How to Keep Walking When the Road Has Washed Away

There are seasons when the sky itself seems to conspire against us.

When everything you ever counted on — your work, your purpose, your faith — seems to come up bankrupt in your hands, and you’re left standing there like a tree in winter, naked and shivering, in a field no one tends anymore.

There comes a time when even the bravest heart sinks to its knees.

The Hindu epics told this truth a thousand years before you or I ever sat staring blankly into a cold morning, wondering if it was worth getting up again.

They told it in the story of Arjuna — a warrior so great the gods themselves bowed to him — who, when faced with the battle he was born for, dropped his bow and wept like a child.

“I cannot do this,” he said.

“I see no joy, only destruction. My hands will not lift. My mind will not obey.”

Maybe you know that feeling. Maybe you’ve been the one who spent your life building something — a career, a calling, a place in the world — only to wake one morning and find it all turned to dust in your mouth.

You watch others buying their villas, booking their retirements, sipping their golden years like fine wine.

You, meanwhile, are stuck in a life that no longer fits, working for money that feels like a hand closing around your throat. Maybe the cruelest part is that you once loved your work. It saved you once. It was your proof that you mattered. Now it bleeds you dry, and you don’t even recognize the one doing the bleeding.

What the Bhagavad Gita teaches — what Krishna whispered to Arjuna in the blood-stained dust — is that this moment is not the end. It is the beginning.

The unraveling you are feeling? It is the universe’s mercy.

It is the soul’s way of saying: The old life is too small for you now.

When you feel like letting go of the only thing you trusted — your work, your purpose, your plan — you are standing exactly where Arjuna stood:

Trembling. Blind. Broken-hearted and ready. Ready to stop fighting for survival alone. Ready to start living from the still, fierce voice inside that says:

“You are more than what you can earn. You are more than what you can prove.”

How, then, do you keep walking forward when your legs have no strength left?

You move the way Arjuna did.

Not with certainty. Not with a shining roadmap.

But with one tiny act of surrender: you listen.

You set down your old weapons: the constant striving, the shame, the hunger for a finish line that will make it all worth it.

You let yourself cry if you need to. You let the life you thought you wanted fall apart in your hands. And then, slowly, you begin again.

You take one step toward something that feels like life: not the paycheck, not the survival game — but the thing that makes your heart hum a little in your chest.

Maybe it’s growing a garden with no one to see it.

Maybe it’s writing words that no one will pay for.

Maybe it’s simply breathing in and breathing out without demanding your breath be “useful.”

Krishna said it plainly: “Perform your sacred duty, abandon all attachment to success or failure.”

Your sacred duty now is not to succeed.

It is to stay alive to the mystery of what your life is becoming.

And yes, it may be a vicious circle.

Some mornings you will feel strong, and ready to believe.

Others will tear the breath from your throat.

This is the way of it.

But each time you choose life — even broken, even tired — you are stepping closer to a freedom that no job, no retirement plan, no title could ever offer you.

You are becoming like Arjuna, who after hearing Krishna’s words, stood up trembling — not because he was ready, not because he had certainty — but because he finally understood:

The battle was never against the world.

The battle was for his own soul.

And so is yours.

You keep walking because something inside you — bigger than fear, older than time — still believes in you.

Walk on..…

The battlefield is holy ground.

And you, in your trembling, are already winning.

Forgive yourself. Begin again.

Each small act of faith — each refusal to give up on the sacredness of your own being — cracks the wheel a little more.

Each step you take toward devotion and away from fear moves you closer to the life you were always meant to live:

Not surviving, but being.

Not trapped, but free.

Even now, under the weight of a world that looks ready to fall apart, you are standing on the threshold of a new life.

Step through.

You were never meant to live and die inside the vicious circle.

You were meant to be the one who breaks it.

Hari Om  Tat Sat