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Chapter 8 · Verse 8
🪈 Krishna speaks
Illustration for Chapter 8, Verse 8

अभ्यासयोगयुक्तेन चेतसा नान्यगामिना। परमं पुरुषं दिव्यं याति पार्थानुचिन्तयन्॥

abhyāsayogayuktena cetasā nānyagāminā | paramaṁ puruṣaṁ divyaṁ yāti pārthānucintayan ||

Word by Word 13 words
अभ्यास
abhi toward, repeatedly as to throw, to apply

practice, repeated effort

योग
yuj to join, to yoke

disciplined union, yoga

युक्तेन
yuj to join, to yoke

joined with, trained by

चेतसा
cit to be conscious, to think

with the mind, by the awareness

न
na not

not

अन्य
anya other

to another, elsewhere

गामिना
gam to go

going, wandering

परमम्
para highest, supreme

supreme, highest

पुरुषम्
puruṣa the Person, the Spirit

the Person, the divine Spirit

दिव्यम्
div to shine, the heavens

divine, shining, heavenly

याति
yā to go, to reach

reaches, goes to

पार्थ
pṛthā Pritha, Arjuna's mother

O son of Pritha — a name for Arjuna

अनुचिन्तयन्
anu along, continually cint to think, to ponder

continually meditating, dwelling on

explains how the remembering becomes strong: "With a mind trained by steady practice — a mind that no longer keeps wandering off to other things — and by thinking on Him again and again, a person reaches the supreme, shining divine Person." A mind is like a young horse. Left alone it runs everywhere. But trained patiently, day after day, it learns to run straight to one place.

कथा

The Arrow That Forgot to Wander

From the Mahabharata / yogic tradition

Long ago, in a hermitage at the foot of the snow-mountains, there lived a young man named Suketu who wanted, more than anything, to keep his mind on God. But his mind would not stay.

He would sit to meditate, and within three breaths he was thinking about breakfast. He would picture the shining One in his heart, and suddenly he was remembering a quarrel from two summers ago. His mind was like a sparrow in a room with many windows — it flew to one, then another, then another, never settling.

He went to the old teacher of the hermitage, a with eyes like still water. "My mind will not obey me," Suketu complained. "It runs everywhere. How will I ever reach the Divine if I cannot hold one thought for even a minute?"

The teacher took him to where the young men practised archery. A boy was shooting at a wooden target far across the field. His first arrow flew wide into the trees. His second landed in the grass. His tenth grazed the target's edge. But he kept shooting, every dawn, every dusk.

"Come back in a year," said the teacher.

Suketu came back in a year. The same boy was shooting. Now every arrow flew straight to the centre, one after another, as if the target pulled them in. The boy was not even frowning with effort. His arms simply knew the way.

"His arrows once wandered like your mind," said the teacher. "What changed? Not magic. Only this — abhyasa. Practice. Again and again and again, the same loosing of the same arrow, until the wandering wore away and only the straight path was left. Your mind is no different. Sit again tomorrow. And the day after. And a thousand days after that. Each time it flies to a window, bring it gently back. One day you will find it no longer flies away at all. It will go straight to the Shining One, the way that boy's arrow goes straight to the heart of the target."

Suketu bowed. He went back to his seat under the deodar tree. His mind flew to a window. He brought it back. It flew again. He brought it back. And somewhere far ahead, a year, a decade away, an arrow was already learning to fly straight.

चिन्तनम्

Think of something you got better at by doing it over and over — riding a bike, a dance step, a tune on an instrument. How could the same patient practice help your mind grow calm?