conciousness PractiCES Reflection

Know Me as the Knower in every field of experience. — Bhagavad Gita 13.3

Before dawn, in a state between sleep and waking, a Kurukshetra arose without images. There was no dream, yet a heaviness lifted from my body.

I woke around 2 a.m as my sister was awake. Something had already begun inwardly, before any outer movement.
I got ready quickly and I forgot to pray for myself. The downstairs prayer for the 31st had to be prepared. My sister left the house to fetch our cousins. The house was quiet, but inside me the field of action was already active.

The disturbance began with my brother asking angrily where the kumkum container and the sandalwood container were. I remembered that he had cleaned the box the previous day and kept the containers aside. I did not remember him handing them to me. He asked where the “extras” were. I knew there was only one set.

I stayed calm and went to the box near the altar, searching again. I found only one container. When I came down, he followed me upstairs and began shouting. I looked at him, confused. At that moment, I did not understand why the intensity was escalating.

From attention on disturbance, attachment arises. — Bhagavad Gita 2.62

The lamp suddenly went off. He shouted at me to light it immediately. I noticed that the container he had taken earlier was already placed at the setup and showed it to him. Instead of settling the matter, his anger increased. He kept asking about the extras.

My mother came out. I tried to light the lamp, but the matchsticks would not catch. One box failed, then another. My mind scattered. I went to the kitchen to look for more matchboxes. My brother continued shouting. My mother began screaming at me, accusing me of creating a scene early in the morning. Her words cut deeply.

From anger comes confusion; from confusion, loss of clarity. — Bhagavad Gita 2.63

I brought more matchboxes from the kitchen. Still, the flame would not light. The shouting continued. The focus kept shifting. I felt cornered, watched, pressured. My awareness collapsed into reaction.
In that state, I struck him.
The moment it happened, clarity returned sharply. I stopped. I saw not the outer scene, but my own fall from presence. I went back to the lamp. This time, the flame lit.
In that pause, another layer surfaced.

This was not only about containers or a lamp. I remembered the collection I had written — my truth — and the tension it had stirred. In that moment, it felt as though the confusion itself was connected to that unresolved anger, as if the scene was testing my reaction rather than seeking resolution.

Whether this was his intention or my projection no longer mattered. What mattered was that my body and mind experienced the situation as a Kurukshetra born from unfinished resentment. And because I did not remain conscious, I was pulled into it again.

The outer task was done, but the inner damage had already occurred.
Still shaken, I called my sister. She had me on speaker in the car with our cousins. I felt exposed and asked her to turn it off. She disconnected.

I sent messages explaining what had happened, still trying to understand where the “extras” had come from.
Upstairs, I heard my brother recounting the incident to his wife. Another retelling. Another version of the same field.

The cousins arrived. I stayed distant. I noticed the lack of eye contact and understood they had already heard parts of the story. I did not engage.

Freedom is not found by avoiding action, but by right action. — Bhagavad Gita 3.4

The priest arrived. The mini prayer was performed. The men left for the temple. Gradually, the noise dissolved.
What remained was recognition.
This scene had appeared inwardly before it unfolded outwardly. The signs were present. The details were there. Yet I had not stayed attentive when it mattered most.

This is how the Kurukshetra repeats not because it is new, but because the lesson is missed at the moment of action.
I questioned why my father passed before me. Why life unfolds in this order.

Why karma now feels immediate, without delay. The same patterns replay as if time itself is insisting on awareness.
Afterward, I felt no emotion, only anger at myself for not seeing clearly when I could have acted differently.

One must lift oneself by one’s own awareness and not degrade oneself. — Bhagavad Gita 6.5

At the end of the day, my brother told me what he had meant by the “extras.” They were two other containers — one used for payasam and another for vegetables. I had kept them aside in a kitchen cabinet because they felt like food containers, not prayer items.

He said the confusion was on me. I asked why he had not explained this clearly in the morning. He said he did not create any story and that it was not intentional.At that point, the scene no longer justified certainty. It did not prove intent, nor did it erase how the confusion unfolded. What remained was the understanding that clarity delayed can still cause harm.

The Kurukshetra did not end in blame or vindication, but in seeing how quickly meaning is filled in when awareness slips — and how easily a small gap becomes a battlefield.