I Am Letting Go

Is anything ever immune to change? Everything dies, it transforms, it transmutes, never to be the same again. Whether we like it or not, every pore of our existence and everything around us is constantly undergoing a change of some sort. Rivers carve new paths, mountains crumble, even the seemingly eternal stars are not immune to the quiet entropy of time.

Akbar once asked his courtiers, “What is the most valuable quality a human being could ever possess?” 
Some said intelligence, others said power, many said health, while a few said love.
“I have a different opinion,” said Birbal. “Flexibility is the most valuable trait, Your Majesty.”

When prodded to elaborate further, Birbal posited, “If you have flexibility you will handle change with hope and courage. And, if you have hope and courage, you will have the resilience to handle any change.”

I suppose, circumstances are changing here too and we are not going to step into the same river twice. Not because the river has changed but because we have. To which Sartre might add, “And if they do step into the same river, it’s probably because they’ve given up on finding the bridge.”

I have not given up on finding or building the bridge but I have waded through the same river more than five hundred times in the last fourteen years. The river of consciousness. For fourteen years, I’ve taken my philosophical bucket to this river, scooping out reflections on every topic I could think of. Five hundred and twenty articles later, I feel I’ve carried enough water to irrigate any parched mind. But now, (particularly after writing my latest book), I find myself questioning: Why continue stepping into this river at all?

All these years, I have determinedly wrestled with words, trying my best to ensure that you would find it worthwhile each time you donate seven minutes of your attention to reading what I have written. It is not a surprise, therefore, that I feel I must no longer show up for the sake of it but when I have something truly meaningful to say. How many times and in how many different ways can I say, after all, that be compassionate, have empathy and discover your own truth? 520 ways, it turns out. 

Week after week for several years, then fortnight after fortnight, and month after month since Nov 2023, I summoned the inspiration (and motivation) to write on os.me. All this in addition to my workload including, but not limited to writing books and delivering talks at the ashram. I find myself at the crossroads now—not of weariness, but of reflection. Do I have something original—something worthwhile—to say to you every month? Maybe yes, but probably not.

Not to mention, the muse, once a steady companion, now visits less predictably. She wants vanity, she craves originality. She demands heart, space, and undivided attention. Her whispers of wisdom come gliding on winds I don’t command. I, on the other hand, am a simple sadhu in a complex world. The only thing I know is to work hard and mind my own business. Besides, I do not wish to bite into your time at the expense of repeating myself. 

I have, therefore, decided to set myself (and you) free from the tyranny of the calendar. 

Going forward, I will be writing when inspiration strikes, when a thought insists on being born, when life’s riddles tickle my attention. In other words, I will write when I truly have something to say. I feel surrendering a rigid schedule in favor of authenticity is a no-brainer. 

Henceforth, I am not sure how often I’ll write but you will get an email notification every time I do and I will be happy to remind you on Wildr too.

Even for a moment, please don’t think that I am bidding farewell to writing here on os.me. That moment isn’t due yet. I am simply committing to scribble without a set schedule. Rather than a rendezvous, my subsequent posts will be more like an unexpected knock on the door. It may arrive at odd hours, bearing strange ideas, or, empty handed altogether, but it will hopefully be worth your time. I may end up writing more frequently, or less often, I am unsure at this stage. Either way let’s go with the flow, shall we?

There will be silence, yes, but also songs. There will be pauses, but they too are part of the symphony. And perhaps, in the spaces between the notes, we will find something even richer—a reminder that life is most adventurous when it is unplanned.

Because life, after all, is not a march but a waltz.

Wish you a great 2025!

Peace.
Swami