When We Stop Asking God for Things

Most of us approach God with a list. 

Give me success. Protect my family. Remove this difficulty. Fulfil this desire. 

There is nothing wrong with prayer. Yet Chapter 9 of the Bhagwadgita gently asks us a more unsettling question: 

Is our devotion love—or only a transaction? 

A beautiful story shared in the session captures this perfectly. When a king announced that he would grant every request made in his court, people came with long lists of desires. But a humble barber asked for only one thing: “When you enter the court, please look at me and smile.” 

That one smile changed everything. The people began to see the barber differently. He was no longer insignificant; he had received the king’s recognition. 

Perhaps this is what real devotion means. 

Not merely asking the Divine to change our circumstances, but longing to be seen by the Divine. Not demanding the gifts of life, but seeking the Giver. Not saying, “What will I get?” but quietly praying, “May I remain connected to You.” 

Chapter 9 is called Rāja Vidyā Rāja Guhya Yoga—the king of knowledge and the deepest secret. Its secret is not hidden because it is complicated. It is hidden because our attention is always outside: achievements, possessions, status, appreciation, control. 

We look at the world through the narrow frame of “my problem,” “my success,” “my loss,” and “my fear.” But the Gita invites us to zoom out. 

When we look at the night sky, our personal anxieties appear smaller. When we contemplate the vastness of creation, our ego begins to soften. And when we understand that existence is not a collection of isolated fragments but an interconnected whole, life acquires a different meaning. 

Consider space inside a pot. We may call it “space in the pot,” but does that space really become separate from the space outside? When the pot moves, breaks, or changes shape, space remains untouched. 

In the same way, we spend our lives fiercely protecting the pot—our identity, role, position, body, possessions and opinions—while forgetting the vast consciousness that is never confined within it. 

The Gita does not ask us to run away from life. It asks us to stop mistaking the temporary for the ultimate. 

Create. Work. Love. Build. Earn. Serve. Enjoy. But do not become imprisoned by the results. 

A child draws on the wall, creates figures in sand, plays a sport, or sings without calculating a return on investment. There is expression, joy and freedom. Somewhere along the journey of becoming “successful,” we replace this natural playfulness with comparison, fear and constant expectation. 

What if life too is an expression of divine creativity? 

What if not every event needs to justify itself through a measurable outcome? 

What if our deepest spiritual practice is to participate fully in life—yet remain inwardly free? 

The true reminder of the Gita is this: our problems may be real, but they need not become the size of our universe. A larger vision does not deny pain; it puts pain in perspective. 

So today, instead of taking another list of demands to God, pause for a moment. 

Ask for clarity. Ask for a wider vision. Ask for the grace to see the Divine in all that exists. 

And perhaps, like the humble barber, simply ask: 

“Do not give me everything I want. Just let me never forget Your presence.”