing events by my will, but watching what is intended by God or by fate.
You could call it surrender, or acceptance of God’s will — as taught in Hinduism and many other philosophies. Why struggle to be someone you're not? Why not take joy in who you already are?
That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t work towards better health, fitness, or knowledge. But maybe we can let go of endless desires, and simply enjoy what life offers. Wouldn’t that be beautiful?
But perhaps not — unless the mind is conditioned, or rather, cultured. After all, insecurity seems like a gift that came with being human. We can’t be God-like. We fear, we cling to things, we dread death. We gather possessions. We feel pride.
And yet, deep within — somewhere in the quiet corners of our mind — a part of us knows the truth. A part of our consciousness understands that in the end, we will all become one with the Earth. We are tenants here, for 80 or 90 years, before we must leave.
Is God then the landlord? Can we raise complaints to this great landlord about the discomforts of life? If He is the landlord, shouldn’t He make the stay comfortable? And so, with bowed heads and folded hands, we offer our prayers — humble requests for a peaceful stay in this temporary home.
Here’s a smoother, more evocative version of your reflection — preserving its meaning and depth:
But sometimes, this landlord asks us to vacate the house without warning. No prior notice, no time to pack. After all, it’s His property. The lease may say a hundred years, but sometimes, He takes a sudden, difficult decision. This divine landlord. And then, we die — we leave this body, this Earth, and become one with the soil.
But how can the divine be so merciless? This landlord quickly brings in new tenants — fresh souls to take our place. And where do we go then? Perhaps He upgrades our accommodation. After all, He’s a great landlord — maybe He moves the soul to a finer dwelling, a brighter realm, with a jacuzzi and a private pool. Maybe those He asks to leave early are actually the ones He favours, offering them a better home beyond this one.
Perhaps that is the mystery of the gate of Death — the passage to this next abode. Who really knows? Those we leave behind — our loved ones — mourn our absence. They continue to share the rent of life — your spouse, your children, your parents.
And yet, when you first arrived at this shelter of God, you were so vulnerable. Helpless, fragile — entirely at His mercy. And so, perhaps, you are when you leave.
To sum it all up, I arrive at this: we should simply trust the process — of life, and of death. There is one thing truly in our hands: to enjoy this stay, this brief tenancy, to our heart’s content. To savour it as much as we can, despite the stray forces that may bring obstacles along the way.
Just cherish this journey called life — for there are countless journeys still to come, so many homes yet to pass through. The soul will remain a tenant until the day it becomes one with the Supreme. Until the Supreme ends this cycle of tenancy and grants the soul its final, eternal home.
Comments
Post a Comment