Chitta – When God Becomes Your Slave | Sadhguru #shorts

Religion. Religion was meant to facilitate man’s inborn curiosity and discovery of God. Different men with different capacities find God via different avenues, thus One God with many names.

“Ever think about meeting a famous person in history? Play ball with Babe Ruth? Wage war with Ghengis Khan? Peace with Ghandhi? It turns out you touch greatness every day because of something you could call extreme recycling.” It turns out that this extreme recycling refers to the atoms that we breathe, travel all around the world, and connect us intimately with every one else.

I pray. I believe that there’s an energy somewhere that created and sustains the universe. I can’t say this Energy is a man or woman or tree, because it would have to be everything – to define it would be to limit it.

But man is stubborn – he tells himself (herself) that any little thing that happens in the world is a result of his own ignorance, and being an idealist/perfectionist he bangs into walls trying to control every event. But he cannot. And his worry over these troubles creates over 90% of his problems. He dwells on past mistakes which have no relevance anymore. He dwells in future events which may or may not occur.

I stared at his face; the fire etched deep shadows into his searching eyes, hammered his cheeks, danced on his swollen lips. Under its spell his skull jumped, appeared to be shifting angles quickly. Yet he was silent, disturbed by the day’s journey to Bethany.

I was with her today. She had been unconscious for days, wrapped tightly in blankets like a newborn so her arms clutched her chest; she would die probably without regaining any sense of life. Yet today, for a moment, she raised her sallow face, the crevasses cut deep and angular by years and current malnourishment; her eyes slit to let the painful light of earth ease in for just one more second, and she saw me.

And that life-force which animates their once vibrant bodies had left them, leapt into a newer, different shell after these paintings, a shell with different amenities to express itself – Soul Jumping. Or better – a universal woman possessing all women to give fullest expression; those bodies rot, the entity replaces them. It doesn’t leave earth – the spirit possesses earth – and so animates the earth as the wind or child, expressing its nature in everything that can move; an energy that possesses the earth and us. We human shells only really understand the human possession. Trees probably know the life in trees.

Yet within a few hundred years Christianity, whose initial message was inclusion even for outcasts, without judgment, has become anything but that. And Jesus, if we are to believe the circumstances of two millennia, has accorded more death than any other human in earth’s history; and more people have been persecuted IN HIS NAME than ever died from early martyrdom. So the name “Jesus”, and all that even the most conscientious Christians have made it, fills my heart with remorse. I, and I’m sure the purveyor Joshua of the original message, would HATE what it has become.

I was just a boy in a semi-literate Jewish household filled with kindness. Being the eldest son I was responsible for the family, and the family trade, when my father died. As a boy, though, I spent a lot of time wrestling with my brothers and defending my younger sisters. My mother, as any mother with a large brood, sometime let her frustration spill through her exceptionally gentle nature, and when Joseph returned home we all received our due in turn. But we adored mother’s tenacity and caring; raising seven children (with father, a tekton, traveling most of the time) could not have been easy.

When I was a child the Mother God – in the form of Mary of Nazareth – would infuse me with comfort only when I promised to dedicate my life to her, and to someday do her will. There was always an important matter and message I was to carry to the world. Forty years later, after seeing all the corruption done in God’s name, and all the suffering endured by God’s Children here on earth at the hands of their own spiritual brothers and sisters, I must speak for Mother God; or let her use my voice. I pray that her message will be pure, and unadulterated by my own mortal hatred for so many.

Now, although I will need some of the Father aspect of God, I’ve spent too long ignoring all the beauty that a Mother God can bring to me. She nurtures the world. She has given us our own mothers as examples of unconditional love and forgiveness (mothers visit their sons even in jails). She is truly God the Lover. We long for her when we are lost, as a child, in a department store, or as we search for the great love of our lives.

Now I sat and wondered how this frail, soft-spoken women could ever manage these rambunctious kids, let alone the many more who funneled through that door on a weekly basis. She began to explain, with barely a whisper, that “God had asked her to do so, that it was her blessing in life…STOP PLAYING WITH THE DOOR!” she bellowed suddenly toward the kids, stunning all of us in mid-sentence. “Get over here and sit down!”