Living in the Lightest Way Possible

Some years ago, Milan Kundera, a Czech writer of enormous talent, took up his pen to contemplate in The Unbearable Lightness of Being the notion of whether life should be viewed as "light" or "heavy." I have often wondered since reading that book long ago which was ultimately truest of our short lives here on earth. Are our lives heavy, weighted down by sorrow and distress? Or, are our lives and all our perceived difficulties merely manifestations of what we create in our own minds and therefore lighter than air?

For my part, I tend to see life as being light. We are but players in a large drama not entirely of our own invention. We are a reflection of something higher but our access to the dimension from which we came is limited. Hence, I understand why the Buddha's philosophy of living in each moment fully and finding joy in our very temporary natures is so beautiful.

The more my life goes on, the more I understand that finding our freedom and our lightness are the keys to finding joy and lasting peace. With the practice of Bhakti Yoga, I have found such a method of taking life itself far less seriously and of applying a light touch to all that I encounter.

Bhakti yoga is the yoga of devotion and love. In the spirit of Bhakti practice, I devote my heart to the things which cannot be made heavy by all the sorrows and stresses of this world. The world of love within my own heart is large enough to convert all my weighty concerns into light gossamer.

When the world seems too much for us, we need to pause and go deep within to find the calm waters of our minds where by refusing to allow the clamor of the world to take up space, we open ourself to true bliss and freedom.

The world is too much with us

by William Wordsworth

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.