On the Edge of Despair
The Gita's message to choose courage over collapse
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On the Edge of Despair
The Bhagavad Gita (The Song of the Lord) has been called a sacred song of the Spirit. It’s a story within a story—an epic battlefield of words, choices, and consequences. At its core, it’s a dialogue between Arjuna, the warrior who collapses into an existential crisis, and Krishna, his charioteer, friend, and spiritual guide.
Arjuna, bow in hand, refuses to fight. He cannot bring himself to battle his own kin. He lays down his weapon, falls onto the floor of the chariot, and weeps. This is where The Gita begins—not in triumph or glory, but in breakdown.
Imagine a modern play where all the actors suddenly freeze. Dust and the coppery smell of looming death and decay hang in the air. Warriors stand motionless, while two figures step forward. The spotlight falls on Arjuna, master archer, and Krishna, god incarnate, locked in a side conversation, as the world holds its breath. That is the scene of The Bhagavad Gita: a suspended moment where despair opens the door for truth to speak.
It is here that Arjuna cries out to Krishna: ‘In the dark night of my soul I feel desolation. In my self-pity I see not the way of righteousness. I am thy disciple, come to thee in supplication: be a light unto me on the path of my duty.’ 1
And in our own minds, we call out into the darkness: “I am lost. Gutted. On my knees with despair. Please, lord—whoever is listening—show me the light, the way forward.”2
On one level, The Gita is a story of war. On another, it is an allegory of the inner life. The battlefield becomes the human psyche; the clash of armies mirrors the conflict of duty and desire, fear and courage, despair and love, light and shadow. While Arjuna symbolizes our Ego, and Krishna represents our Higher Self. The Bhagavad Gita reminds us that the real conflict is not only “out there” in the world, but also within the chambers of our own hearts.
Does any of this sound familiar?
The truth is, we are never NOT standing on the field of dharma. And in times such as this, it raises the questions:
What is mine to do? What choices will I make? What do I yoke myself to? Like Arjuna, we face fear, uncertainty, and the chilling numbness of despair. And yet, we are called to act with integrity and courage when it would be easier to collapse.
The Gita does not offer easy answers, but it does offer a way. A guide for the confused and the perplexed, a prolonged meditation on the nature of God or Higher Wisdom, and a reminder that in every moment—no matter how chaotic—we are free to choose.
Neither does The Bhagavad Gita let us off the hook. Krishna urges Arjuna not to abandon his dharma—his sacred responsibility—even in the face of unbearable conflict. And in the same breath, Krishna insists that action itself is not enough. It matters how we act, and from what place inside ourselves the action arises.
That’s what makes this ancient text so alive today. It isn’t simply a manual of war, or philosophy, or even religion. It’s the call of your Higher Self that asks: What is your dharma? What will you do when you’re urged to act in a world on fire?
Because let’s be honest—the world is on fire.
We live in a time of paradox, where beauty and brutality coexist. We scroll past breathtaking acts of kindness and unspeakable violence in the same hour. We’re told to keep going as if things are normal. To ignore the ignorable. To accept the unacceptable while the ground beneath our feet trembles with uncertainty.
Like Arjuna, many of us feel real fear and the desire to hide from the tumult, even knowing there is nowhere to run to. At the same time, like Arjuna, we’re also being asked to show up—to engage, to act with integrity and courage, even when we long to put blinders on.
The Gita teaches three primary yogas, three pathways of living:
Karma Yoga—the yoga of skillful action.
Bhakti Yoga—the yoga of love and devotion.
Jnana Yoga—the yoga of knowledge and wisdom.
Each path is woven through with paradox: to act without attachment, to love without clinging, to know without arrogance. The teachings are not neat or tidy. They are fierce, demanding, and deeply compassionate.
And maybe that’s why The Gita still matters. Because life is messy. Because we, like Arjuna, often stand on our own battlefield, trembling between fear and duty, despair and love.
It calls us out. It pulls us in. It insists we look at our own lives with the same honesty Arjuna was forced to face.
Which leaves us with a question we cannot afford to avoid:
What will you choose when this time asks you to do more than just bitch, and every part of you wants to collapse?
In my next essay, I’ll dive deeper into how The Gita calls us into courageous action in times of chaos—and what that looks like in our world today. Paid subscribers will receive the full essay.
Chapter 2 Verse 7 from The Bhagavad Gita translation Juan Mascaro
Chapter 2 Verse 7. My rendition.
I just love this line: act without attachment, love without clinging, know without arrogance.
I appreciate this introduction to the Bhagavad Gita, Paulette. I still have my husband's copy and I now have a way into looking more closely. He was a high school history teacher and religions are always an important part of studying world history.