Peace, Passing, and Practicing Love: Sitting with Life, Death, and the Words of the Gita

Peace, Passing, and Practicing Love: Sitting with Life, Death, and the Words of the Gita

Pull up a seat, friend, but don’t mind if we wobble around a bit—Mark’s foot’s still acting up, and we’re always rearranging these rickety chairs anyway. Welcome in, Namaste, Haribol, a hug of peace whatever name you call the Divine. Thank you for stopping by and spending these few minutes with us. This space, haphazard as it is, is just as much yours: Juicy MagiK, where we settle into life’s bigger questions and sometimes just giggle about foot pain and uncomfortable chairs.

Let’s get comfy (or as comfy as any creaky chair will let us) and breathe together, gently, into those rhythms that make space for real peace. Sometimes what the world most needs starts with five, ten minutes of settling—not outside, but right inside your own ribs.

Gauranga Breathing and the Chance at Stillness

You ever try chanting where you don’t need a background in Sanskrit or a membership card? Gauranga—four patient syllables, gau-ra-an-ga, as long as your breath. You inhale, you say it soft in your mind, and your body remembers that maybe, just maybe, it can slow down.

Chanting, breathing, repeating a name you love for God, or just bringing steady attention to the act itself, can make a difference. It might sound odd if you’ve never sat with it, but those who practice will tell you: peace is contagious. It spreads from heart to heart, home to home, goat to goat (we’ve got plenty wandering nearby), and on to any creature with a nose for air.

Between us, we both know how easy it is to forget and start running like startled chickens. But slowing down together, first out loud and later quieter, changes something in the air. Mark likes to remember those hours just before sunrise, the world soft and sleeping, as the very best time to chant quietly, even under your breath, if somebody else is still sleeping nearby. The feelings return, deeper each time, a kind of gentle sinking—a bubble of sound that can hold you while outside, the world lurches on.

Why Speak of Death (and What Comes Next)?

No one ever said these subjects are easy. Yet for all the talk we share about new beginnings—birth, springtime, fresh projects—there’s something stubborn in many of us (especially here in the West) about turning away from endings.

Sometimes, to really see the living soul, you have to see what happens when it’s not there.

We both know the hush that comes when a loved one leaves their body. Mark’s father was a good man, a singing man—a dad who read scripture and chanted right alongside his kids. Mark wasn’t there at the end, but a video took him to the still place where the body had gone so silent. Maria tells of standing by her own father’s open coffin—years apart, meeting again, and knowing, instantly, that he was no longer inside those familiar bones. In India, Maria watched the old Varanasi fires and felt the gong of truth shake her all the way through: That will happen to my body, too.

Whether you burn, bury, offer up to vultures, or rest bones in towers, every soul’s got to leave its coat behind. It’s not morbid—it’s just honest.

What The Gita Teaches About Bodies and Souls

Vedic wisdom makes it vivid, even playful: Our bodies are like clothes—we put them on, grow out of them, and someday lay them aside. The soul, though, walks on.

Let’s pause and look at the verse that speaks so directly to this truth. As in Bhagavad Gita 2.22:

“As a person puts on new garments, giving up old ones, the soul similarly accepts new material bodies, giving up the old and useless ones.”

It’s an image worth sitting with, especially when saying goodbye is hard. The Gita’s commentary goes a little further, sharing the old Vedic metaphor of two birds in a tree. One bird (just us, the person navigating life) is busy eating fruit, worrying, always chasing pleasure and avoiding pain. The other bird’s just watching—steadfast, patient, the soul’s companion inside the heart. For those wanting a deeper look at the purport and metaphors, Bhagavad Gita 2.22’s full commentary opens more doors.

It’s said the soul (the Jiva) and the Supersoul (Paramatma, or Krishna) sit side by side inside every living body. Sometimes, just knowing you’re not alone in this body—that the Divine is right with you, bearing witness—gives real peace amid the chaos. This classic Vedic metaphor appears in the Mundaka Upanishad and the Svetasvatara Upanishad, too.

Everyday Struggles and Letting Go

Let’s be honest—loss hurts, whether it’s losing a person, a pet, or just the comfort of the familiar. We both know how sharp that ache can be, how stubbornly panic and sadness stick around. When Mark’s favorite cat was hit by a car, he chanted and kept the Gauranga sound circulating for that little soul—believing it made a difference, for cat and human both.

Our culture sometimes hides these truths. In Europe, Maria remembers, people often keep coffins closed, trying to “remember them how they were,” but she found strength and healing in looking directly, saying goodbye face to face. Mark worked a spell in the funeral industry, learning how once (before the companies moved in), people would sit with a loved one’s body at home, washing, wrapping, grieving, and truly witnessing the body as separate from the person.

However you mark loss, it helps to pause and see: This isn’t them anymore. The soul has left. In Zoroastrian customs, bones are left to sun and wind. Socrates joked with his friends on the day of his death, “you’ll have to catch me first,” knowing he was leaving the shell behind.

We talk about these things not because they’re morbid, but because, frankly, turning away from death won’t make it disappear. If you can sit with the truth of endings, you might find yourself living with a bit more tenderness and gratitude.

Here’s a quick table to highlight a few of the ways cultures treat the body after death—none stranger than the other when you look closely.

Love and Bhakti in Life and Death

Spiritual practice has many names—sadhana, bhakti, mindfulness, prayer. Here, our favorite flavor is Bhakti Yoga, the path of loving devotion. It’s funny, isn’t it, how every spiritual teacher, every scripture, says that the real journey happens in the heart—not in long rituals or fancy performance, but in growing humble, patient, forgiving, and grateful right where you are.

Forgiveness comes up just as much as letting go. During meditation, old regrets tend to float up. All those moments where you hurt someone in body, words, or mind. Mark shares one of his teachers, S. N. Goenka, who taught about seeking forgiveness and giving it freely, so you’re lighter when the time comes.

At the end of any life, what most long for isn’t so much praise or gold, but a little peace, a little love, and someone there to chant a gentle mantra. Whether for a person or a pet, someone sitting close can help ease the passage, calling the sacred sounds, holding hands, saying: “I am with you.”

Humor, Ritual, and Making Room for What’s Hard

We joke around about our bodies and what’s to be done with them when the time comes. Mark wants his ashes scattered around Ontario, Maria prefers an old olive tree in Greece (if you can find one). It keeps things light—because, truly, when you realize you’re not your body, it’s easier to be patient, even a little irreverent, about endings.

But that’s not to say we don’t get scared. Maria remembers her grandfather clinging to life, frightened, not wanting to let go. This world and these bodies are sticky—after all, they’re home for a while. The more you practice, the more you hope you can let go with a sense of calm, knowing those around you can help you with chanting, reading, or just holding you in silence.

Everyday Practice: Finding Peace Where You Are

How do you carry all this into daily life? It’s simple things, repeated until they become like well-worn shoes. Wake up a little early, even if just once a week. Try Gauranga breathing before breakfast. Bring your mind back when it wanders. Play soft chants at night, letting them linger as you drift to sleep. Share a scripture or gentle words at meal times or bedtime, not to preach, but to sit together in shared peace.

Even for those who are new, those little moments can plant seeds. Every effort toward humility, patience, forgiveness, and gratitude grows real roots in your heart. And, in the end, it’s all about actualization—not just knowing you’re more than your body, but starting to feel it.

If you’d like to explore more about the two birds, the soul’s journey, or the wisdom of these metaphors, you might find it helpful to read further from Bhagavad Gita 2.22.

Closing Blessings: This Day, This Moment

However you arrived here, whatever you carry, thanks for joining us today. We wish you peace, freedom, joy, and love—sprinkled everywhere, like sunlight across a thousand olive trees. We hope you meet these truths with gentleness and even a little laughter. And if you need someone chanting in your ear when the time comes, just give a shout (or a whisper, we’ll hear you).

Namaste, Haribol, peace be with you. We’ll see you next time with more stories, soft chanting, spiritual questions, and at least one creaky chair.

With warmth from Mark and Maria, your friends at Juicy MagiK.