Human life is a constant battle against circumstances, a veritable war against oppressive Nature, external and internal, holding us down to be her bondmen. This oppression must be overcome, this servility given up, this dominance thwarted as we struggle to regain our lost freedom, our inherent status of infinitude. Most of us are so intoxicated with the wine of fleeting sensory pleasures that we fail to even recognise that we are, after all, in captivity to consequence where the incessant flow of work binds us in fetters with apparently no hope of breaking free. So, in delusion we drift but cannot escape pain, misery, sorrow or disease as we are brought to book for our earlier misadventures into a supposed sensory freedom and handed out the standard penalty of death. Thus, our life's saga ends for the while abruptly and imperfectly, an inharmonious end to a dispersed living. Bound to the senses, in this way, we travel from life to life, pilgrims without purpose, hounded by Maya, haunted by a secret sense of immortality that manifests itself as an aspiration for achievement, knowledge and power but cannot find repose in a sea of ceaseless desires. Knowledge of our spiritual Self is lost in a maze of myriad mirages and we are buffeted by the four winds to live, a bubble in a swirling sea with as much endurance as frothy form permits. Thus, we are, held to ransom by a tyrannous force we call Nature but which the Hindus of Vedic lore identified as the Spirit, the mover of things.
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