Gita Says, Pain Is the Soul’s Way of Saying: I Remember Love
Riya Kumari | Oct 07, 2025, 15:30 IST
Krishna Gita
( Image credit : AI )
One evening, as I sat quietly in the fading light, I noticed how a memory, long thought buried, rose unbidden into my mind. A face, a hurt, a betrayal, a joy, an echo of a promise. Why do such memories linger so stubbornly? Why do some experiences, even decades later, refuse to loosen their grip?
We all carry them. Those memories that crawl back into your chest when you least expect them. The ones that make you blink and hold your breath, that twist a simple day into a labyrinth of longing, regret, or pain. Some memories feel like they were never yours to forget. They stay, not because they are strong, but because somewhere, deep inside, you keep feeding them with attention, with hurt, with the silent whispers of “why me?” The Gita offers a strange comfort here, not by denying the pain, but by showing why it is, why it persists, and how you might find yourself standing beside it without drowning.
The mind is a field, and every thought, every experience, plants a seed. Some bloom into joy, others into sorrow. Some memories are weeds that choke the heart because you water them without realizing it. You go over them in your head. You replay the scene. You analyze, you blame, you long. Each repetition strengthens their roots. The Gita tells us, quietly and without judgment, that attachment is born from this repetition. You think of something over and over, and it latches on. Desire is born. When desire is frustrated, anger follows. When anger takes hold, confusion arrives. And in that confusion, you lose sight of who you are beyond the memory.
Some memories stay because they are tied to a part of you that has not yet healed, not yet let go. They linger because they hold lessons you refuse to acknowledge, because they hold emotions you cannot yet face.
Here is where the Gita’s most radical truth comes in: you are not the memory. You are the one who sees it. You are the witness. And the witness is free. You have felt it, the power of a memory to shake you, to make you small. But the power is never in the memory itself. It is in your identification with it. You say, “This is who I am. This is my pain.” And so it grows. But when you can stand back, even for a moment, and say, “This is a thought. This is a feeling. It is not me,” the memory shifts. It may still be there, but its hold loosens.
Even the most tortured soul can practice this. Even the poet who has been shattered into a thousand fragments can breathe, and let the fragments exist without bleeding into his blood.
People think that liberation from memory means erasing it. It does not. The Gita asks us to transform our relationship with it. To see it without clutching. To allow it to exist without letting it define our heartbeat, our breath, our decisions. A memory of betrayal, heartbreak, or loss can stay, but it need not poison the present. You can hold it lightly, offer it to the Divine, to the universe, to whatever name you give to love and mercy. Surrender it. Not because it disappears, but because your soul refuses to be a hostage to it.
Memories are teachers. They are shadows that point toward unhealed corners. And if you pay attention, if you breathe with them instead of against them, they become a doorway — a doorway into self-understanding, compassion, and freedom.
Pause: When the memory rises, do not run. Stand in its presence. Watch it.
When Memories Are Not Enemies
Some memories will always linger, because they are a part of your journey, because the world shaped you through them, because the soul remembers what the mind sometimes cannot. The task is not to obliterate them, but to see them clearly. To know them. To let them teach you, without letting them define you.
You are more than your memories. You are the light that watches them. And the Gita reminds us that even in our deepest pain, there is a way to stand, quietly, intact, and witness life without fear. Some memories will always be with you. And in the same breath, you will always be free.
Memories Are Not Just Memories
Some memories stay because they are tied to a part of you that has not yet healed, not yet let go. They linger because they hold lessons you refuse to acknowledge, because they hold emotions you cannot yet face.
Witness the Pain Without Becoming It
Even the most tortured soul can practice this. Even the poet who has been shattered into a thousand fragments can breathe, and let the fragments exist without bleeding into his blood.
Letting Go Doesn’t Mean Forgetting
Memories are teachers. They are shadows that point toward unhealed corners. And if you pay attention, if you breathe with them instead of against them, they become a doorway — a doorway into self-understanding, compassion, and freedom.
The Practice of Freedom
- Do Not Feed It: Resist replaying it, analyzing it, or speaking it endlessly. Observation alone weakens its chains.
- Offer and Surrender: In quiet, say to the Divine, the universe, or your own heart: “This is yours now.” Let it go.
- Anchor in Presence: Return to your breath, to the quiet that is always there beneath the storm.
- Repeat with Patience: This is not an instant cure. It is a gradual transformation of the heart.
When Memories Are Not Enemies
You are more than your memories. You are the light that watches them. And the Gita reminds us that even in our deepest pain, there is a way to stand, quietly, intact, and witness life without fear. Some memories will always be with you. And in the same breath, you will always be free.