Dashak 17 · Samāsa 6

Rāmdās opens this samāsa noting that the embodied self experiences pleasure and pain throughout life, then departs the body suddenly at death — setting up an inquiry into the true nature of this 'ātmā' bound to the body.

Remember that pleasure and pain in the body are temporary states passing through you, not your permanent identity — hold them a little more lightly.

In youth, bodily strength brings enjoyment; in old age, weakness brings suffering — the body-bound self is entirely at the mercy of this changing physical condition.

Do not build your sense of well-being solely on physical vigor, since it inevitably declines — cultivate something in you that does not depend on youth's strength.

Even as the body becomes crippled with age and great hardship sets in, the desperate wish 'let me not die' persists — showing how deeply attachment to embodied life clings on, regardless of the suffering it entails.

Notice how fear of an ending can make you cling even to a painful situation — examine that clinging honestly rather than being ruled by it.

The partnership of body and self yields some pleasure along the way, but ends, invariably, in writhing distress at the moment of death.

Weigh the brief pleasures of bodily life honestly against its guaranteed painful ending, and let that perspective season how hard you chase fleeting comforts.

This ātmā bound to embodiment causes suffering all around — some creatures even take others' lives — and in the end nothing of it endures; Rāmdās is building the case that this suffering, embodied 'self' cannot be the true, untouched Self.

Recognize how much harm flows from people acting purely out of body-bound self-interest, and choose not to add to that harm yourself.

People mistake this brief, sorrow-ridden condition of embodied existence for the eternal Parabrahma; but where is the settled peace (samādhāna) in a life that writhes in sorrow, where any enjoyed pleasure is immediately followed by pain? This is Rāmdās's core argument: what suffers this way cannot be Brahma itself.

When something brings you pleasure quickly followed by pain, question whether you have mistaken a passing state for something more permanent or true.

Recall one's life from birth onward and everything becomes clear — the pattern of accumulated suffering is plain to see; there is no need to tally every sorrow individually once the overall pattern is understood.

Instead of dwelling on each individual hardship, step back and look at the whole arc of your life to see the pattern at work.

Bound to this embodied 'ātmā,' every creature without exception ends up pitiable, having accumulated manifold sorrows through the association.

Extend compassion freely to others — everyone is struggling with the same underlying condition, whatever their outward circumstances.

Life is a mixture of joy and grief bound together from birth — a constant tug-of-war between opposing forces, with no fixed resting point.

Expect life's ups and downs to alternate; do not be shaken when contentment gives way to difficulty — it is the ordinary rhythm, not a personal failure.

Even the ordinary business of sleeping is disturbed by small pests, forcing endless small strategies just to get through the night — a homely illustration of how constant petty struggle is woven into embodied life.

Notice how much daily energy goes into small nuisances and defensive maneuvers; do not mistake managing these irritations for actually living well.

Even eating is besieged by flies, and stored food is stolen by mice, who are in turn hunted and shamed by cats — the natural world runs on an unbroken chain of small predations and losses.

Accept that some friction and small loss in daily life — interruptions, minor setbacks — is simply part of the terrain, not a personal insult.

The list of small biting, irritating creatures continues, each causing mutual distress — a further illustration of how thoroughly embodied existence is beset by friction on every side.

When minor irritations pile up, recognize them for what they are — ordinary friction of embodied life, not a special burden singling you out.

Even among larger creatures — predator and prey, and pointedly, person against person — no pair anywhere in creation lives in mutual, contented peace; conflict runs through the entire animal and human world.

Do not expect any relationship or setting to be free of friction; work at peace deliberately rather than assuming it will simply occur on its own.

Across the traditional count of 8.4 million forms of life, one form feeds on another without end — the sheer scale of suffering built into embodied existence is too vast to enumerate.

Let the scale of ordinary suffering in the world temper any sense that your own difficulties are uniquely unfair — struggle is the near-universal condition.

All this mutual destruction among the countless creatures crowding the earth is attributed here to the workings of the embodied inner self (antarātmā) — again distinguishing this suffering, active 'self' from the untouched Parabrahma.

When conflict arises around you, trace it to the anxious, self-protective instincts of the embodied mind rather than treating it as an unavoidable given.

Creatures cry and struggle their whole lives and finally die in anguish — yet foolish people call this very suffering-bound condition 'Parabrahma.' Rāmdās is pointedly correcting a sloppy equation of ordinary embodied suffering with the ultimate reality.

Do not dignify ordinary suffering or dysfunction with grand language that excuses or mystifies it — call it what it is and address it directly.

Having shown what suffering-bound existence is not, Rāmdās now states what Parabrahma actually is: imperishable, incapable of causing anyone sorrow, and utterly beyond both praise and blame.

When you seek a stable ground for your identity, look toward what in you does not rise and fall with praise, blame, or circumstance.

Every insult anyone hurls actually lands on the embodied inner self (antarātmā), not on Parabrahma — and careful examination confirms this is verifiably (pratyaya) true, not mere theory.

When someone insults you, notice that it strikes your identity and reputation, not some untouchable core — you can let it land there without it defining your worth.

Rāmdās lists crude, common insults people hurl at one another to make the previous point vivid — such abuse, however coarse, still only touches the embodied self, never Parabrahma.

When you are the target of crude insults, remember they are aimed at a role or reputation, not at your deepest reality — do not let them wound more than they should.

None of this abuse or conflict actually touches Parabrahma — imaginative constructs simply cannot function there, and no one genuinely accepts 'conflict' as a description of the ultimate reality once it is examined clearly.

Separate the story you tell about a conflict from the underlying reality — much of the pain in disputes comes from the narrative layered on top, not the bare facts.

Since not every creature in creation can possess equal prosperity, Rāmdās says rank and station were established from the start — inequality of outward condition is built into the created order itself.

Accept that people around you will have unequal circumstances by the nature of how the world works, rather than treating every disparity as a personal grievance.

In the marketplace of life, goods of every kind circulate and sell, but only the fortunate manage to obtain the best of them — a further image of the unevenness built into worldly life.

Recognize that outcomes in worldly pursuits depend partly on fortune, not effort alone — do not judge yourself or others solely by results.

This same principle of uneven allotment applies across the board — food and clothing, worship, and even the pursuit of ultimate knowledge (brahma-jñāna) are each received according to what a given person is capable of attaining.

Meet your own spiritual or material progress where it actually stands rather than measuring yourself against someone else's different capacity or starting point.

Some people manage to make ordinary life (saṁsāra) sweet, and even great rulers enjoy splendor — but such abundance is simply unavailable to the poor and unfortunate, underscoring again life's built-in inequality.

Guard against envy of others' visible prosperity — recognize how much of it rests on circumstance rather than merit, and focus on what is within your own reach.

Whatever inequality marks life along the way, at the end various sorrows make everyone equal; all the pleasure enjoyed earlier ends in an unbearable pain that spares no one.

Let the certainty of a shared, difficult ending temper any pride in present advantage or despair over present hardship — the final reckoning treats everyone alike.

The suffering of dying is severe precisely because life clings and does not easily leave the body — this death-agony brings distress to ordinary people generally.

Prepare yourself inwardly for the difficulty of life's final passage rather than assuming it will be easy or something to think about later.

As the body's faculties fail one by one near death, the person must continue living through that decline regardless, and ultimately departs in distress.

Show patience and care toward those in physical decline near the end of life — their distress is a real and near-universal part of the human condition.

Beauty fades away entirely, and whatever strength the body still keeps is finally spent; in the end one dies amid various calamities, at times with no one present.

Do not wait until physical decline to build the relationships and inner resources you will need — invest in what will still support you when strength and looks are gone.

The pitiful dejection of death's approach is the same for everyone regardless of station — this fickle, characterless (avalakṣaṇa) nature of embodied existence inevitably brings sorrow.

Let the universality of this difficulty foster humility and solidarity with others, rather than a sense of being uniquely burdened.

People glibly claim to be simultaneously 'the enjoyer' and 'the non-enjoyer' — a philosophical-sounding but hollow claim; Rāmdās calls this out as empty talk from those who have not actually seen the truth for themselves.

Be suspicious of your own clever-sounding statements about detachment if they are not backed by real inner verification — do not let a phrase substitute for genuine understanding.

The samāsa closes reiterating that the hour of death is genuinely hard — the body clings and will not easily release life — leaving even the fortunate reduced, in that moment, to the same helpless, beggar-like condition.

Approach the subject of death honestly and without denial; use that honesty to clarify what truly matters while you still have time.