There comes a moment in life when the walls begin to close in. It may happen slowly, like a creeping fog, or all at once, like a dam breaking. The job that once seemed like a necessity now feels like a weight strapped to your chest. The paycheck comes, but with it, exhaustion, resentment, and a dull, aching emptiness. You tell yourself it’s practical. You tell yourself you’re being responsible. But deep down, you know the truth: you are trading your life force for security, and the exchange is making you sick.
Hindu philosophy has long spoken of such dilemmas—not in terms of corporate jobs and bank accounts, but in the language of dharma and karma, the forces that weave together our existence. Dharma is our sacred duty, the path meant for our soul’s highest evolution. To ignore one’s dharma is to live out of alignment, and when we do this for too long, suffering sets in. The Bhagavad Gita tells us, “It is better to live your own destiny imperfectly than to live an imitation of someone else’s life with perfection.” Yet, so many of us choose the imitation. Why? Because of fear.
There is a story in Hindu tradition of a disciple who followed his guru into the mountains, leaving behind his home and possessions. He owned only a loincloth, which he washed in the river every day. One morning, he found that a rat had chewed a hole in it. So, he got a second loincloth. But soon, he realized he needed a way to store them, so he found a small bag. Then he thought, what if the bag gets stolen? Better to have a hut. But a hut attracts pests, so he needed a cat. And to feed the cat, he needed milk, which meant acquiring a cow. Soon, he was running a small farm, all because he was afraid of being without a loincloth. The guru returned and laughed, saying, “I left you with one cloth, and now you have built a whole life around fear.”
This is what we do. We accumulate, not out of joy, but out of fear of loss. We stay in jobs that deplete us, not because we love them, but because we are afraid of what happens if we leave. But what if faith were stronger than fear? What if we could trust that something better was waiting on the other side?
The human body is wise. It does not tolerate a life unlived. It will send whispers first—fatigue that lingers, headaches that come and go, a vague sadness. Ignore these, and it will speak louder. Anxiety, insomnia, digestive issues. Ignore those, and it will scream. High blood pressure, chronic pain, disease. In Ayurveda, the sister science of yoga, illness is seen as an energetic imbalance, often rooted in unresolved emotions. A person who suppresses their truth, who forces themselves into a life they despise, will eventually manifest illness. The body keeps records of our suffering, even when the mind pretends not to notice.
In the Upanishads, the ancient texts of Hindu wisdom, there is a verse that says, “You are what your deep, driving desire is. As your desire is, so is your will. As your will is, so is your deed. As your deed is, so is your destiny.” If your deep, driving desire is to live freely, to create, to heal, to serve, but your will is shackled to fear, your destiny will reflect that misalignment. But if you summon the courage to trust—to step into the unknown despite the trembling in your bones—you alter the course of your fate.
Leaps of faith are not easy. The mind will resist. It will list all the reasons to stay put. You need the benefits. You need the retirement plan. You’ve already invested so much time. But ask yourself: what is the cost of staying? What is the price of a life unlived?
Faith, in the Hindu sense, is not blind optimism. It is not reckless abandon. It is the belief that the universe operates under a divine order—one that rewards those who align with their truth. Krishna tells Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita, “Abandon all attachment to the results of action and attain peace.” This is the heart of the leap. You step forward not because you are guaranteed success, but because you trust that success is not the goal—freedom is.
To leap is to declare that your spirit matters more than your fear. That your life is not a ledger of risks avoided, but a testament to the courage it takes to choose joy. It is not easy, but neither is staying in a life that is eroding you. The moment you decide, truly decide, the universe shifts. The right people appear. The right doors open. The path that was once hidden reveals itself.
And so, the question remains: will you let fear keep you in a life that is making you sick? Or will you leap, trusting that the net—woven from the threads of your own faith—will catch you?
Hari Om Tat Sat
Thank you for this.