Look Within
When sorrow struck his mighty heart,
And made his bow and will depart,
Arjuna stood in battle’s haze,
With teary eyes and clouded gaze.
He spoke of love, of kin and peace,
Of how all war and wrath should cease.
His words were noble, deep, profound—
Yet feet of truth must touch the ground.
Lord Krishna smiled, then sternly spoke,
A jolt that through illusion broke.
No soothing words, no soft embrace,
But truth delivered face to face.
“O warrior, where’s this grief from born?
Is death so strange it makes you mourn?
These bodies fall, the soul lives on,
Like dusk must yield to rising dawn.”
It seemed unkind, a harsh rebuke,
A friend turned guide, now strict and stoic.
But deeper still, the lesson lay—
To turn his sight the inward way.
For when we search the world outside,
Our inner voice we tend to hide.
We seek in crowds what dwells alone—
The whisper of our truest tone.
Arjuna’s thoughts, though draped in gold,
Were not yet pure, were not yet bold.
To truly serve, to stand upright,
He had to kindle inner light.
And so the jolt, the sacred sting,
Unwrapped the layers, let truth ring.
No longer lost in veils of pride,
He asked, “What duty must abide?”
No more of fate or world or kin,
But one true quest—to look within.
To see the Self, and cast off fear,
And let the voice of Dharma steer.
Thus Nature teaches, firm yet kind,
With trials that shake, to wake the mind.
When plans collapse and paths seem dim,
They push us to return to Him.
Surrender, yes, but not in haste—
First know your Self, your fear, your waste.
Then offer up your heart so wide,
And let the Lord Himself decide.
So when you’re struck with doubt or storm,
And life no longer fits its form—
Don’t run to find a cure outside,
But look within, where truths abide.
In life, we often expect divine wisdom to arrive in gentle whispers—words of comfort, soft reassurances, and peaceful clarity. But in the Bhagavad Gita, one of the most sacred dialogues between man and God, Krishna does something very different.
He begins with a shock.
कुतस्त्वा कश्मलमिदं विषमे समुपस्थितम्।
अनार्यजुष्टमस्वर्ग्यमकीर्तिकरमर्जुन॥२-२॥
क्लैब्यं मा स्म गमः पार्थ नैतत्त्वय्युपपद्यते।
क्षुद्रं हृदयदौर्बल्यं त्यक्त्वोत्तिष्ठ परन्तप ॥ २-३॥
कार्पण्यदोषोपहतस्वभावः, पृच्छामि त्वां धर्मसम्मूढचेताः।
यच्छ्रेयः स्यान्निश्चितं ब्रूहि तन्मे, शिष्यस्तेऽहं शाधि मां त्वां प्रपन्नम् ॥ २-७॥
In the second chapter of the Bhagavad Gita, a significant shift takes place. The scene is dramatic—Arjuna, the great warrior and noble prince, stands in the midst of the battlefield, trembling with emotion. His mind is clouded by grief, compassion, and fear. Before him stand friends, teachers, and relatives—people he loves and respects—lined up as enemies. Overwhelmed, he lowers his bow and declares that he will not fight.
One might expect Lord Krishna to console him, to soothe his aching heart with gentle words. But Krishna doesn’t do that. Instead, he shocks him.
The Divine Jolt
Krishna begins his response not with empathy, but with a rebuke. He mocks Arjuna’s weakness and calls his grief unworthy of a warrior. He essentially tells him: “There is nothing like birth and death. What is there to grieve?”
This may seem harsh. After all, Arjuna’s emotions stem from a place of compassion, a desire to avoid bloodshed and uphold familial bonds. Krishna knew this. He knew Arjuna’s mind inside out. He recognized the nobility in his intentions. But Krishna also saw deeper—he saw that Arjuna was looking outward instead of inward. He was lost in the fog of appearances, caught in a tangle of external identities and moral arguments.
And so, Krishna chose a shocker—a wake-up call designed to shake Arjuna out of this trance and force him to look within.
Why the Shock?
When everything is going according to plan, our mind remains extroverted. We focus on the world outside us—events, people, situations. But when things fall apart, when life confronts us with a challenge we cannot ignore, we’re forced to stop. To reflect. To turn inward.
This is exactly what happened to Arjuna. He began with high-sounding arguments about non-violence, sacrifice, and dharma. But beneath those layers were unresolved fears, attachments, and confusion about his own purpose. He needed clarity—not just about the war, but about himself.
Krishna’s words jolted him into that space of self-inquiry.
The Habit of Looking Outside
This moment in the Gita is a mirror to our own lives. How often do we look to others to understand ourselves? We turn to friends, therapists, social media, books—even spiritual teachers—to tell us what we feel, who we are, and what we should do. This isn't wrong, but it becomes problematic when it replaces self-reflection.
The Gita reminds us that real transformation starts only when we begin looking within. The root of our problems often lies not in the world, but in our own mind—in our attachments, assumptions, and fears.
Nature, the Supreme Teacher
If we don’t make time to look within voluntarily, life has its own ways of compelling us. It throws challenges, failures, heartbreaks, and shocks our way—not to punish, but to awaken. These shocks are divine nudges. They break the momentum of our outward-looking tendencies and turn us back toward ourselves.
In Arjuna’s case, the battlefield was that shock. For us, it may be a health scare, a loss, a betrayal, or simply a deep sense of restlessness. Each of these moments is an invitation to pause and examine: What am I truly feeling? Why am I reacting this way? What is the root of this suffering?
From Confusion to Clarity
After Krishna’s initial shock, Arjuna undergoes a subtle transformation. He doesn’t fight back. He doesn’t run. Instead, he looks within—and asks the right question:
“What is my duty here?”
That question is humble. It’s no longer about grand ideologies or avoiding guilt. It’s grounded. It’s real. And it opens the doorway to true guidance.
When Arjuna surrendered—not in weakness, but in awareness—he was finally ready to receive.
Surrender, But Not Without Effort
Many people talk about surrendering to God. But surrender is not abdication. It's not about avoiding responsibility or expecting a miracle to solve our problems. Before surrender, comes introspection. Before grace, comes effort.
Krishna didn’t fight Arjuna’s battle for him. He helped him see clearly. But Arjuna had to fight.
In the same way, divine help is always available. But first, we must take the inward journey. We must see ourselves with clarity, understand the root of our confusion, and bring forth the right question. Then—and only then—does divine wisdom flow in.
The Inner Battlefield
Every one of us is an Arjuna at some point—standing on the battlefield of life, frozen by doubt, overwhelmed by emotion, unsure of the path forward. In those moments, we don’t need more opinions or noise. We need to look within.
We must ask ourselves not “Why is this happening to me?” but “What must I learn from this?”
Not “How can I escape this?” but “What is my true role here?”
In the silence that follows, we may just hear the voice of Krishna—clear, steady, and transformative.
We Expect Others to Understand Us — But Do We Understand Ourselves?
One of the most subtle yet pervasive patterns in human behavior is this: we yearn to be understood. We long for someone—friend, partner, parent, mentor, even God—to fully grasp what we’re going through. We hope they will interpret our silences, decode our frustrations, and heal the wounds we often haven’t dared to touch ourselves.
This expectation—that someone outside of us should understand us better than we understand ourselves—is not only unrealistic, but also deeply disempowering.
When we face a problem, instead of turning inward to explore our feelings, beliefs, and triggers, we often look outward for a solution. We talk to people, seek validation, blame circumstances, or wait for someone to rescue us. And while seeking support isn’t wrong, depending solely on others to resolve what we haven't yet taken the time to understand within ourselves, becomes the root of much suffering.
We say:
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“They don’t get me.”
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“No one understands what I’m going through.”
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“I wish someone could just tell me what to do.”
But the deeper question is:
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Have I taken the time to understand what I’m going through?
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Have I sat with my pain without judging it?
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Have I been honest with myself about what I feel, what I fear, what I desire?
Most of us haven’t. And that’s the real issue.
The Root of the Problem Lies Within
This tendency to look outside for understanding and solutions creates a dangerous loop:
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We avoid introspection.
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We project our confusion onto others.
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We get upset when they don’t meet our unspoken expectations.
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We feel even more misunderstood and stuck.
And so the cycle continues.
The Bhagavad Gita offers a radical shift in perspective. It teaches that the path to clarity, peace, and strength lies not in being understood by others, but in deeply understanding oneself. When Arjuna turned inward, he didn’t ask Krishna to fix the war for him. He asked, “What is my duty here?” That change in approach—from blaming to owning, from reacting to reflecting—was the turning point.
The Gift of Inner Clarity
When we make the effort to understand ourselves—our fears, patterns, conditioning, and values—we stop expecting the world to carry the burden of our clarity. We take responsibility for our inner world. And ironically, that’s when understanding from others begins to flow more freely—because we’re no longer desperate for it.
People are drawn to those who are rooted in themselves. Why? Because they don’t drain others with emotional chaos. They communicate with clarity. They seek support, not rescue. They stand in their own space.
Understanding Begins With You
Next time you feel misunderstood or overwhelmed by a problem, try pausing and asking:
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What am I really feeling?
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What is the story I’m telling myself about this situation?
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What do I expect others to do for me—and why?
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Have I tried to understand myself before expecting others to?
Because when you begin to look within, with honesty and courage, you’ll find that you already hold the seeds of every answer you seek outside. And from that space, true surrender and divine guidance become not just possible—but inevitable.
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