Our experience of relationships passes through three distinct phases in the course of a lifetime.
The first phase is when we start building relationships. Sometimes we do it consciously, but more often our relationships get built by a force beyond our control. When we are young, we like to explore, we want to know more people, we want to broaden our horizon. A kind of network of friends is formed, in addition to the family network that we inherit. More people become a part of our circle when we move into a new neighborhood or when we enter the workforce and forge new relationships. Lately, many use social media to build a virtual network of “friends” in order to augment their existing circle (or to make up for the lack of any).
The second phase, which usually occurs when we are in our 20s and 30s, is when we start evaluating and assessing our relationships. It doesn’t take long to realize how porous the network is and how dynamic its composition. Some childhood contacts become distant or are lost, other contacts that we pick up remain in the network for varying periods and then disappear, but a few endure. We become more aware of what we are looking for in our relationships. When we find what we are looking for, it’s bliss; when we don’t, we are disappointed, sometimes heartbroken.
The third phase begins when we are older and (hopefully) more mature and thoughtful. This is the phase of pruning, questioning and reflecting. With greater self-knowledge we know which relationships need to be fostered and which need to terminate. We also question the role and extent of some relationships and agonize over them. We begin to reflect over what our relationships have meant to us and how they have transformed us. We discover that a mature relationship is not hampered by separation created by distance or even by death. The person we relate to is no longer only outside, but in some strange sort of way has become an inner, subtler, inseparable presence. That is how we remain connected with even those who are no longer with us.
It is not often recognized that spiritual life is primarily a life devoted to discovering the relationship between oneself and God. Swami Vivekananda defined religion as “the eternal relation between the eternal soul and the eternal God” (CW 3. 4). Who am I really? Who is God? How are God and me related? The riddle of life is solved when answers to these questions are found.
In the early stages, our relationships in the world appear more real, more stable, more dependable than our relationship with God, who is someone we have never seen, someone who is simply an idea in the head, or hope in the heart, or a belief in the mind. An idea of God, or hope or belief related to God, is powerful nevertheless. Anything associated with God is tinged with God’s power.
Deep faith (śraddhā) can help us persevere in the quest for God. When our spiritual practice is powered by purity, patience and perseverance, the reality of God gradually begins to take shape in the heart. It’s almost like seeing someone in a dense fog. We don’t know who it is we are seeing, but we have no doubt that we are seeing someone. In meditation we are able to feel the presence of God but not quite see God. Nevertheless, a kind of relationship is forged with this unseen but deeply felt divine presence.
This is a breakthrough in spiritual life. We reach the first concrete goalpost when we know that God truly exists. This is not an intellectual conviction. This is not simply a feeling. This is the unshakeable awareness that comes without riding on concepts and ideas. God the idea, the hope, the belief, disappears. God is now someone real, not simply someone propped up by faith. Experiencing in this way the existence of God is a precursor to knowing God more closely, more intimately (see Kaṭha Upaniṣad, 2.3.13).
God is not yet visible enough to make a closer relationship possible or easy. But we know for certain we’ll meet God when the fog disappears. The only thing separating us from God is this mysterious fog. We soon realize that the fog is not outside. It won’t vanish on its own. The fog is within us and we have to drive it away with our own efforts. No one else can or will do this for us. The more we delay our efforts, the denser the fog gets.
This realization infuses new energy and greater urgency in our spiritual practice. After all, time is limited and, if the fog doesn’t dissipate before death, we might have to come again to continue the struggle. Having come this far, it would be foolish to throw in the towel. It’s like dropping off in the last mile of a heroically run marathon. What keeps us on the path is deep faith in ourselves, in our teacher (guru), and in God, who is often visualized in the heart in the form of a chosen ideal (iṣṭa-devatā).
When the fog disappears totally—it will, if we persist with dogged determination—we stand in the presence of God. At that pivotal moment, relationship is the last thing on our minds. In fact, at that moment, there is no mind, hence no thoughts. We are speechless. Time stops. (Maybe it never existed, to begin with.) There is just basking in the light of God—in the light who is God. Those who “come back” from that experience have described their understanding of God in multifarious ways. No matter how the relationship with God is described, the experience usually ends up with seeing God in everything, as everything and, simultaneously, beyond everything. Odd, but true.
We are reminded of the immanence of God described in the 9th and the 10th chapters of the Gītā, and especially in these two verses (9. 17-18):
पिताहमस्य जगतो माता धाता पितामह: ।
वेद्यं पवित्रमोङ्कार ऋक् साम यजुरेव च ॥
गतिर्भर्ता प्रभु: साक्षी निवास: शरणं सुहृत् ।
प्रभव: प्रलय: स्थानं निधानं बीजमव्ययम् ॥
Pitāham asya jagato mātā dhātā pitāmahaḥ,
vedyaṁ pavitram oṁkāra ṛk sāma yajur-eva ca.
Gatir-bhartā prabhuḥ sākṣī nivāsaḥ śaraṇaṁ suhṛt,
prabhavaḥ pralayaḥ sthānaṁ nidhānaṁ bījam avyayam.
“I am the Father of this world—the Mother, the Sustainer, the Grandfather, the Purifier, the one thing to be known, Aum, and also the Ṛk, Sāman and Yajus, the Goal, the Supporter, the Lord, the Witness, the Abode, the Refuge, the Friend, the Origin, the Dissolution, the Substratum, the Storehouse, the Seed immutable.”
Hence the following prayer (Prapanna Gītā, 23):
त्वमेव माता च पिता त्वमेव
त्वमेव बन्धुश्च सखा त्वमेव ।
त्वमेव विद्या द्रविणं त्वमेव
त्वमेव सर्वं मम देवदेव ॥
Tvam eva mātā ca pitā tvam eva
tvam eva bandhuś-ca sakhā tvam eva,
Tvam eva vidyā draviṇaṁ tvam eva
tvam eva sarvaṁ mama devadeva.
“O Supreme Lord—
You are my mother, you are my father,
You are my relative, you are my friend,
You are my knowledge, you are my wealth,
You are my all in all.”
Coming from a heart filled with sincerity and honesty, this powerful prayer focuses the mind fully on God. Everything else disappears, all other relationships recede into the background. The shining presence of God alone fills the heart.
Soon enough, though, questions may arise. If God is my mother, father, relative, friend and my “all in all”—and if this is true—then what happens to those whom I have seen all my life as my mother, my father, my relatives, my friends? Are all those treasured relationships false? Didn’t they mean anything at all?
Our relationships are, of course, not false. Whatever meaning they add to our lives comes from the presence of God inherent in them. The love we experience in our relationships is the love of God. If our relationship with our parents has been fulfilling and enriching, that is because God is present not only in them but also in the relationship. So with our relationships with our teachers, our friends, and even with the “unexpected guest” (atithi), meaning whoever pops into our lives without prior notice. This really means almost everyone we know, for how often have we received a memo before someone becomes a part of our lives?
God is present in everyone and in every relationship. The problem is that we are not able to see this. That is why Vedic teachers instructed their students to make effort to see God in every relationship (Taittirīya Upaniṣad, 1. 11). When we succeed in doing so, there is harmony, peace, joy, and the relationship is a fulfilling experience. What does it mean to see God in every relationship? What exactly are we expected to do? The process is simple enough to describe but may need a lot of effort to do it well. All we need to do is connect with everything and everyone in life through God—and remember this connection all the time.
We can begin by seeing our relationships with a fresh pair of eyes. Everyone we are related to either as a member of the family or as a friend or as whatever, is a gift that God has given us to help us grow and evolve. Some of God’s “gifts” may be puzzling. It may not be easy to see everyone as a gift, since some of them surely are people we find difficult to get along, some may be crazy, some even scary. Many others, thankfully, may be a joy to be around. No matter how everyone around us is, there is a lot we can learn even from simply looking at them. From some we learn how we should live; from others, how we should not live. Some teach us how to be, other teach us how not to be. All of these people are our teachers and deserve our love and respect.
We can also, if we wish, learn to see every person we are related to as belonging to God, as someone God has entrusted in our care. When a friend goes on a vacation and requests us to take care of their dog or cat, we readily do so if we care enough for our friend. For a devotee, God is not only a friend but everything. It makes a big difference if we see the people in our lives as those kept in our care by God. We take care of them and we love them because we love God. Because they belong to God, God can take them away whenever God wants. All we can do is be grateful for the opportunity to serve as long as it is possible. To serve them is to serve God. “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me” (Matthew, 25: 40).
The primary cause of relationships that are unfulfilling, frustrating, disappointing, and heartbreaking is our failure in remembering to see God in others and in our own hearts, our inability to see everyone in our lives as God’s gift to us or as someone God has entrusted in our care. The struggle is to remember—and never forget—that we are connected to everyone and everything through God, never directly. Any relationship that bypasses God is going to be rocky sooner or later.
When a relationship is blessed with the presence of God, there is a broadening of the heart and the person becomes one’s own, a part of the family. In time, our definition of “family” expands to encompass not only those within our circles but also those who are seen as outsiders—not only other human beings but also birds and animals, plants and trees, the nature in its fullness and totality. No one is left out. Says the Mahā Upaniṣad (6. 71-72):
अयं निज: परो वा इति गणना लघुचेतसाम् ।
उदार-चरितानां तु वसुधैव कुटुम्बकम् ॥
Ayaṁ nijaḥ paro vā iti gaṇanā laghu-cetasām,
Udāra-caritānāṁ tu vasudhaiva kuṭumbakam.
“This one is ours, that (other one) is not ours—this kind of thinking belongs to narrow minded people. To the large-hearted, the entire universe becomes one family.”