Vritti's - The Currents of the Mind

In keeping with the last few months of Sutras, I decided to write a story with Vritti’s in mind ( or fluctuations ), so as to better grasp the meaning of them…

The Currents of the Mind

In the small, sun-baked town cradled by hills and stretched under an endless sky, there lived a man named Caleb. The land was as harsh as his thoughts, a relentless reminder of the vrittis that spun within him. His days were filled with the labor of a farmer, hands rough from the soil, body weathered by the seasons. But it was the internal toil, the unseen whirlwinds of his mind, that marked his true struggle.

The town was a place of resilience, the people molded by sun and wind, their lives etched with lines of struggle and survival. Caleb's existence was simple on the surface, but beneath lay a tumult, a dance with the vrittis – the mind's disturbances that the old sages spoke of. These vrittis, they whispered, were the barriers to true understanding, the unseen currents that shaped the soul.

Caleb's mind was often ensnared by Pramana, the truth he sought in the shifting clouds, the patterns of the seasons, the worn pages of the books by his bedside. Truth was a distant mountain shrouded in mist, a puzzle he could not piece together. It eluded him, leaving him restless, always questioning, always on the brink of understanding yet never quite there.

There was Viparyaya, the misconception, that gnawed at his heart. Memories of a love once golden-haired and laughter-filled haunted him. The woman, who once brought light to his days, was now a ghost of bitterness, her memory twisted by time, a specter in the quiet of the night.

Vikalpa, the imagination, offered both refuge and torment. Caleb dreamed of bountiful harvests, of a life filled with joy and ease. Yet these dreams were fragile, like the mirages on the horizon, tantalizing but unattainable. They were his solace and his sorrow, the hopes that lifted him and the realities that brought him low.

Nidra, the sleep, provided a temporary escape. As the day's toil ended, Caleb would collapse on his cot, surrendering to the darkness. Sleep was a brief sanctuary, a respite from the ceaseless churn of his thoughts. But even in dreams, the vrittis found him, weaving their way into his subconscious, their whispers turning into the language of symbols and shadows.

And there was Smriti, the memory. The past clung to Caleb like a second skin, a tapestry of joy and pain. He remembered the smell of his mother's bread, the firm grip of his father's hand. These memories anchored him in a world ever-changing, a mosaic of moments that defined his being.

Caleb’s life was a dance with these vrittis, a constant struggle to find peace amid the chaos. He was a man shaped by the land, the sun, the wind, and the currents of his own mind. As he stood in his fields, watching the sun sink beneath the horizon, a moment of clarity washed over him. The vrittis were not enemies, but companions on his journey. They were the currents that sculpted his soul, that carried him forward, that made him who he was.

In that quiet twilight, Caleb found acceptance. The vrittis would always swirl, always shift like the patterns in the sky. But he could learn to navigate them, to find his way through the storm. In this understanding, he discovered a deeper truth: peace was not the absence of the vrittis, but the embrace and understanding of them.

So Caleb continued, a farmer of the land and of his mind, finding solace in the knowledge that the currents would always lead him home. The vrittis, like the land he tilled, were a part of him, and in their embrace, he found his place in the vast, unfolding story of life.

Hari Om Tat Sat