Late in the night Arjuna could not sleep. He found Krishna seated near the
embers, perfectly still, his breath so quiet it barely stirred the air.
"You sit like the flame of a lamp where there is no wind," Arjuna whispered.
Krishna opened his eyes. "Sit with me, and I will tell you of the offering
that has no smoke."
Arjuna lowered himself onto the cool ground.
"You have heard of those who tame the senses," Krishna said, "and of those who
let sights and sounds pass through without grabbing them. But there are some
who go further still. They take everything the senses do and everything the
breath does — every reaching out, every breathing in and out, every restless
motion of the body and mind — and they gather it all into one place."
"Where?" asked Arjuna.
"Into a single inner fire. The fire of self-mastery — of holding the whole self
steady. One by one the noises die down. The eyes stop wandering. The breath
slows and softens until it is smooth as oil poured without a ripple. All the
scattered little fires of wanting are fed into one calm central flame."
The embers glowed faintly between them.
"But here is the wonderful part," Krishna said. "This inner fire is not a dark,
cold discipline. It is lit by knowing — by wisdom. So as the seeker offers each
restless motion into it, the fire does not shrink; it brightens. The more they
let go into it, the more clearly they see. Their stillness is not empty. It
glows."
Arjuna noticed his own breathing had slowed just from sitting near him.
"Watch a single steady lamp," Krishna said, nodding at the small flame in the
clay dish nearby. "It does not thrash about. It does not chase the moths. It
simply burns, upright and bright, and because it is steady, it lights the whole
room. The seeker who offers all his doings into the lamp of self-mastery
becomes like that. Calm at the center, clear all around."
They sat together while the flame held its small, unwavering light.
"When the inside grows that quiet," Krishna said softly, "the brightest things
can finally be seen."
