Skip to main content

"The Paradox of Peace: How Clinging to Joy and Resisting Pain Fuels Inner Turmoil"

 


Realize this, my friend: Life unfolds along two tracks—pleasure and pain, joy and sorrow, gain and loss—like a train bound for nowhere and everywhere at once. We ride these rails, often unaware that both are essential to the journey. A train cannot run on a single rail, just as a river cannot flow with only one bank."

We all long for happiness and resist suffering—but have we ever stopped to ask why we experience both? Why can’t life be only joy? The answer isn’t a punishment; it’s an invitation. Life isn’t cruel; it’s wise. It uses both pleasure and pain as tools to awaken us. 

After all, without contrast, how could we truly appreciate either? Imagine being happy all the time—would it even feel like happiness anymore, or just monotony?

Perhaps, just perhaps, this world we experience with our five senses—this Maya—is not what it seems. It is a grand illusion of opposites, a divine mirage shimmering with pleasure and pain, not to trap you but to wake you. The universe speaks in rhythm, in balance. Every rise calls forth a fall. Every light casts a shadow. But why?

Because the soul, lost in appearances, must be shaken awake.

Suffering is not your enemy—it is your teacher. Happiness, too, is not your reward—it is your lure. Both serve the same master: "AWARENESS."  When you suffer enough, exhaust yourself in the chase for lasting pleasure, and your heart breaks open too many times, a quiet question arises: Is there more to this than the game of pleasure and pain?

And in that sacred moment, the illusion begins to crack.

"You come to understand that grasping tightly to happiness invites suffering, just as rejecting sorrow gives rise to fear—both born from resistance to what is."

 The more you grip one, the more the other grips you. But there is a space beyond them. A silence between the beats. A stillness behind the swing of the pendulum.

That stillness is you.

Not the "you" with a name, a story, and a timeline. But the deeper self—the witnessing presence behind every experience. The seer of your joy, the knower of your sorrow. That which remains when all else shifts. That which was never born and never suffers.

To awaken is not to escape the world but to see through it. It is essential to realize that the opposites are not to be favored or feared but understood. Life's seeming cruelty is compassion in disguise—it pushes you until you stop running, exhausting you until you let go.

"And in letting go, you don’t fall into nothingness—you fall into your very being. A bliss that knows no opposite. Peace is unshaken by circumstance. A joy without a cause, arising simply from being, being "not through grasping or avoiding, but by resting in your true nature—limitless, whole, and aware."

Only one who has suffered deeply can ask the right questions. Only one who dares to look behind the curtain of appearances can see Maya for what it is: a beautiful illusion designed to lead you back to Truth.

So walk gently, my friend, and wake gradually. Watch the opposites, but do not be ruled by them. Instead, let them guide you—not outward, but inward. The one who awakens sees not pleasure or pain but the sacred dance of both… choreographed by an eternal love.

Visit nycfitliving.com to begin your journey toward a deeper understanding and to cultivate genuine happiness and well-being through fitness, mindfulness, and stress management.




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

"The Two Vehicles: A Tale of Metal and Flesh."

Welcome, dear traveler. For a moment, let us reflect upon two vessels— Two chariots entrusted with the great privilege of carrying you through time. One is forged of steel and oil, shaped by tools and human hands: Your car—that loyal machine humming down the highways of the world. The other... is far more mysterious. It is sculpted by breath and blood, memory and movement. It is your body—your first vehicle, crafted not in factories, but in the sacred womb of creation. It carries not luggage, but consciousness. Not cargo, but your very being. Now tell me, friend: Would you dare drive a car for decades without tending to it? Skipping oil changes? Ignoring the soft rattle before it roars? Running it hard, never pausing for rest or repair? Of course not. You know better. Because neglect leads to breakdown. Not right away, perhaps—but one day, on some quiet road, It will stall, leave you stranded, and no rescue may arrive. And yet— How many individuals treat their bodies with less care...

The Changeless Within Change"

Welcome, friends. Today, a whisper from the heart of the universe... A mystery. A paradox. Two forces—seemingly opposed—yet inseparable: Change… and the Unchanging. Everything moves—everything transforms  Light and shadow, birth and death, thoughts and time. The world spins. Seasons turn. But something… holds. Spring bursts...  Summer thrives...  Autumn lets go...  Winter rests... The cycle remains. A river flows. You step in once—then again. The water’s new…  But it's still the river. Still the current. Still the path that carries it all. Forms appear...  Dissolve... Mountains crumble...  Stars die... But space remains— silent…  still…  eternal. You think.  You feel.  You change. But something within you doesn’t. There is a silent witness— Unmoved... Unchanging... Undisturbed...  Timeless... All that changes… Changes within what never does. And in that stillness… That’s where your true nature lives.

Riding the Storm: How a Sailor's Struggle Became His Greatest Strength"

  Once upon a time, if such a time existed. In a quaint coastal village lived a sailor named Finn, whose heart belonged to the sea, especially when the calm waters and the sun graced the horizon.  Life felt easy then—each day a smooth sail, each moment filled with laughter and light.  But Finn knew the tides were fickle, and stormy weather was always just over the horizon. One fateful day, dark clouds gathered, and the winds howled. Finn felt the ship lurch beneath him as the storm crashed upon him. Panic gripped his heart as waves threatened to pull him under.  At that moment, he remembered a lesson learned long ago: when the waters grew rough, it wasn’t a plea for the calm he needed but a prayer for strength. “Lord,” he whispered into the tempest, “don’t just make my life easier—make me stronger and wiser.” He gripped the wheel and focused on navigating the furious currents instead of succumbing to despair. The waves were relentless, tossing his vessel like a toy, ...