There was a time when remembrance felt like a practice.
A prayer. A mantra. A meditation. A deliberate effort to bring attention back to the Divine.
Now I see it differently.
Remembrance is not about remembering God. It is about forgetting everything that makes us believe we are separate from Him.
At first, the practice happens in moments. A few minutes of meditation. A quiet walk. A fleeting glimpse of stillness between thoughts.
Then something begins to change.
The distance between those moments becomes smaller.
The witness appears more often.
One starts noticing that thoughts are being observed. Emotions are being observed. Success is being observed. Failure is being observed. Even the body itself is being observed.
What is observing all this?
Not the body.
Not the mind.
Not the intellect.
Something prior to all of them.
Something that remains untouched.
The witness.
As the practice deepens, one spends more time there.
Not as a concept, but as a lived reality.
Life continues exactly as before. Work happens. Decisions happen. Conversations happen. Success happens. Challenges happen.
Yet something fundamental has shifted.
The centre of gravity is no longer located in the personality.
Actions continue, but ownership slowly disappears.
The work gets done, but there is less of “I am doing.”
Achievements arrive, but there is less of “I achieved.”
Difficulties come, but there is less of “Why is this happening to me?”
Life begins to flow with surprising ease.
Not because circumstances become perfect.
But because attachment becomes weaker.
And this detachment is often misunderstood.
Detachment is not indifference.
It is not withdrawal.
It is not a lack of passion.
In fact, it allows deeper participation in life.
One can work wholeheartedly because the outcome no longer defines one’s identity.
One can love fully because possession is absent.
One can give completely because there is no accounting.
One can fail gracefully because nothing essential has been lost.
A remarkable side effect emerges.
The mind becomes quieter.
The body becomes relaxed.
The language becomes gentler.
Arguments lose their attraction.
The need to prove oneself weakens.
Expectations soften.
Space appears.
And in that space, something beautiful happens.
People feel accepted.
They feel seen.
They feel safe.
Relationships become easier.
Collaboration becomes natural.
Life becomes less about control and more about allowance.
Ironically, this spiritual journey often carries material consequences.
Not because abundance is being pursued.
But because resistance is dissolving.
A person who is not fighting life often moves with life.
A person who is not consumed by fear sees opportunities more clearly.
A person who is at peace creates peace around them.
Success, when it comes, feels less like an achievement and more like a by-product.
Not something acquired.
Something allowed.
Yet even this is not the destination.
The deepest longing remains unchanged.
To remember.
To remember so completely that forgetting becomes impossible.
To remember not only in meditation but in conversation.
Not only in temples but in meetings.
Not only in silence but amidst activity.
Not only during joy but in uncertainty.
Not only while living but while dying.
Many traditions speak about the final moment.
The last breath.
They remind us that what occupies the mind then is shaped by what occupied the mind now.
One cannot suddenly remember the Divine at death after spending a lifetime remembering everything else.
The final remembrance is prepared through countless ordinary moments.
A life of remembrance culminates in a death of remembrance.
And perhaps beyond death too.
For what is there to lose when the one who was remembering has disappeared?
As the seeker deepens, another discovery unfolds.
The goal was never to remember God as something separate.
The goal was to discover that the one remembering and the One remembered were never two.
The river finally recognises the ocean it has always belonged to.
The wave recognises that it was water all along.
The witness realises it has never been apart from the witnessed.
And then remembrance becomes natural.
Effortless.
Continuous.
Like breathing.
Or perhaps even deeper than breathing.
For breath comes and goes.
This presence remains.
What I feel today is not accomplishment.
It is gratitude.
Gratitude for what I have been given.
Gratitude for what I have become.
Gratitude for what I am still learning.
But most of all, gratitude for Being itself.
This body, this mind, this brief human lifeābeautiful as they areāfeel like a temporary opportunity to experience the wonder of creation.
A finite expression of an infinite reality.
A passing form within the formless.
The journey continues.
The practice deepens.
The remembrance grows.
And the prayer remains simple:
May I remember so completely that forgetting becomes impossible.
May remembrance remain through every breath, every action, every joy, every challenge.
May it remain at the moment of death.
May it remain beyond death.
Until there is no one left to remember, and only That remains.