The Bhagavad Gita is one of the world’s most revered scriptures. It is a powerful guide to handling life with a calm mind and a clear intellect, especially during times of stress, change, or emotional upheaval.

Unlike any other scripture, the Gita opens on a battlefield.

Arjuna, a master archer and the greatest warrior of his time, stands ready for battle. For thirteen years, he and his brothers have prepared for war. The kingdom they once ruled was usurped by their cousin, and they were exiled.

But just before the battle begins, Arjuna asks Krishna, his charioteer and friend, to place the chariot between the two armies so he can see who he must face.

What he sees undoes him.

Across the field are not enemies, but his own cousins, teachers, elders, and friends. His composure collapses. His bow slips from his hands. His body trembles — and he refuses to fight.

Witnessing Arjuna’s agitation, Krishna remains silent. He knows there is no point in speaking when someone is emotionally unhinged. Krishna doesn’t say a word until Arjuna surrenders to Him for guidance in Chapter II, Verse 7.

Arjuna’s breakdown is not unique. It’s human.

We remain composed while life is in our favour. But when it turns — when plans fall apart, when relationships fail, when there’s loss or uncertainty of any kind — our composure goes with it.

We forget to pause. We react and take things personally. We become overwhelmed, confused, and unable to act with clarity.

This is where the Gita becomes invaluable as a guide to daily living with calm, clarity, and composure.

What is Unflappability?

Being unflappable is the highest art of living.

It’s the ability to witness your mind and the world with love and attention, without getting emotionally entangled.

Most people do the opposite. They get involved with the hope of satisfaction, only to lose themselves and whatever peace they had.

By practising the art of observation — of standing back and witnessing life and your mind, you remain calm and composed, whatever is happening around you.

Also, with an understanding that everything in life is temporary, you remain completely unflappable.

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There’s a story about an old philosopher who saw the world as a play. To him, the world was an illusion, and everyone was just playing their various roles. When someone conversed with him, he would listen and always reply in the same way: "Is that so?”

Whether he was being criticised or praised, he bowed and replied, "Is that so?”

One day, the townsfolk accused him of wrongdoing. He simply said, "Is that so?”

They later discovered that they were mistaken and begged for his forgiveness.

He simply replied, "Is that so?”

For him, there was nothing to forgive because nothing had happened. He was gracious, full of love for the townsfolk, yet completely unaffected by the affairs of the world.

Final Contemplation

If we can learn to step back and view the world objectively, as an actor on the stage, we will become calm, composed and content — completely unflappable.

An actor doesn’t get involved in what’s happening on the stage. He knows he is just playing a role. For example, Hugh Jackman. He knows that he is Hugh Jackman at one time playing Wolverine, another time playing The Boy from Oz, and another time playing The Greatest Showman.

He plays his roles to perfection, but never loses himself in the role. Similarly, look at your life as a play. Never lose yourself. Play your roles as a husband/wife, a mother/father, a daughter/son, a sportsperson, etc, to the best of your ability. This approach to life will enable you to remain calm and composed.

Then step off the stage — totally unaffected, peaceful and free.

My writing is my gift to you. If you enjoyed reading this, please like, comment and share — and if you have the capacity to offer a little support, kindly become a patron.

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Thank you.

Till next time, 
Be well, 
Meredith ♾️ The Elder Sage

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This body will be 62 in July ‘26. Over the last six decades, there is one thing I know to be true: life is impermanent. It’s constantly changing.

Just look at what the world was like fifty years ago. It was very different from what it is today. The forties, fifties, and sixties, right up to now — each decade has been different. Every year, month, week and day, the world changes.

You have changed… I have changed… everything has changed.

The person you were yesterday is not the person you are today. The you who went to sleep last night is not the you who woke up this morning. You might have been thinking one way last night, but now, after a good night’s sleep, you’re thinking just the opposite.

Today your life might be great... Everything is just the way you want it to be. Or things might not be the way you want them. You may have lost a friend, and you’re feeling sad. Your child might be unwell, or your partner might be angry about work, and it’s affecting your relationship.

Whatever your situation, there’s one guarantee… It will change.

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Good becomes bad and bad becomes good in an instant. That’s life. Morning becomes noon and noon becomes night. Nothing remains the same. Friends become enemies and enemies become friends. Children grow up. Profits go down.

Life is full of changes. It is passing, fleeting and ephemeral, like a river; it is never the same from one moment to the next.

The sooner we accept this fundamental truth, the sooner our lives become smoother, and our minds become balanced. Instead of jumping for joy and sinking into sorrow, we remain steady and composed amid the highs and lows of life.

Two Selves

So when it comes to turning 62, or any age, you have a choice of where you place your focus: on this ever-changing self or that changeless Self.

If you focus on the changes in your body, on what is fading, you will never find peace. You will long for what has passed and feel incomplete in what is. You will crave your lost youth and always feel dissatisfied.

Thus, you will search… outwardly. For more, better, different; hoping something will finally satisfy you. But it never does. Because what you are seeking cannot be found out there. It must be discovered within.

Seek Wisdom

Turn inward. Gain knowledge; not of the world, but of the Self. Contemplate sacred texts — and you will find that this knowledge does something extraordinary: it removes the restlessness within: the anxiety, the dissatisfaction, the sense that something is missing.

Spiritual knowledge fills you up… internally.

So, whether life rises or falls, you remain full. Complete and unruffled. Not indifferent, but detached — full of love and understanding.

So when it comes to turning sixty-two, there is very little to say. Age is just a number.
In a moment, it will be seventy. That’s simply the nature of life.

So don’t chase what’s passing. Seek what is permanent. Embrace the pursuit of wisdom. Not the fleeting knowledge of the world, but the profound understanding of the Self.

Know That. And you will find the peace, fulfilment, bliss, and contentment that has been waiting within you all along.

Until next time,
Be Well,

Meredith ♾️

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In a single second, life can turn completely upside down — and show you what you’re really made of.

It began just over a week ago, on Good Friday. My husband and I had just spent ten glorious days skiing in Corvara, Alta Badia, celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary — a long-awaited gift to ourselves. Everything felt effortless. Light. Perfect.

We were having a ball. By the end of our ten days, I had proudly skied 15 slopes (24 km) in a day. Not bad.

But then, in an instant, everything changed.

I fell.

I’d fallen before, quite spectacularly, I’ve got to say, and walked away with nothing more than bruises. But this was different.

Before I explain the fall, there’s something worth mentioning.

This was an extra day of skiing. An unplanned indulgence — like a dab of wasabi: exciting in the moment, but a second later you’re questioning why you ever thought it was a good idea.

And, as it turns out, it wasn’t a good idea. But more about that later.

Back to the fall.

The slopes were new. We were now in Plan de Gralba in Val Gardena. I’m an intermediate skier; Paul is advanced. He enjoys the steep runs, but I don’t. I prefer control and predictability — solid ground beneath my feet. Not ideal for skiing, but I’ve never been one to take too many risks. I always prefer to err on the side of caution.

From Paul’s perspective, I had improved out of sight. He had no doubt about my ability to handle the steeper slopes.

So we took the lift to the top.

Standing there, looking down, he pointed out the blue runs — the ones within my comfort zone. But to reach them, I had to traverse a short red run.

He skied ahead a few metres down the slope and waited.

“Come on,” he said. “You can do it.”

I hesitated. A subtle tightening inside — the kind you cannot afford on a ski slope.

He waited. But I could sense his impatience.

So I pushed off.

One turn. Then another.

And then I was down.

“Ouch.”

I raised my arm. “I’ve hurt my knee.”

“No, you haven’t,” I heard him say.

Yes, I have!” I yelled.

A paramedic was at my side within moments.

“Are you okay?” He said.

“No. I need help.”

Another paramedic arrived. They helped me to my feet and checked whether I could stand. My knee felt very unstable.

“I can’t ski,” I said.

So they brought a snowmobile and carried me down.

Strangely, I wasn’t in much pain. I simply enjoyed the ride. This is something I’ve learnt through Vedanta: to meet each moment as it comes and to find the good in it — even in adversity.1

So that’s what I did. I breathed in the mountain air. I spoke to the paramedics in my broken Italian. We laughed. They sympathised. They were kind, gentle, and unhurried.

Since studying Vedanta, I’ve come to see that the best and worst of life are simply experiences. They come and go. Nothing stays long enough to justify losing your balance.

Everything passes. Including this.

There’s a beautiful Sanskrit word called Titiksha, which is the capacity to endure difficulty with grace. To meet discomfort without agitation.

A beautiful quality worth cultivating.

The next thing to happen was that Paul picked up the car and drove me to the doctor. I watched the mountains pass by, still calm, still at ease.

While driving, he said, almost casually, “Don’t be alarmed, but I don’t think we’re insured for today.”

I said, “It’ll be fine. We’re with RAC. They’ll look after us.”

(We had ski insurance for ten days, not eleven.)

The doctor saw me immediately. X-rays were taken, and he explained that “My left knee was like a jelly pudding.” But to understand the full extent of the damage, I needed an MRI, which meant travelling to another clinic.

So we went.

If you’ve never had an MRI, it’s a strange experience. Fifteen minutes of absolute stillness — not even a twitch was allowed. And the noise was deafening. Mechanical and relentless. Yet, despite it all, the process was seamless.

I couldn’t help but admire the Italian system, especially the ethos of the Dolomiti Sports Clinic, which is designed specifically for ski injuries and where diagnosis and surgery occur with remarkable speed.

But the results were grim. Two cruciate ligaments were torn, and the meniscus was badly damaged. In essence, a full knee reconstruction was necessary.

I could have gone into surgery that evening, but Paul wanted to confirm the insurance coverage first. It was going to be an expensive operation.

But confirming cover proved complicated. It was Easter. In Australia, everything shuts down. Still, there was an emergency line, and Paul managed to reach someone in America. No one mentioned the dates, so it all seemed fine to proceed. Still, there was no confirmation from Australia. Which meant one thing: we would have to pay up front.

The doctors were clear — this kind of injury required immediate surgery. Waiting until we returned to Australia, despite having private healthcare, wasn’t advisable.

So on Saturday, Paul paid the €15,000 bill, and I went in for surgery.

The two-hour operation was like a comma in a sentence — barely a pause. One moment, I was there, being prepared. The next, it was over.

On Easter Sunday, I met Tao, the physiotherapist. She was from Georgia, just thirty years old, bright and full of warmth.

“I like your pants,” she said.

“They’re from India,” I replied — and just like that, a conversation began.

I told her I had lived in India for six years, and had returned many times since. She was intrigued.

“What were you doing there?”

“Studying philosophy.”

“Really? What kind?”

“Vedanta.”

For me, meeting someone genuinely interested in Vedanta is rare — and deeply satisfying. We spoke for two hours about human nature and small miracles, as we worked through the therapy.

At one point, I smiled and said, “I’m almost certain I had this accident just to meet you.”

After physio, I was allowed back to the hotel, where I continued to rest.

On Easter Monday, we had to leave and head back to Venice. But before we left, Paul got some bad news.

“They’re not paying,” he said.

RAC travel insurance had confirmed that the ski portion of our holiday was covered only until April 2nd. The accident happened on April 3rd, Good Friday.

One day.

That was all it took.

I had believed they would assist. After all, that was their job. That’s what we paid them for. Instead, we found ourselves on our own — injured, overseas, and paying for everything.

But I don’t say this to complain. The mistake was ours, and we take full responsibility. Yet, to have our claim denied and be cut off from any assistance — to have no discussion. No exception. No help was a genuine blow.

We both felt flat — for a moment. But we decided to put it behind us and keep moving forward. We had a drive ahead of us to Venice, and that required all our focus.

So we drove. Forgetting the past, not concerned about the future. Our full attention was on the road. Consequently, we enjoyed the road trip immensely.

I should mention that the emergency organisation working on behalf of RAC was exceptional. Human, responsive, and genuinely helpful. They arranged flight options for us, including upgrades so I could lie flat, and even lodged a complaint to RAC on our behalf.

Venice was another adventure. It’s a city with no cars — just vaporettos (water buses), water taxis and gondolas. You have to walk to get anywhere. This was our third visit, so it didn’t bother me that I would have to stay mostly in the hotel. I saw it as an opportunity for rehabilitation.

So, we dropped the rental car at the airport and took a water taxi into the city. I was slightly apprehensive; it meant being carefully lowered into the boat. But it was all good.

It was a beautiful day. And a fabulous way to arrive in Venice.

Finally, in the hotel room, Paul and I breathed a sigh of relief.

What an ordeal.

And yet… here we were.

In Venice.

On crutches, unable to go far — but still, incredibly happy.

The flights arranged for us were long and indirect, avoiding certain regions. But we discovered a shorter route via Dubai — Venice to Dubai, then onto Perth. With a ceasefire in place and reassurance from friends in Dubai, we felt comfortable choosing that option.

So that’s how we travelled home.

And as I sit with it all — the fall, the surgery, the cost, the uncertainty — I’m reminded of something simple.

Life is a flow of experiences. Some we welcome. Others we would never choose. And in that moment, we have a choice: to resist or to accept, to collapse or to remain steady.

We may not control what happens to us, but we do have a say in how we respond.

That is where our freedom lies.

Everything passes. The best of things and the worst. So why not meet each experience with a little grace?

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I did writing it for you. If you have any questions or anything you’d like to say, feel free to write them in the comments.

Until next time,
Be Well,

Meredith, The Elder Sage

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Many people have given up hope of ever finding happiness.

Not because happiness doesn’t exist, but because they have been searching for it in circumstances, possessions, and other people. They believe that a new relationship, a better job, more money, a larger house, or the approval of others will bring them the happiness they desire.

However, happiness isn't found on the surface of life; it's discovered in the depths of wisdom and the heights of noble thought.

The tragedy is that we have been conditioned to look outward rather than inward.

We chase experiences, accumulate possessions, and try to arrange the world in ways that comfort and satisfy us. But even when we reach our desired level of ease and satisfaction, there is always a nagging feeling of incompleteness. Something still to fulfil. And this is endless.

This is because two forces drive our lives.

1. The first is a persistent feeling of inadequacy — a subtle sense that something is missing. It isn’t loud; it simply stays in the background, quietly influencing everything we do. Even during times of great pleasure or success, it lingers. We achieve something, and for a moment, it seems enough. But soon, the emptiness returns.

2. The second is the constant desire for fulfilment — the urge to fill the void and remedy this situation. This is what drives us outward. It prompts us to seek, acquire, improve, and become. It tells us that somewhere ahead, in the next experience or the next achievement, we will finally feel complete.

Together, these two create an endless cycle: a sense of lack appears. Desire then steps in to fill it. For a moment, the mind feels satisfied. Then the lack returns. So we begin again — searching for fulfilment.

But what if there was another way? A way to find more lasting fulfilment? A way that doesn’t require us to do anything, except shift our attention?

Let’s consider the following experience.

Have you ever been absorbed in a beautiful sunset, a piece of music, or a work of art, that for a moment you forgot yourself completely?

In that instant, no one was trying to enjoy the experience. Yet strangely, that was the moment of deepest happiness.

The same principle applies to creativity and inspiration.

A writer does not produce their finest piece while thinking, “I am writing something remarkable.”

A musician does not create great music while thinking, “I am performing brilliantly.”

The work becomes alive only when the sense of “I am doing this” disappears.

There is no one trying to enjoy, achieve, or become. There is no sense of “What am I getting out of this?” There is only complete attention and presence. The writer becomes the writing. The musician becomes the music. The doer vanishes, and something greater begins to flow.

Joy. Happiness. Contentment.

When the Mind Becomes Full

Picture rain falling.

Rain falls only after the atmosphere becomes saturated with moisture. The air can hold water vapour only up to a certain point. When that point is exceeded, the clouds release their burden, and rain pours down.

Before the rain, there is often a strange stillness in the air — a sense that something is about to happen. Then suddenly the sky opens, and the rain falls.

The human mind works in a similar fashion. At first, the mind is scattered. It is filled with countless desires and distractions. In such a state, nothing remarkable happens. But when a noble thought fills the mind and drives out every other distraction, something incredible occurs.

The mind becomes still.

Suddenly, like the rain, ideas begin to emerge and expand. Incredible insights. Solutions to problems.

Don’t we say, “It struck me.”

In truth, it struck only after the (small) self stepped aside.

Sages, throughout history, have long understood this.

As long as we insist on being the enjoyer, happiness slips through our fingers. But when the ego (small self) steps aside, something extraordinary happens.

Life itself begins to flow through us. Thoughts become clear. Actions become effortless. And the subtle hum of happiness begins to emerge.

Children often reveal this truth naturally.

A child becomes completely absorbed in play, forgetting everything else. In that moment, there is no self-consciousness or concern for recognition. There is only play. That is why children can experience such spontaneous joy.

But as we grow older, we gradually become preoccupied with ourselves — with our achievements, our status, the opinions of others and our own self-importance.

The ego grows louder, and with it the restless search for happiness.

A New Way of Life

The question is: how can this level of happiness become our natural state? How can we learn to live this way — not occasionally, but consistently?

Read more

Everyone wants to be happy, yet most people seek happiness in the external world — in circumstances, possessions, and other people.

But happiness isn’t found in these things. Or if it is, it’s only temporary. The true source of happiness lies within us: in the way we think. But not just any kind of thinking. It’s thinking, not with the mind, but with the intellect.1

According to the language of ancient philosophy, Sanskrit, the faculty of thinking is called buddhi, intellect.

Unlike the mind, which rambles, reacts impulsively and later regrets, the intellect pauses, reflects, and considers the consequences before taking action.

Intellect is the forgotten, yet remarkable faculty that thinks clearly and cleverly.

It is our inner power to discern, reason, and make wise decisions.

While the mind thinks negatively and creates problems after problems, the intellect thinks positively and solves them.

It is often said that our thoughts determine the world we see. This means that if our thoughts are negative, then the world we see is negative; but if our thoughts are positive, we see a positive world.

Over a hundred years ago, philosopher William James suggested a simple fix for life’s frustrations. He said, “Choose one thought over another.” In other words, when negative thoughts come up, deliberately replace them with better ones.

Since then, psychologists and self-help educators have repeated this advice endlessly. We’re told to think positively, to swap negative thoughts with positive ones, and to develop a better attitude towards life.

There’s truth in this. Thoughts do shape our experience. A mind full of resentment and pessimism will inevitably lead to a troubled life. However, positive thinking alone is unsustainable because negative thoughts keep coming back — and sometimes even stronger than before.

The solution, therefore, lies in understanding the nature of the mind and intellect.

The Mind and Intellect

Most people assume that the mind is the organ of thinking. But if we observe carefully, we notice that the mind cannot think. It can only ramble from one thought to another — remembering the past, imagining the future, and often reacting emotionally to whatever is happening now.

Left to itself, the mind behaves like a two-year-old child. A child is emotional, excitable, easily distracted, and prone to tantrums. It cannot manage a household or make responsible decisions. For this reason alone, a child needs supervision.

The intellect plays the role of a loving parent. It watches and guides a child's actions, preventing it from getting into trouble and hurting itself.

Similarly, the intellect watches the mind, guides it, and keeps it from running into worry, anxiety, fear, anger, addiction, and despair.

When the intellect performs its role well, the mind becomes calm, balanced, and happy.

But when the intellect is absent, and the mind is left unsupervised, it’s like a child left alone in charge of the home.

No parent would say to a two-year-old, “Darling, mummy and daddy are going away for the weekend. Please take care of everything while we’re away.”

That would never happen. Yet it’s exactly what we do with ourselves. We allow our restless, immature minds to run the show.

The Non-Thinking Mind

As Albert Einstein once said, “We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.”

Most people assume they are thinking clearly. But in reality, much of what we call thinking is simply the mind wandering from one thought to another.

The mind cannot think. It reacts. Worries. Imagines. Left unguided, it simply follows its feelings, preferences and emotions.

The intellect, however, is different. It is clear, focused, rational, clever and wise. When the intellect is strong, it guides the mind toward better choices in life.

The Thinking Intellect

So perhaps when William James spoke of choosing one thought over another, he was pointing to a deeper truth: we must allow our intellect, our sovereign power, to supervise and guide our restless mind. Then life becomes smoother, clearer, more peaceful and happier.

Like a wise ruler governing its domain, when the intellect governs our thoughts, everything falls into place — emotions settle, the body relaxes, and actions become measured and thoughtful.

In this natural order, a deeper sense of well-being emerges.

Change the way you think, and the world you experience changes. For the mind will not govern itself. It must be guided — and that responsibility rests with you.

Govern your mind, or your mind will govern you.

Thank you for reading. If you have any questions, feel free to write them in the comments.

Until next time,
Be Well,

Meredith, The Elder Sage

Next week, an essay on horizontal versus vertical happiness, as touched on in the note below, will be delivered same time, same place.

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Beyond Sitting Still

Dear Reader,

You might be wondering why I’m welcoming you now, almost a year after starting here on Substack. The reason is simple: last week, one of my notes (below) had the great pleasure of reaching thousands of new readers.

It was posted like any other — with truth, honesty and sincerity. People seemed to like it, and the momentum grew from there.

So I’d like to take a moment to welcome our new readers to The Elder Sage.

A fellow writer recently asked, “How did I come to choose such a sublime name? Was it simply the title of the publication or about me?”

The short answer is: it’s both. It’s the name of the publication, and it’s also me. I’ve reached the age of an elder — well, not quite, but I’m growing into it — and I’ve spent more than thirty-four years in the spiritual field, six of which were spent in India at what I often call a spiritual boot camp: the Vedanta Academy.1

So while I’m still growing into the title, I’ve at least put in the hours — and in that sense, the name has been slowly earned over the years.

I’m a practical philosopher who has spent over three decades immersed in eternal wisdom — the knowledge of the Self. I live simply in a small cabin on a hill on the south-west coast of Australia, with my husband Paul and Huxley, our Airedale.

Our nearest neighbour is over a mile away. So there is space. Lots of it. And while this sounds idyllic, this coastline is known for its winds. And when they rise, the cabin can feel as though it might slide down the hill and into the water below.

The roof rattles. 
The walls tremble. 
The winds howl.

Life is no different.

When the winds of life howl — loss, uncertainty, change — the world shakes. And in those moments, I turn to the philosophy I have studied, taught and lived for decades. Not just for comfort, but as a solid foundation.

I’ve learnt that while we cannot stop the winds of life, we need not be blown about by them.

The external may rage, but the internal can remain steady.

This is what I share with you here: how to live fully and enjoy life, yet not be inwardly disturbed by it. How to remain calm in turbulence. How to stand firm on your own hill, whatever weather comes your way.

If that kind of inner strength speaks to you, then you are very welcome here. This is a place for learning how to live fully in the world without being shaken by it.

If you have any questions or you’d just like to say “Hello,” please don’t hesitate to leave a comment.

Until next time,
Be Well,

Meredith, The Elder Sage

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• What Keeps You from Happiness

Let’s consider, for a moment, where happiness resides. Does it live in comforts? Money? In a partner or a child? What about recognition or achievement? Or is it somewhere else entirely?

When we look closely, we begin to see a recurring pattern: happiness travels.

In infancy, happiness dwells in our mother’s arms. The whole universe fits inside her warm embrace — nothing else matters. Books mean nothing. Wealth is irrelevant. All joy is right there.

Then, a few years later, happiness relocates to toys. Dollies, cars, and playthings become the centre of everything. I’m almost embaraced to say this, but when I was a child, I believed that Barbie would be with me forever. But toys and Barbie eventually lose their magic.

Happiness moves again. This time to books and games. The child becomes a student, and joy now lives in grades, sport, praise, achievement, and the approval of teachers and peers.

Later still, it migrates to ambition, career, money, and status. The young adult pours everything into work, convinced fulfilment waits just ahead — in the next promotion, the next milestone, the next trip or possession.

Then happiness moves once more. It settles in romance. A partner becomes the new centre of joy — and life reorganises itself around this fresh source of happiness.

Then there’s a child. And for a season, happiness seems to have reached its peak.

Notice the recurring pattern?

At every stage, the feeling is absolute. Final. This is it. This is where happiness truly lives. Yet it never stays. If happiness actually resided in the object itself, it would remain forever. Toys would stay enchanting. The first big success would satisfy permanently. Romance would never settle into routine. And a child would remain at the heart of joy indefinitely.

But this is not what happens.

The glow fades. The centre keeps moving. The mind starts scanning the horizon once again.

So what is really going on?

Think of sunlight moving across the earth. In the morning, it lights up one landmass; by afternoon, it bathes another. We say, “The light is here,” then later, “The light is there.” But the ground is not producing the light. The light belongs to the sun.

In the same way, happiness shines upon objects, people, and experiences, but they are not the source. If they were, happiness would not vanish when circumstances change. A partner could never disappoint. Success could never grow dim.

Yet we watch the same objects that once sparkled become ordinary, even heavy.

The truth is, the world does not contain happiness.

Happiness is in YOU

The moment we label something as “mine,” it glows with value. A book with your own notes feels irreplaceable. Your child is more beautiful than any other. What has changed externally? Nothing. But your sense of “I” has poured itself into the object. You have gilded it with your own self, your own desires, and fallen in love with it.

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For too long, we’ve been sold a fantasy. We’ve been brainwashed into believing that love is all about finding “the one”, falling in love, and living “happily ever after”! But it’s all an illusion — a rush of emotion that doesn’t last.

Love isn’t about falling and breaking your heart; it’s about rising to meet the permanent LOVE that lives within you.

To fall in love is to shrink into dependence, where you’re dependent on the other for your happiness. To rise in love is to grow in understanding. Love is allowing another to be exactly who they are — and not wanting them to be any different.

But a selfish mind feels incomplete and seeks fulfilment outside itself. It moves through life with a restless hunger, scanning every room, every face, silently pleading: “Who will complete me? Who can make me feel whole?”

A selfish mind has an inner blueprint of how love should look, feel, and behave. It wants the other to provide admiration, validation, security, and excitement.

When someone appears to match the blueprint, their needs mirror each other. For they too were searching. They also felt incomplete. They scanned faces for completeness. In that moment of mutual recognition, the chemistry ignites, and they declare, “This is it. This is the one who will fill me.”

And so, they fall in love.

But beneath the romance lies selfish thinking: “I will provide you with everything you need, as long as you give me what I want.” Each one dancing to the tune of each other’s desires.

This is not love.
It’s attachment.

Attachment is love plus selfishness.
Love is attachment minus selfishness.

Love does not arise from need or want but from selflessness. A selfless person has no attachments, harbours no expectations, and makes no demands that life bend to their will. Instead of insisting that the world conform to them, they effortlessly adapt to it.

They move through life with grace, doing what needs to be done — steady in peace, clear in thought, and composed in action.

The love a selfless person has is universal. They have no attachment. No ego. No preferences. Their mind is steady, governed by their inner wisdom. They are able to meet life with clarity, dignity, and poise.

If such a person has a partner, their relationship is built on understanding. Understanding each other’s character completely — their strengths, their weaknesses, their needs and desires.

This deep understanding leads to harmony in relationships.

Where there is selfishness, there is tension. 
Where there is selflessness, there is peace.

You will never find a selfish person who’s truly peaceful and happy. Nor will you find a selfless person who is consumed by fear. Selflessness breaks down fear by dissolving the constant preoccupation with oneself.

The Selfless Love Within

Hidden deep within every human heart lies the divine spirit of Love, which is undying and eternal. Everything else changes, but Love alone is permanent and imperishable.

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I was just twenty-two when the ground beneath my feet began to shudder. It all started the day I married a man my parents warned me not to. Naturally, they thought he wasn’t good enough for their little girl.

Turns out they were right!

The day my father gave me away was the day he became seriously ill. He was diagnosed with a debilitating disease, a type of leukemia.

It was heartbreaking to see him decline so rapidly. He was such a kind-hearted, gentle man, loved by everyone he met, simply because he always had time for them. He would listen to their stories as if he were hearing them for the very first time, even though he had heard them three or four times before.

Towards the end of his life, I watched as his frail body leaned across the hospital bed to shake my husband’s hand. He said, “Take care of my little girl.”

The following day, he passed away.

To say my heart broke is an understatement. Anyone who’s lost someone they love knows the pain and suffering all too well.

A month later, my husband told me it was over, without offering any real explanation.

Cold and trembling, I phoned my mother. Mum was sympathetic, but not at all surprised. She saw a weakness in him that I couldn’t see, and she knew it was just a matter of time.

Three Tragedies in Three Months!

They say that bad things always happen in threes. Whether that’s a myth or reality, what happened next haunted me for years.

The following month, my cousin, Diane, came to stay on her way home for Christmas. She was excited to tell her parents the happy news that she was engaged to be married.

After Christmas, she dropped in again and rested for a while before heading home. We wanted her to stay the night so that she would be fresh to drive the following morning, but she was keen to get home.

That night, the phone rang. My heart skipped a beat. Instinctively, I knew something terrible had happened.

My mother answered the phone, and with her back to the wall, I watched her slide to the floor, screaming, “NO!”

Diane had been killed in a car accident!

Filling the Void

To cope with the grief, I threw myself into work. This proved to be a great distraction; however, it wasn’t enough. So I got busier.

I ran, I cycled, and I socialised.

There were times I felt like the Tasmanian Devil, from Looney Tunes, spinning at breakneck speed. Fully charged with nervous energy. I knew that if I stopped, I would have to face the reality, and I wasn’t prepared to do that.

I didn’t realise it at the time, but I was in serious denial. Keeping busy, no doubt, diverted the pain, but it was just a band-aid.

On the surface, I was all smiles and shiny, but deep down, I was miserable.

To escape the misery, I tried to fill the aching void by indulging in superficial pleasures. After a while, the hollowness of it all forced me to ask myself some serious questions:

“What am I doing? Where am I going? And if I continue this way, where will I end up?”

At night, I would look up at the stars and pray for guidance. Then one night, a voice inside said, “Stop dwelling on the past and feeling sorry for yourself… Start living, and seek the TRUTH.”

An Inner Journey

As Shakespeare says, “There is a divinity that shapes our ends.”

All of a sudden, I was catapulted on an inner journey of self-discovery. It was a miracle. Everything I needed to find was manifest before me. I felt as if I were being carried forward by an unseen hand from one adventure to another.

After two years of spiritual shopping — reading numerous self-help books and attending countless “spiritual” courses — a friend suggested I go to Perth to do a course called Mastermind.

I had never been to Perth before. Nor did I know anyone who lived there. It was on the other side of the country, yet I felt a strong urge to go. There was a definite pull. I also saw it as an opportunity to get away, so that I could see things from a different perspective. What I didn’t realise was that this trip would change my life forever.

Mastermind

When I arrived in Perth, the taxi driver drove me directly to the Australian Institute of Management, where the course was being held. The atmosphere there was warm and welcoming. I was introduced to the facilitator, Garry, who was impressed that I had travelled such a long way to attend his course.

During the introduction, Garry said that our emotional mind had taken over our personality and was wreaking havoc. I couldn’t agree more. He said that our intellect was weak and needed strengthening to guide our minds towards a happier, more fulfilling life.

At that moment, he held up a book that was extensively highlighted, dog-eared and full of post-it notes. He said, “If we wanted to know more, we should read this book.” He added that if he were ten years younger, he would go to India to learn from the author, an Indian swami named Swami Parthasarathy (Par-tha-sara-thee). He said, as he proudly held up the Vedanta Treatise, “Everything I know comes from this book.”

Garry explained that Vedanta was an ancient Indian philosophy and that a swami was a spiritual teacher. I was intrigued and wanted to know more.

The Book

I was going to book into a hotel, but the course organisers wouldn’t have a bar of it. So they found a billet, a wonderful family who just happened to have the Vedanta Treatise in their library. That night, I started reading, and I couldn’t put it down. Finally, I was reading something that made complete sense.

The next morning, Garry told us that Swami Parthasarathy would be in Perth, in a few days, to conduct a retreat as part of his Australian tour… Wow! I couldn’t believe it. Talk about synchronicity!

I hadn’t planned to stay longer than the weekend, as Mastermind was only a weekend course, but there was no way I was going to miss this incredible opportunity. So I extended my stay.

The Teacher

The hall was packed. Everyone wanted to see the Swami. He was dressed all in white, in a simple kurta and dhoti, with a thin mala around his neck, signifying his spiritual status. He sat cross-legged on a table-like platform on the stage, closed his eyes and chanted OM… The sound echoed throughout the auditorium.

Even though the hall was packed, I felt like he was looking and speaking directly to me. In his talk, he highlighted the hollowness of human pursuits, saying that all our stress and strain in life are due to misidentification. We identify with our limitations and suffer. To remove the suffering, we need to shift our focus from our small, limited self to our true, unlimited Self.

Wow!… Wow!… WOW!… Incredible!

They say that when the student is ready, the teacher appears… I couldn’t have been more ready.

After the talk, the organiser introduced me to the Swami. Swamiji, as he is affectionately known, was incredibly charming and humble. I told him that I thoroughly enjoyed his talk, was in awe of his book and that I was looking forward to attending the Retreat on the weekend. He told me about his academy in India, near Pune, and said I should do the course…

The seed was planted.

The Retreat

The Retreat was held at Point Walter, overlooking Perth’s magnificent Swan River. It was breathtaking, especially on Saturday afternoon, when all the sailing boats were out on the water.

The Friday evening lecture by Swamiji was entitled, ‘Know Thy Self.’

The hall was packed. Swamiji entered and sat cross-legged on the stage. At exactly six thirty, he closed his eyes and chanted OM… Everyone closed their eyes, and a sense of exhilarating calm filled the air.

He began his talk by saying that all the stress and strain of life are caused by discontentment. We feel empty inside, so we try to fill ourselves up with all sorts of things and beings. As long as the starting point is discontentment, the happiness we feel will only ever be temporary. The message, therefore, is to seek the Self within. Then, we will gain permanent PEACE and happiness.

It was exactly what I needed to hear. It all made so much sense. When we look for happiness in experiences, we find it for a while, but it doesn’t last.

He asked the audience if anyone could raise their hand and say, “I’m peaceful. I’m happy.” A few people raised their hands. Swamiji questioned them. Then he said that all our happiness depends on things over which we have no control. We should not rely on it because it is only temporary.

Throughout the retreat, there were talks by Swamiji, question-and-answer sessions, yoga, music, meditative walks, joy, friendship, and laughter. The retreat aimed to give people an idea of what life was like at the Vedanta Academy in India.

After the Retreat

Flying back to the Gold Coast, mentally, I was already at the Vedanta Academy. The only thing I needed to do now was inform my mother.

Naturally, she was excited to hear about Perth, and as I told her the story, she knew what I wanted to do.

After losing Dad, Mum relied heavily on me for emotional support. Yet, when I told her that I wanted to go to India to study Vedanta for three years, she graciously said, “You’re going on a big adventure… You’re going to learn a great deal about life.”

So that’s it. I was on my way to India for the biggest adventure of my life.

What happened next will have to wait.

Till then,
Be Well,

Meredith, The Elder Sage

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Today, meditation is commonly understood as self-reflection: sitting quietly, checking in with your feelings, observing your thoughts, and questioning yourself. But that’s not its original meaning. Still, it’s how the word is understood — and by that definition, I have been meditating for over thirty years.

However, the original meaning of meditation, dhyana, is far more demanding: single-pointed concentration on one thought, to the exclusion of all others. This is incredibly difficult for one reason: the nature of the mind.

An untrained mind is restless by nature. It’s like a child: impulsive, reactive, and easily bored. A child needs constant stimulation. Ask it to sit still, and it rebels almost immediately, because that’s the nature of a child.

The mind is no different. It jumps, reacts, and seeks entertainment. And the moment we ask it to sit and be quiet, it does the opposite. That’s because the mind’s default setting is to wander, drift, and meander.

It’s something like this: imagine sitting in a perfect meditation posture, looking serene, like Lord Buddha. You begin the chant: “Om… Om… Om…” But very quickly it slips: “Om… Om… home… home… what’s for dinner? Rice or pasta? Did I remember to buy vegetables?” Before you know it, the sacred chant has been hijacked by a menu.

That’s why, for years, when people asked if I meditated, I said, “No. I prepare for meditation by making the mind meditative.”

A meditative mind is peaceful, calm and content no matter what's happening. Not switched off and in a daze, but switched on — sharp, clear and fully charged with dynamic energy.

This preparatory work is carried out through three ancient spiritual disciplines, or yogas. Yoga isn’t limited to asanas and breathing techniques. Yoga means union: uniting with your higher Self, or God, or Divinity, or whatever you prefer to call that pure, all-pervasive Consciousness.

To explain these disciplines, I’d like to wind the clock back thirty-four years to when I stepped through the sanctuary gates of the Vedanta Academy in Malavli, India.

It was 1992.

A day at the Academy began in the hush of pre-dawn. We rose early for the sacred pre-meditative practice of Jnana Yoga, the yoga of knowledge.

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In Vedic times, preparation for meditation began at school. Students were trained to steady their minds, sharpen their intellect, understand their true nature, and develop strong ethical values before even attempting meditation.

Today, the emphasis has reversed. Education is almost entirely focused on worldly success. Young people are under extraordinary pressure to perform, compete and achieve. Consequently, their little minds are racing in all directions. And when the strain becomes too much, we ask them to sit down, close their eyes, and meditate!

Yet without essential mental preparation, meditation becomes a sedative, not a source of strength. And in many cases, it can do more harm than good.

In today’s world, peace has become a rare commodity. That’s why the promise of “peace of mind” sells so well. The meditation industry is thriving, with countless forms to choose from: mindfulness, transcendental, Zen, Vipassana, sound baths, breath awareness, apps, and retreats.

But what’s often left unsaid is this: the peace you experience through modern meditation is only ever temporary.

No matter how pleasant the experience of meditation is, it doesn’t change how you meet life’s challenges. An innocuous comment or a delay is enough to throw you off balance, leaving you wanting and waiting for the next meditation session to put your shattered self back together.

But what if peace didn’t depend on the next meditation session? What if there were another way to gain lasting inner peace?

There is, but let me warn you, the techniques outlined below require effort.

Philosopher A. Parthasarathy offers a compelling example to illustrate the difference between modern and traditional meditation. 

He says that meditation without preparation is like pushing a rusty piston inside a rusty cylinder. If you use force, either the piston will break, or the cylinder will crack, or both.

You must first knock off the scales of rust — the negativities like worry, anxiety, anger, fear, stress and depression. Use rough sandpaper on the inside of the cylinder and on the outside of the piston. Once that’s done, use fine sandpaper to remove the last traces of rust. Wipe it clean. Lubricate it inside and out. Then, finally, take the piston and place it at the top of the cylinder. Let it go, and it slides straight in.

That’s meditation.

The Buddha State

The aim of modern mediation is to gain peace of mind, not liberation. That’s fine. However, the peace gained is fleeting, passing, temporary. Traditional meditation requires us to prepare our mind by strengthening the hidden faculty that keeps it in place before we sit to meditate.

That faculty, in Sanskrit, is called Buddhi. I love this word. Let me try to explain why.

Each one of us has the capacity to realise the Buddha state within — a state of deep inner peace and contentment. Buddha means the enlightened one or the awakened one.

Buddhi is Buddha with an “i” on the end. Buddhi means to awaken, to be aware, to understand, and to know.

According to the philosophy of the Vedas, Buddhi is the way to the Buddha state.1 Buddhi is the Sanskrit word for intellect. It is our awakened thinking. Not to be confused with academic intellect or intelligence.

This non-academic intellect is our superpower. It’s our ability to observe without judgment and to see things as they are, not as we would like them to be. It is our capacity to remain calm, focused and in control of our mind and our lives.

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The Three Yogas

The three yogas are not about standing on your head, breathing techniques, or physical postures. They are ancient spiritual disciplines designed to relieve us of mental baggage — and prepare our minds for meditation.

When the mind is prepared — when it is calm, composed, and content, meditation becomes natural, effortless, and profound.

The three disciplines or yogas are:

• Karma Yoga — selfless action, performed without attachment to results.

• Bhakti Yoga — selfless love and devotion, which reduces the ego and opens the heart.

• Gnana Yoga — self-inquiry and scriptural wisdom, which sharpens the intellect and reveals Truth.

When these three are lived rather than merely studied, you become reflective, contemplative, and meditative. Your life begins to feel like a continuous meditation.

Your actions become wiser. You become efficient and at the same time, peaceful — your mind becomes calm, clear, focused, and no longer disturbed by outside circumstances. You become a complete individual, full of love, wisdom, kindness and generosity.

There is a precise order to meditation, just as there is a method in any science. If you want to enjoy the fruits — lasting peace, clarity, energy and joy — the mind must be prepared through these disciplines. What follows is not a fleeting glimpse of peace, but a steady inner freedom.

When the foundation is laid, peace is no longer temporary. It becomes your natural state. And from this state of mind, you will slide into meditation effortlessly.

This was always intended as an introduction. Next week, I’ll go into greater depth.

Till then,
Be Well,

Meredith — The Elder Sage

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This publication is just getting started. It will grow slowly and deliberately — the same way the mind is trained.

If something in this essay unsettled you, challenged you, or resonated, I’d love to hear from you. Your thoughts help shape what this space becomes.

Thank you.

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Over the past forty years or so, worry, anxiety, stress, and depression have skyrocketed in Western society. Alongside this rise, the popularity of meditation has grown and flourished — and today it is a multi-billion-dollar industry.

Everyone is meditating — from high-performing executives and elite athletes to schoolchildren, office workers, and hospital patients, all trying to cope with modern life. But meditation was never meant to be reduced to a coping mechanism, like a sedative to get through the day.

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The hall was packed. Everyone wanted to see the Swami.1

Dressed all in white in a simple kurta and dhoti — with a mala around his neck and a red line on his forehead, signifying his spiritual status — he sat cross-legged on a raised platform on the stage.

His dignified presence commanded the room.

He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and chanted OM… The sound echoed throughout the auditorium, quietening the many minds seated before him.

In his talk, he spoke of the hollowness of human pursuits, saying that our lives are primarily driven by two motivations: acquisition and enjoyment.

“To feel happy,” he said, “you seek comforts and pleasures from the world, and then enjoy what you’ve acquired.”

He emphasised that there is nothing wrong with acquiring; there is no limit to what we may seek, as long as the starting point is contentment.

His words struck a chord. I wanted to learn more. And even though the hall was full, I felt as though he was speaking directly to me. They say that when the student is ready, the teacher appears — and I couldn’t have been more ready.

After the talk, I was introduced to Swamiji, who was incredibly humble and charming. I told him how much I had enjoyed his talk and that I was in awe of his book, Vedanta Treatise, which I had just begun reading.2

He listened as though there was no one else in the room. Then he told me about his academy in India, near Pune, and suggested I do the three-year residential course.

The seed was planted.

The Retreat

The retreat ran from Friday to Sunday and was held at Point Walter, overlooking the magnificent Swan River in Perth, Western Australia.

On Friday afternoon, we were welcomed by the organisers and shown to our rooms. Approximately forty people attended, including seven guests from India.

The evening lectures were open to the public, and the first talk was held that night.

As we walked into the hall, an Indian lady and a young Australian woman sat on the floor, chanting and singing Bhajans (Sanskrit songs). The hall slowly filled. The title of Swamiji’s talk was Bhaja Govindam: Seek The Self.

From what I understood, which was very little, knowing the Self would bring peace and happiness to my troubled mind, and I was troubled back then. On the outside, I was all smiles and shiny, but on the inside, I was like the matted coir of a coconut.

Swamiji entered and sat cross-legged on a raised platform on the stage. He paused. And at exactly six-thirty, he closed his eyes and chanted OM.

An exhilarating sense of calm filled the air.

He began by saying that all the stress and strain of life arises because the starting point is discontentment. Feeling empty within, so we try to fill ourselves with things, beings, and experiences. But as long as discontentment is the foundation, any amount of happiness we experience will only ever be temporary.

The message, therefore, was to seek the Self within, where permanent peace and happiness reside.

It was exactly what I needed to hear. Everything made sense. When we look for happiness outside, we may find it for a while, but it never lasts.

Throughout the retreat, there were talks by Swamiji, Q&A, yoga, music, meditative walks, joy, friendship and laughter. The retreat was designed to give a glimpse of life at the Vedanta Academy in India. It certainly whetted my appetite.3

Six weeks later, I was in India, studying Vedanta at The Academy.

That was thirty-three years ago.

What happened between then and now is another story for another time.

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But what I will say is that the six years I spent in India under Swamiji’s guidance transformed my life. To be fair, it only took three years. But that’s three years. It’s a long time. So you can imagine how sceptical I am when people offer enlightenment in three days, or say their enlightenment came to them one night.

All they need is to be a smooth talker and have a good marketing team, and their career as a guru takes off. You know the ones I’m talking about.

And that’s one of the remarkable things about Swamiji. He doesn’t promote his work or seek publicity. Even finding information about him online is difficult because he doesn’t have a webpage. He does not even own a mobile phone!

His only interest was the spiritual growth of his students. He had all the wisdom. It was up to us to learn from him and apply the knowledge in our lives. Like a bird that teaches its fledglings to fly, he taught us well — and then set us free.

Thank you for reading. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.

Till next time,

Be Well,

Meredith — The Elder Sage

Every moment of every day, you are doing something, but the question is, how are you doing it? When you’re making a cup of tea, how do you make it? When you’re eating a meal, how do you eat? When you work, how do you work?

Are you rushing and anxious about the results? Or do you go through your life calmly, steadily, composed, and dignified?

We often believe we have complete freedom — to do what we want, when we want, and how we want. Yet behind every choice lies an unchangeable law: every action has a consequence.

But how many of us stop to consider the consequences of our actions before we act?

Think Before You Act

We’ve all heard the phrase, “Think before you act,” but most people act first and think later. Impulsiveness has become a part of modern life, with regret its faithful companion. To avoid regret, we must learn to think of the consequences before the action, rather than suffer them afterwards.

A wise person thinks of the end at the beginning. Yet most people are paying for their past in the currency of guilt and regret — replaying what they’ve done, what they’ve said, what they should or shouldn’t have done.

The Psychology of Impulsiveness

Impulsiveness arises when our irrational mind overpowers our rational intellect. The mind is driven by emotion. It demands pleasure, relief, comfort, satisfaction — now. It doesn’t care about tomorrow. This tendency of the mind towards impulsivity explains why people lash out in anger, overeat, overspend, or make choices that undermine their well-being.

In contrast, the intellect, the faculty of reason and discernment, observes, guides, and directs the mind. Yet most people have weak, underdeveloped intellects, with minds that are noisy, restless, and constantly craving gratification.

Impulsiveness, therefore, is not a personality flaw — it is simply the natural result of a strong mind and a neglected intellect.

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Cultivating Foresight

Foresight is the ability to project the consequences of your actions before you take them. You cultivate foresight through reflection — daily study, quiet contemplation, and by observing your own mental patterns.

Every time you PAUSE before acting, you are training your intellect. Every time you ask, “What will this lead to?” you are building foresight. Over time, that pause becomes a habit, and that habit becomes strength. This is the beginning of self-mastery — and the foundation of Karma Yoga.

What is Karma Yoga?

Karma Yoga is the path of selfless, intelligent action. It’s the art of acting without ego or expectation. It means doing what needs to be done calmly, consciously, and responsibly, without any thought of “What’s in it for me?”

Most people act from impulse or a desire for reward. Karma Yoga teaches you to act from the intellect rather than the mind. Before you act, PAUSE and consider the consequences. Then act fully, wholeheartedly, without any attachment to the outcome.

Karma Yoga for Peace of Mind

If more people practised even a little Karma Yoga, that is, using their discerning intellect to govern their mind and actions, then the world would look radically and radiantly different.

Mental health issues would plummet because worry, anxiety, fear, anger, hatred, jealousy, stress, addiction, and depression are all symptoms of a restless, ungoverned mind. A trained intellect calms the mind; a calm mind heals the person.

Physicians would see far fewer patients because a disciplined, clear mind reduces stress-related illnesses. Crime and corruption would decline because self-governed individuals wouldn’t exploit, steal, or harm others.

Hate, violence, and extremism would dissolve because these arise only in minds clouded by ignorance and agitation. When individuals govern themselves, they no longer cling to rigid identities — religious, political, or cultural — nor do they feel threatened by those who think differently.

Left wing, right wing, this group or that group — all such divisions lose their sting when the mind is calm, and the intellect is clear. A person anchored in Karma Yoga does not hate, attack, or terrorise; they recognise the same Self in all.

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How to Practise Karma Yoga

1. Fix a Higher Purpose

A higher purpose, higher ideal, or goal anchors your actions. The most accessible and transformative ideal is this: Become a better human. It is within everyone’s reach. Reflect on what being a “better human” means to you — then orient your life according to that definition.

If you want a greater challenge, try this: Strengthen your intellect so your mind remains calm and composed under all circumstances.

A higher purpose gives your life meaning, direction, and a steady stream of unbroken peace.

2. Follow Your Nature

Your health and happiness depend on knowing your nature and functioning accordingly. Acting against your nature creates agitation and conflict. Acting in harmony with it brings peace, energy, and prosperity.

No two people share the exact nature. The Sanskrit word Swadharma — one’s own nature — is unique. Swa means “one’s own,” dharma means “nature.”

3. Be Selfless

Work not for ego, reward, or recognition, but for a cause greater than yourself. The ideal of becoming a better human being is selfless, because a better you benefits everyone around you. Imagine a world where every person lived with this ideal in mind. Humanity would transform.

4. Practise Dedication

Whatever takes you toward your ideal becomes your duty. Perform your duties with dexterity and commitment. Dedicate every action, big or small, whether it’s writing, reading, eating or exercising — dedicate it to the realisation of your ideal. Dedication transforms ordinary actions into a powerful spiritual practice.

5. Practise Morning Contemplation

Between 5 and 6am, read a passage from an inspiring text and reflect deeply on it. Use the 20/80 formula: 20% reading, 80% reflection.1

If necessary, adjust your habits: sleep early, rise early. “Early to bed and early to rise makes a person healthy, wealthy, and wise” is not a cliché; it is a timeless psychological truth.

Morning contemplation strengthens the intellect and prepares the mind for the day ahead, enabling you to remain calm and composed, no matter the circumstances.

6. Practise Being Present

Train your intellect to keep your mind where your hands are. Focus entirely on the task at hand. Do not let your mind wander into the past or drift into the future. Presence is power. Presence is elevating. Presence is divine.

The Quiet Rewards of Karma Yoga

Karma Yoga does not mean there are no rewards — it means the rewards are not the motive. When action is performed with clarity, dedication, and without expectation, its phenomenal fruits of karma begin to appear: peace of mind, joy, happiness, contentment, and material prosperity. But not expecting them is the key. Otherwise, they will keep away from you.

One way I practise Karma Yoga is through writing. This work is an offering, a gift, a sharing of what has been learned, lived, reflected upon, and understood over many decades. It is given freely, without demand or expectation. If it serves you in some way, then it has fulfilled its purpose.

A simple way to practise Karma Yoga is to support this work by subscribing, or upgrading your subscription and becoming a patron — not as payment, but for your own benefit. By giving, you gain. You reap the quiet rewards of karma yoga.

Thank you for reading. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.

Till next time,

Be Well,

Meredith — The Elder Sage

Who you are, what you do, where you live, how you feel, what you eat, how you sleep, your health, your wealth, and your relationships — everything in your life begins in your mind. Your thoughts shape your inner world, and your inner world shapes your outer experience.

‘As you think so you become’ is a universal law of life. As your thoughts, so your mind. As your mind, so your body. As your body, so is your health.

If your health is good, then your thinking is on the right track. If your health is suffering, then somewhere along the line, you’ve been distracted, and your thinking has strayed from clarity.

Many people, especially those living with chronic illness, find it difficult to accept the link between thoughts and health. Yet, the influence of the mind is undeniable. Thoughts may be invisible, but they are the most potent force in the universe.

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Health is a Reflection

Whatever happens in your body is a reflection of what is happening in your mind.

A calm mind manifests as a healthy body, just as a still lake reflects the sky with clarity. A turbulent mind expresses as tension, inflammation, fatigue, or illness, like storm winds whipping the surface of the water into chaos.

Negative, confused, or self-centred thoughts create disorder in the mind, and that disorder eventually surfaces in the body. Clarity, kindness, and discipline create inner harmony, which the body then reflects as ease, energy, and wellness.

Your physical health is a mirror that never lies.

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Many years ago, a man was suffering from a dreadful disease. He went from doctor to doctor, without relief. Finally, he travelled to a town known for its healing springs. But after bathing in the waters, his condition only worsened.

One night, he had a dream. A Presence appeared and said, “Come. I will show you the cure.”

The Presence led him to a pond and said, “Look into the water.”

The man looked and saw one word written across the surface: surrender.

Instantly, his pain disappeared — and the dream dissolved.

When he awoke, he realised he had been living a self-centred life. Even when thinking of others, he was thinking about himself. In that moment of clarity, he surrendered his egoistic tendencies and oriented himself with higher values.

From that day onward, his health began to return — not just physically, but emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually.

The Illusion of the Wellness Industry

People believe that well-being is created by external activities — diet, supplements, exercise, retreats and rituals. That belief has grown into a multibillion-dollar wellness industry built on the promise that health can be purchased.

And while these things may support you, they are not the source.

Pain and illness arise from conflict within the mind. When your thoughts are restless, divided, and self-centred, the body absorbs that turbulence, like the foundations of a building straining under uneven weight.

Clarity, kindness, and generosity restore order to the mind. That inner peace expresses itself as genuine well-being, the kind no product, pill, practice, or program can manufacture.

Final Contemplation

Whatever you do in life, strive to become a better human — kind, calm, thoughtful, generous, and aware. A peaceful mind naturally expresses as a relaxed body. When your inner world is steady and harmonious, your health naturally follows.

A settled mind is the most powerful medicine you can ever possess.

A person who tends to their mind with honesty and care will always move towards well-being. But a person who is pulled around by fear, worry, stress, and self-centred thoughts will inevitably feel it in their body.

So nurture clarity. Sit with yourself each morning, even for just twenty minutes. Read something elevating. Reflect on what you have read. Refine yourself by questioning your thoughts, your reactions, your mistakes, and to the best of your ability, gently correct them.

This is your inner practice. This is your actual wellness routine.

Do this consistently, and you will begin to feel the shift: a sharper intellect, a calmer mind, and a body that finally feels like home.

Thank you for reading. Let me know what you thought, or if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.

Till next time,

Be Well,

Meredith — The Elder Sage

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I turned sixty-one this year. I’m officially ancient.

Not really. I certainly don’t feel old, but I’m finding it difficult to reconcile how I feel with how I look. Every time I look in the mirror (which is as little as possible these days), I want to apologise, and say: “Sorry, wrong person,” and walk away.

Age snuck up on me slowly. Then all at once, altering my face and leaving behind lines that remind me of a life well lived. That’s just how it is. No one escapes it. We arrive, we grow, we spend time trying to be “someone” — and then we fade. We get older, people forget us, and then the inevitable happens.

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Lately, I’ve started to look more like my mother did when she was my age, which is both comforting and a little unsettling. I feel comforted because she was a wonderful woman. But unsettled, because I remember thinking she was an old woman at sixty-one, and now here I am — and I don’t feel old at all.

I’m certainly not the gorgeous woman I once was, but that’s alright. Thanks to philosophy, I understand that our bodies are just vehicles; temporary rentals with no guarantees. We do our best to take care of them, but they’re not who we are.

This body is not who I am.

Still, the world responds just as you’d imagine. People pass by without a second glance, and teenagers barely register your presence. You begin to blend into the background — muted, beige, and irrelevant.

You begin to feel invisible. But being invisible is highly underrated. There’s a beautiful freedom in it. No one is watching, judging or expecting anything from you. You can simply observe life as it unfolds, no longer swept up in its endless performance. It’s like people-watching from a café. That delicious sense of detachment. But now, you don’t even need the café — you can witness the world from anywhere, unnoticed and free.

And that’s beautiful.

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But it’s not really about how others see you. It’s about how you see yourself. The gap between how you feel inside and how you look outside is not a mistake; it’s an invitation to ask a deeper question: If this changing body isn’t me, then who am I?

The Philosophy of Aging

As we age, something interesting happens: our attachment to our identity begins to loosen. The things we once clung to — youth, attractiveness, relevance — start slipping through our fingers. Age slowly dismantles what was never truly “us” to begin with. It removes the costumes so we can finally meet the actor.

You start to notice that the person who feels hurt, flattered, embarrassed, proud, or insecure is also fading. Those emotional reactions belonged to the personality — a temporary bundle of preferences, fears, habits and self-images accumulated over decades. But beneath that bundle, there’s the ever-present witness that has been steady all along. A presence that doesn’t panic when your hair becomes unruly, or your waistline thickens. A presence that observes everything yet remains unaffected by anything.

This is who you really are — the constant awareness behind every experience. Oddly, getting older makes its existence more obvious. When you wake up feeling thirty inside but see someone over sixty in the mirror, the mismatch makes you wonder: “If I’m not the changing body, who am I?” That question turns you inward, toward the part of you that doesn’t belong to time at all.

If ‘The Elder Sage’ has benefited you in some way, and you would like to give something back, you can do so by subscribing or upgrading your free subscription.

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Thank you for reading.

Till next time, be well,

Meredith — The Elder Sage

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Falling asleep should be the easiest thing in the world. After all, we’ve been doing it since the day we were born. Yet for so many, nightfall brings not rest but restlessness.

The moment your head hits the pillow, your mind decides it’s time to throw a party. Instead of settling, it jumps from one thought to another. It wanders into things you don’t want to think about, churns them endlessly, and finally shuts down two hours before the alarm goes off.

Aarrgghhh!

Sleepless nights can be soul-destroying. They drain your energy, dull your mood, and leave you feeling defeated before the day even begins.

But if you want to sleep peacefully, you first need to understand one thing: your mind, and why it refuses to rest. Why it wanders just when your body is ready to sleep. And how to gently guide it back into quiet so sleep becomes what it was always meant to be: easy.

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The Nature of Your Mind

The mind’s natural tendency is to ramble. It drifts into the past, leaps into the future, and rarely stays where you are.

You’re reading this, and suddenly you’re anxious about a project at work. A moment later, without noticing, you’re replaying something you said that upset your partner.

This movement into past and future happens all day. So, of course, it continues when you go to bed.

Expecting the mind to suddenly become quiet at night is like expecting a wild horse to be calm only when you want to ride it. It doesn’t work that way.

How to Stop a Rambling Mind?

The only way to stop the ramblings of the mind is to train it by switching on your inner focusing faculty: your intellect. Intellect is the faculty that keeps your mind focused. FOCUSING, throughout the day, is the key to a good night’s sleep.

When you’re focused and not allowing your mind to drift into the past or future, then you’re living in the present. It’s your intellect that keeps your mind focused and in the present. The mind by itself cannot remain in the present because its nature is to drift into the past and future.

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Keeping your mind focused on the task at hand so that it doesn’t wander into the unproductive channels of the past and future is a discipline that, if conscientiously practised, will enable you to hit the pillow and sleep like a baby. The question is, how do you do that?

The only way to quieten the mind is to train it — and not through meditation, but by switching on your higher faculty: intellect.

The intellect holds the mind steady. It keeps you present. And through the day, this steadiness is the real key to sleeping well at night.

When your mind is anchored in the present rather than roaming into past regrets or future anxieties, it becomes naturally quiet. A quiet mind rests easily.

The question is: How can you tell the difference between the mind and the intellect?

The Difference Between the Mind and Intellect

Most people use the words mind and intellect as if they mean the same thing. They’re not. And unless you understand the difference, you’ll never understand why your mind refuses to be quiet — especially at night.

The Mind is the seat of feelings, impulses, desires, emotions, preferences, likes and dislikes. Its nature is to wander — to chase what it wants and run from anything it dislikes. It jumps to the past, leaps into the future, and resists stillness. Left alone, the mind behaves like a child with no supervision: curious, restless, and easily distracted.

Sound familiar?

The Intellect, on the other hand, is entirely different. It is the faculty of reason, discrimination, clarity, choice and direction.

The intellect can tell the mind: “Not now. Stay here. Focus.”

It holds the mind steady, brings you back to the present, and helps you choose what is right over what is merely pleasant.

But here’s the important part:

The mind cannot quieten itself.

A restless mind cannot quieten a restless mind. Only the intellect can steady the mind.

Once you understand this, sleep becomes easier.

If the mind is overactive at night, it’s not because something is wrong with you — it’s simply because your intellect hasn’t been strengthened.

This is why strengthening the intellect is essential for a good night’s sleep. And how do you do that?

Fix a High-Level Goal

A high-level goal is one that benefits not just you but others — an unselfish purpose. When you’re inspired by something bigger than yourself, unnecessary thoughts fall away. You stop scattering your energy on trivialities. You become both peaceful and productive.

This combination is rare. Most people are one or the other. But when you’re peaceful and productive, your nights are calm.

If you struggle with sleep, let your first goal be simply this: to live more peacefully and productively.

High-Level Values

High-level values reinforce that peace. A few essential values:

• See the Good. Instead of looking for faults, train yourself to notice what’s right.

• Unselfishness. Act with a kind heart, without expecting anything in return.

• Selflessness. Want nothing because you have everything.

• Present-Mindedness. Stay available, in the moment, instead of drifting into the past and future.

• Concentration. Intellect holds your attention on the task in front of you.

• Right Action. Dedicate what you do to your higher goal.

• See Life As It Is. Not as you wish it to be.

• See People As They Are. Not as you want them to be.

These values quieten the emotional noise that keeps people awake at night.

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Reflection Rituals

Reflecting on higher values gives you peace of mind — the real pillow your head rests on.

1. Morning Ritual

Before the household wakes, sit quietly with low light and read a paragraph from a text that genuinely inspires you.

Reflect on it. Ask yourself how you can embody that value today. Reflection turns knowledge into wisdom.

2. Evening Ritual

Before bed, spend five, or so, minutes introspecting. Review your day from morning to night. Notice where you acted well and where you didn’t. Jot down anything you’d like to improve, knowing you’ll assess it in the morning.

By emptying the day out of your mind before sleep, you remove the mental clutter that keeps you awake.

Conclusion

This ancient approach to deep, peaceful sleep is simple: refine your actions, uplift your emotions, and raise the quality of your thoughts. It takes discipline, but the results are life-changing.

When your days are cleaner, your mind is quieter. And when your mind is quiet, sleep comes on its own — as naturally as breathing.

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Thank you for reading. If you have any questions, or you’d just like to say “Hello”, please don’t hesitate to leave a comment.

Till next time, be well,

Meredith — The Elder Sage

Author’s note: I understand some might feel uneasy comparing Jesus and Vedanta, but my aim is to highlight their harmony. As someone born and raised a Christian who later studied Vedanta in depth, I invite you to approach this with curiosity rather than judgment and to discover what these two rich traditions can reveal together.

The other day, a friend on Substack asked me, “What would Jesus say about Vedanta?”

This was my short answer: Jesus would probably say that Vedanta is about becoming humble, purifying the mind, and God-realisation, which is the same as his own teachings: “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”

What is Vedanta?

Vedanta is the ancient philosophy of life and living. It offers timeless principles that help you understand yourself, navigate the world, and live with clarity and purpose. Think of it as a manual for being human. We have instructions for our phones, our cars, and our computers, yet almost no one is taught how to manage their own mind, emotions, or life.

And the consequences show up everywhere.

Individually, people struggle with stress, addiction, depression, and broken relationships. On a global scale, issues such as conflict, corruption, greed, and a world unravelling under the weight of hatred and divisiveness are evident. The root cause of all these problems is clear: we have never been taught how to live.

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Vedanta fills this gap with its clear, logical, universal principles that enable:

1.  Peace and happiness in daily life.
2.  Success and meaningful achievement.
3.  The ultimate spiritual fulfilment: Self-realisation.

Vedanta shows you how to achieve all three, not through belief or dogma, but through understanding, reflection, and practice.

Vedanta is a subjective science. It is the knowledge of the Self, just as precise in its principles as physics is in its laws. Where physics explains the outer world, Vedanta explains the inner world. Where science reveals how matter behaves, Vedanta reveals how you function as a human being.

This is the essence of Vedanta: a timeless manual for living with clarity, peace, freedom, and fulfilment.

What Would Jesus Say About Vedanta?

If Jesus were alive today, he wouldn’t argue against Vedanta. He would recognise its essence and invite us to embody it.

He would say that Vedanta’s call to cultivate humility by realising the Self within is the same as his own. He would recognise that both paths lead to the same inner transformation — the shift from self-centredness to God-centredness, from attachment to freedom, from separateness to unity.

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Jesus would respect Vedanta’s emphasis on self-inquiry, contemplation, devotion, and right action. He himself urged people “to seek, to knock”, encouraging them to look within for the kingdom of heaven. Vedanta simply offers different words for the same inner discovery.

He wouldn’t argue over scripture, culture, or whose path is superior. He would simply encourage us to look within, to purify the mind, to overcome the ego, and to anchor ourselves in the Divine.

After all, truth is not Christian, Hindu, Buddhist, East or West. Truth is an awakened mind. It is a life of purity, right action—doing unto others as you would have them do unto you. It is living consciously, aware that God, the Father, is always present. And that everyone is invited to discover the Self, the kingdom of heaven, within.

Thank you, for your question. Hope this answers it to some extent. I feel I have only scratched the surface and look forward to writing more on this in the future. If you have any clarifications, please don’t hesitate to ask.

Be Well,

Meredith — The Elder Sage

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We all love the comfort of certainty — the feeling of solid ground beneath our feet, the quiet reassurance that everything is under control. There’s a deep psychological safety in believing things will turn out alright. That’s why, if certainty came in a bottle, we’d all want some.

Certainty reduces anxiety and provides a sense of security, like a warm blanket on a cold night. In an unpredictable world where things happen suddenly and unexpectedly, and no matter how much we’d like to believe we’re in control, we can never truly know what the future holds.

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The Vedas say that life is like a drop of water on a lotus leaf. The leaf’s slippery surface means the water drop can go in any direction. A mere breath of wind can change its course. Similarly, our circumstances are constantly changing — a choice here, an action there. In fact, the only certainty in life is that it will change.

The challenge is to learn how to accept that we are living in uncertainty. Not uncertain times. Life has always been this way.

Life means change, means uncertainty.

It’s up to us to build resilience, strengthen our intellect — our ability to reason and discern — and learn to navigate the unknown. We can successfully do this by practising one essential secret from Mahatma Gandhi’s Bible, the Bhagavad Gita.1

The Gita Teaches Us About Life

The Bhagavad Gita is a jewel in the pendant of the Vedanta philosophy. The Gita, as it is commonly known, is a spiritual poem that teaches us to remain calm and composed even in the most challenging circumstances.2

The Gita opens with Arjuna, a warrior prince, poised for battle. Arjuna asks Krishna, his charioteer, to drive his chariot between the two armies so that he can view the opposing army, whom he is about to slay.

However, Arjuna’s confidence is soon shattered. Rather than seeing the enemy, he sees family, teachers and friends. Instantly, he loses his nerve and collapses on the battlefield.

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Witnessing this pitiful sight, Lord Krishna remains silent. He understands that there is no point in talking when a person is emotionally unstable. Krishna does not utter a word until Arjuna surrenders to Him for advice.

Arjuna’s pathetic condition represents most of humanity when faced with a challenge. Instead of facing life’s difficulties with courage, poise and dignity, we collapse and become emotionally dazed and immobilised.

Arjuna’s Condition is Ours

Dropping his bow and arrows, Arjuna, refusing to fight a righteous war that he had planned with his brothers for thirteen years, represents how many of us handle life’s challenges.

We are all, to some extent, in an Arjuna state. Most of the time, we’re okay, but we can’t handle it when things go wrong — when there’s a loss or a change in circumstances. This is Arjuna’s condition. Instead of seeing the enemy, he takes it personally and crumbles. Instead of being objective and seeing the situation for what it is — a righteous war, he loses his nerve and collapses.

The Gita is a metaphor for what takes place in the heart of every human — the battle between right and wrong, love and hatred, joy and sorrow. It is also a manual on how to handle life’s challenges with grace and ease.

Below is a lesson from the Gita, religiously practised by Mahatma Gandhi, to help us cope with change and uncertainty.

Non-Attachment

Non-attachment is the art of selfless action, which is dedicating everything you do to a purpose greater than your own. When you work for a higher cause, you don’t get mentally attached to what you do. Most people do what they like and avoid what they dislike. Consequently, they get emotionally entangled and suffer.

There is absolutely no point in getting attached or involved in anything because the world and people are constantly changing. Non-attachment gives you the ability to stand back and witness people and the world around you, knowing that what they do and say could change at any minute.

There’s a story about a Chinese philosopher who saw the world as a play. To him, the world was an illusion. Whether he was being criticised or praised, he bowed and replied, “Is that so?” The townsfolk accused him of wrongdoing. He simply said, “Is that so?” They then discovered their mistake and begged him for forgiveness. He simply said, “Is that so?”

Of course, there was nothing to forgive. This is non-attachment. Not getting involved in the affairs of the world. Instead, people get caught up in every little detail and turn their lives upside down.

Final Words

Learn to take a step back. View the world objectively, as an actor on the stage. An actor doesn’t get involved in what’s happening on the stage. He knows he is just an actor playing a role. He plays his role to perfection, but never loses himself in the role.

Similarly, use your power of discernment and look at your life as a play. Understand your various roles, as a partner, a mother or father, a daughter or son, a sportsperson, etc. and play each role to the best of your ability.

Keep moving forward towards the goal you have set, and never lose yourself in your varying roles. Never lose sight of who you are. As Shakespeare says, “All the world’s a stage, and all men and women merely players.”

Thank you for reading. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to leave a comment.

Be Well,

Meredith — The Elder Sage

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Every moment, you are writing the story of your life. Each thought, emotion, and action leaves its mark on the pages of your existence. Every thought is a sentence, every emotion adds nuance, and every action is a paragraph that shapes the unfolding narrative of who you’re becoming.

The power to transform your life resides in you. While others might influence, you are the one holding the pen. The world may offer inspiration or opposition, but it cannot write a single line without your consent. Your life is entirely up to you. You are both the author and the hero — the creator of your fate.

Who you are today is the result of what you have written in the past. Every thought, emotion, and action has formed the pages that have brought you to this moment. You may not have been conscious of it, but you have authored your life, thought by thought, action by action, and line by line.

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The good news is, the story is still unfolding. From this moment forward, you can write differently. You can choose higher thoughts, purer emotions, and wiser actions. The next chapter is not bound by the last. Your past actions have brought you here, but your present choices determine where you go next.

You Are the Creator of Your Destiny

Destiny is not fixed. It is the cumulative effect of your own past thoughts, emotions, and actions. Every choice you’ve made has shaped where you stand. This present moment is your destiny — not something decreed by fate, but authored by you. And in this very moment, with new understanding, you again hold the pen.

When your thoughts are clear, your emotions balanced, and your actions selfless, life begins to flow harmoniously. Opportunities arise, relationships deepen, and the outer world reflects your inner discipline. Peace and prosperity are not goals to be pursued; they are consequences of right living.

To rewrite your destiny, you must begin where all creation begins — within. The outer life you see is but an expression of the inner. If the mind is clouded, the world appears dim; if the heart is turbulent, peace feels distant. But when clarity returns, everything brightens without effort.

The ancient wisdom of the Vedas teaches that to grow from within is to purify your Thoughts, Emotions, and Actions, or T.E.A. for short. These three form the fabric of your life. Refine them, and the texture of your life changes.

1. Purify your Thoughts

Begin before the world wakes. Before the first light touches the sky. Sit in silence and nourish your mind with something elevating — a verse from the scripture, a thought from a great philosopher, something that uplifts you. Reflect upon it deeply. Consider it carefully, and make it your own. Then, you will begin to live it.

Reading gives knowledge; reflection transforms that knowledge into wisdom. This is how you purify your thoughts.

2. Observe your Emotions

Emotion without guidance is like a river without firm banks — it will flood and destroy itself and everything in its path. But when emotion is guided by your discerning intellect, the river reaches its destination — the ocean.

Do not suppress your feelings; understand them. Observe what moves you, what irritates you, and what excites you. These are windows into your attachments. When emotion is understood, peace replaces agitation, and love flows effortlessly.

3. Act Rightly

Right action is action without selfishness. It is not what you do but the motive behind it that determines its quality. When you act to serve rather than to gain, your actions purify your mind. This is Karma Yoga — the art of acting without ego. Every moment then becomes sacred, every deed a step toward freedom.

The Art of Living Consciously

To live consciously is to take authorship of your life. You are not a victim of circumstance but the sculptor of your own making. Every thought chisels your character; every emotion colours your world; every action builds your path.

Peace and prosperity unfold naturally when you live in alignment with higher principles. You cease chasing happiness and begin radiating it. You cease grasping for wealth and begin attracting abundance through clarity, effort, and integrity.

You cannot rewrite the past, but you can write this moment well — and that moment becomes your future. The story of your life is being written now, line by line, in the quiet choices no one sees. Write wisely.

Thank you for reading. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to leave a comment.

Be Well,

Meredith — The Elder Sage

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