You Were Never Born, You’ll Never Die - The Gita’s Truth
Riya Kumari | Jun 23, 2025, 14:59 IST
( Image credit : Times Life Bureau, Timeslife )
So I’m sitting on my yoga mat, pretending to meditate, when my Spotify shuffle decides to drop “Let It Be” like it’s trying to send me a divine notification. And I swear, in that moment, my brain—normally a chaotic noodle soup of overthinking—goes, Wait… maybe I actually can just let it be. Flash forward two hours, one spiraling Google search, and a “What is the Bhagavad Gita actually saying though??” rabbit hole later—and here I am, drinking overpriced matcha and spiraling in the opposite direction: into ancient Sanskrit philosophy. (Plot twist, I know.)
There’s a moment in life—maybe during a heartbreak, maybe while watching someone you love disappear into memory—where the question quietly arrives: Is this all there is? And it’s in those moments, when nothing external can really comfort you, that something ancient might. The Bhagavad Gita, a text written thousands of years ago, offers one of the most quietly powerful truths ever spoken: you were never born, and you’ll never die. Not metaphorically. Not poetically. Literally. And while that sounds abstract at first, it’s not. It’s personal. It's about you. The version of you underneath the versions you present to the world. The one that watches quietly. Feels deeply. And never really goes anywhere, even when everything else does. Let’s sit with that for a bit.
1. The Soul Has No Birth Certificate
We’re used to thinking of life as a timeline. A beginning, a middle, an end. You’re born, you grow up, you mess up, you try again, and eventually, you die. That’s the story we’re sold. But the Gita gently breaks that illusion. It says the soul—the real you—isn’t born when your body is born. It doesn’t age when your face does. And it doesn’t vanish when your heartbeat stops.
It exists before, during, and after your current experience. Which means: your existence isn’t fragile. It’s not at the mercy of the world. That one idea can change how you carry your pain. You stop seeing death as final. You stop seeing loss as total. You stop living as if your life is a ticking clock and you’re running out of time to be "enough."
2. Death Is Not the Opposite of Life
We treat death like a wall—something you hit, and then it’s over. But the Gita treats it more like a doorway. A passing moment. Not the end of life, but the end of a phase. The soul, it says, moves through lives the way you move through rooms. And this idea isn’t about escapism.
It doesn’t mean you stop grieving or stop caring. It just means that you don’t have to carry fear like a second skin. You begin to live not from urgency, but from depth. If you were never going to disappear, would you still be this afraid to try? To speak your truth? To love more than feels safe?
3. You Are Not Your Thoughts, Fears, or History
There’s a quiet witness inside you. You’ve felt it, even if you didn’t name it. That part of you that sees your thoughts without becoming them. The part that notices your sadness, but isn’t destroyed by it. That’s the soul. The Gita invites us to stop identifying with everything that passes through us. The anxiety. The guilt. The past versions of ourselves that we don’t like to remember.
They’re all weather. You’re the sky. And once you realize that, something incredible happens: you stop trying to fix everything externally, and start resting in who you already are—untouched, aware, and steady.
4. Your Worth Was Never Earned, So It Can’t Be Lost
In a world that tells us our value depends on output—on being liked, followed, chosen—the Gita tells you something quietly radical: you are already whole. Already sacred. Already enough. You don’t need to prove anything to deserve peace. Or respect. Or even love.
The soul doesn’t need achievements to be worthy. It is the worth. It’s the still point beneath the doing, striving, failing, and trying. And when you live from that knowing, you stop chasing wholeness. You start living like you’ve already arrived. Which—you have. Even if it doesn’t always feel that way.
5. Remember, Not Become
The Gita isn’t about self-improvement. It’s about self-remembrance. You’re not here to become something. You’re here to remember what you already are but have forgotten in the noise. You’re not this role, this job, this heartbreak, or this body. You are something untouched by all of that. This isn't just philosophy. It’s a kind of return. A homecoming.
And once you touch that awareness, even briefly, it’s hard to forget. The world still moves, people still leave, hard days still come—but you’re no longer shaken in the same way. Because you know now: the real you is unshaken. It always was. It always will be.
CLOSING THOUGHT:
You were never born. You’ll never die. You are not here to last. You are here to witness. To love. To remember. And when everything else falls away—when identities fade, and titles dissolve, and people forget your name—the soul remains. Quiet. Steady. Unbroken. Maybe that’s what we came here to learn. Or maybe… just to remember.
1. The Soul Has No Birth Certificate
Universe
( Image credit : Pexels )
We’re used to thinking of life as a timeline. A beginning, a middle, an end. You’re born, you grow up, you mess up, you try again, and eventually, you die. That’s the story we’re sold. But the Gita gently breaks that illusion. It says the soul—the real you—isn’t born when your body is born. It doesn’t age when your face does. And it doesn’t vanish when your heartbeat stops.
It exists before, during, and after your current experience. Which means: your existence isn’t fragile. It’s not at the mercy of the world. That one idea can change how you carry your pain. You stop seeing death as final. You stop seeing loss as total. You stop living as if your life is a ticking clock and you’re running out of time to be "enough."
2. Death Is Not the Opposite of Life
Life
( Image credit : Pexels )
We treat death like a wall—something you hit, and then it’s over. But the Gita treats it more like a doorway. A passing moment. Not the end of life, but the end of a phase. The soul, it says, moves through lives the way you move through rooms. And this idea isn’t about escapism.
It doesn’t mean you stop grieving or stop caring. It just means that you don’t have to carry fear like a second skin. You begin to live not from urgency, but from depth. If you were never going to disappear, would you still be this afraid to try? To speak your truth? To love more than feels safe?
3. You Are Not Your Thoughts, Fears, or History
Stress
( Image credit : Pexels )
There’s a quiet witness inside you. You’ve felt it, even if you didn’t name it. That part of you that sees your thoughts without becoming them. The part that notices your sadness, but isn’t destroyed by it. That’s the soul. The Gita invites us to stop identifying with everything that passes through us. The anxiety. The guilt. The past versions of ourselves that we don’t like to remember.
They’re all weather. You’re the sky. And once you realize that, something incredible happens: you stop trying to fix everything externally, and start resting in who you already are—untouched, aware, and steady.
4. Your Worth Was Never Earned, So It Can’t Be Lost
Meditation
( Image credit : Pexels )
In a world that tells us our value depends on output—on being liked, followed, chosen—the Gita tells you something quietly radical: you are already whole. Already sacred. Already enough. You don’t need to prove anything to deserve peace. Or respect. Or even love.
The soul doesn’t need achievements to be worthy. It is the worth. It’s the still point beneath the doing, striving, failing, and trying. And when you live from that knowing, you stop chasing wholeness. You start living like you’ve already arrived. Which—you have. Even if it doesn’t always feel that way.
5. Remember, Not Become
Memory
( Image credit : Pexels )
The Gita isn’t about self-improvement. It’s about self-remembrance. You’re not here to become something. You’re here to remember what you already are but have forgotten in the noise. You’re not this role, this job, this heartbreak, or this body. You are something untouched by all of that. This isn't just philosophy. It’s a kind of return. A homecoming.
And once you touch that awareness, even briefly, it’s hard to forget. The world still moves, people still leave, hard days still come—but you’re no longer shaken in the same way. Because you know now: the real you is unshaken. It always was. It always will be.