He goes further: "I am the father of this universe, the mother, the sustainer, and the grandsire. I am the goal, the protector, the witness, the shelter, the well-wisher, the origin, and the dissolution."
This isn't poetic exaggeration. It's a direct challenge to the boundary we draw between "me" and "the world out there." If the giver, the gift, and the act of giving all collapse into one reality, then the wall we've built between ourselves and everything we're chasing was never as solid as we assumed.
The President Cannot Be Judged by His Own Court
The session offered a governance analogy that deserves to be sat with. A country's president cannot be prosecuted by the very judiciary that exists because of the constitution he presides over — not because he is above the law in some corrupt sense, but because the framework itself was established through him. He remains within the larger system of the nation, yet he is not simply another citizen subject to every ordinary process, because without him, the process doesn't exist at all.
Krishna's relationship with Prakriti mirrors this. He pervades it, sustains it, is even present within its finest grain — yet He is not bound by its limitations the way we, as finite beings inside finite bodies with finite lifespans, inevitably are. We live inside the process. He is the process, and simultaneously stands beyond its ability to constrain Him.
Why This Actually Matters on a Tuesday
It's easy to file this away as beautiful philosophy for a quiet Sunday morning and forget it by Monday's first meeting. But consider what shifts if you actually absorb it: every task you complete, every client conversation, every difficult decision, every ordinary breath — is not separate from the sacred. There is no wall between "spiritual life" and "working life" if the doer, the deed, and the process are one continuous reality, as Krishna claims.
The session also surfaced an uncomfortable, very current observation — that attention spans today rarely survive 30 to 40 seconds before pulling toward a phone, a notification, a distraction. If we cannot sit with a single verse long enough to actually absorb it, how will we ever sit with a truth this large? Depth is no longer the default; it has to be deliberately chosen, protected, and returned to — again and again — the way you'd return to a practice, not a performance.
The fish never has to remind itself it is in water. It simply lives, unaware and unbothered, because the water is not something it has to achieve. Perhaps the invitation of this chapter is exactly that: not to strain toward some distant divine reality, but to notice — quietly, without drama — that you have never, for a single moment, been outside of it.
This is an extract of one of the Bhagwadgita session that Mitesh Katira conducts since last more than 6 years from the professionals every Friday and sunday from 7am to 8m IST. Do Dm him if you are keen to be part of these live sessions from the next batch.