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When we give willingly from our own share — out of free will and without any compulsion — it expands our heart. The satisfaction we feel is far greater than what we would have experienced by consuming it ourselves. There is something magical in such giving. But when giving is forced or done under pressure, it leaves us feeling deprived rather than fulfilled. True giving must flow from the heart, without any expectation of return. Only then does it uphold both the need and the dignity of the receiver. Our own heart tells us whether our giving was selfish, compelled, or truly willful. A willful act of giving brings immediate joy — it carries no pain. When a sense of oneness, born of love for all, fills our heart, we begin to see that the opportunity to give from our share is far greater than the temptation to keep it for ourselves.

1. It reflects the strength shown by Dietrich Bonhoeffer in the face of imminent death, and I can relate to it — recognizing moments when I’ve shown courage, as well as times when I’ve faltered under questioning. 2. I’ve arrived at the answer to this question many times before, but never with the calm awareness that Dietrich had. My usual response has been one of anger toward my own bondage, which only drains me before my death. If death is certain, why exhaust myself struggling against compulsions? In doing so, I lose my connection with God when confronted with difficult or awkward situations. 3. A calm and detached mind helps me transcend my ego.

I have often felt that truth is dishonored and dismissed by those who do not recognize it. This has happened to me many times, especially when I shared the truth without first staying with it, reflecting on it, and letting it settle within me—being in a hurry to pass it forward. When truth is shared indiscriminately, it is bound to reach someone unworthy, who not only fails to recognize its value but also questions my conviction. And since I had not fully digested that truth myself, such questioning left me confused. However, when I go deeper into that truth and make it truly my own, I no longer fear criticism and can maintain my resolve. Most of the time, though, I struggle to remain steadfast, as I lack the sadhana required to fully internalize the truth.

To me, "prayer without ceasing" means a continuous prayer that flows 24/7, in rhythm with one's breath. I believe such a state is truly possible through complete surrender to God—many saints and sages have reached this state of unbroken communion. --- Yes, I can recall a couple of such moments when prayer didn't arise from any spiritual discipline but from a deep and wholehearted surrender to God. These experiences made me realize the true power of prayer—that it cannot be activated merely by willpower. Such prayer arises from surrender, not from effort. At the same time, I also understand that if one builds a steady practice of prayer day and night, over time, one may remain in that prayerful state always. --- In my experience, good actions help purify the heart, but they do not necessarily lead one into prayer. However, true prayer always leads to good action. I have never experienced a reversal of this logic—prayer has always been the source from which right action flows. --- Applying a "human standard to the divine" means trying to understand, evaluate, or measure God using the framework of human logic, emotions, values, and limitations. Our standards are shaped by time, space, reason, and emotional responses. But the Divine, in most spiritual traditions, transcends all of these—existing beyond time, beyond change, and beyond the bounds of human understanding.

It’s a moment of synchronicity that I was searching for this Rilke quote just half an hour ago, and now I’ve found the complete context—especially the second-to-last paragraph, which holds the key to why we should have patience: "If you trust in Nature, in the small Things that hardly anyone sees and that can so suddenly become huge, immeasurable; if you have this love for what is humble and try very simply, as someone who serves, to win the confidence of what seems poor: then everything will become easier for you, more coherent and somehow more reconciling, not in your conscious mind perhaps, which stays behind, astonished, but in your innermost awareness, awakeness, and knowledge..."

A chickpea is born, and it attains salvation only when it becomes soft enough to be a morsel inside a mouth. It burns in the fire of the mystic chef—our own soul—and this fire is fueled by our actions. The fulfillment of our lives lies in salvation, which comes when our ego is burned away in this transformative fire. Our soul will not leave us hard; it will keep the fire burning until we are truly ready for liberation. I willingly chose the path of service, where my ego faced hard blows—something that would have been impossible otherwise. This journey has cooked me to a great extent, though I cannot claim it is complete. The moment I declare myself fully cooked, the chickpea that is 'me' hardens once again. When our ego is exposed to challenges and hardships, it softens in the process. But when we protect our ego and refuse to step out of our comfort zone, it only grows harder.

Truth is all-pervasive and ever-expanding. Forms and formulations are limiting forces; they can never confine truth. At best, they serve as hints, guides, or pointing fingers toward it. Last year, the weight of work pressure shattered my imaginary world, and in that breaking, I experienced expressions emerging from the vastness of truth. It was neither my natural reaction nor my innate strength. Instead, it felt like an echo of this vastness, revealing something beyond my usual sense of self. I resist being identified with any ism or bound by rites and rituals. While such identification may seem to offer security, resisting it makes me vulnerable. Yet, if I remain strong and aware—without being overwhelmed by this vulnerability—it fuels my search for truth, keeping me alive in its pursuit.