Along with many other spiritual seekers across many world cultures and over time as well, I have a more or less daily practice of opening a spiritual book, scripture, or other text ‘at random’ (as if there is such a thing) to receive a message, a lesson, or a little bit of guidance for the day.

In my case, that text has for ages now been the Bhagavad Gita. And over I think the last two or three years, one verse in particular has come up time and again, sometimes on two or three days in a row.

So frequently has this occured that not only have I neglected to examine the verse in any depth, I actually began to ignore it when it came up and went right away to pick another one at random.

Well, this morning, I opened my Gita and there was that verse again – for the second day in a row. However, today, for some reason, I realised that this verse has been calling out to me. Or put it more sensibly: the Divine has been calling on me to take some notice of this verse and its meaning.

So, first of all, allow me to share with you the verse in question.

The Lord of Sri said:

It is said there is an eternal Banyan tree with its roots growing upwards and branches downwards, whose leaves are the Vedic hymns. One who knows this tree knows the Vedas

         Bhagavad Gita 15:01

For me at least, this verse has always appeared quite complicated, complex really, and full of symbolism. Of course, being from an ancient religious text, it’s likely to be all those things isn’t it?

Still, despite reading the verse many times and studying and hearing a few commentaries on it, for some reason it has remained for me rather daunting. At least I can say that I was convinced of the notion that this verse confused me, entangling me in convoluted and sometimes upside down thinking.

Like the Banyan tree itself I guess. Considered especially sacred among all other sacred trees in India, the Banyan is well known for its way of growing willy nilly, every which way, until the whole thing becomes a complete and dense tangle.

And it is this tangle that is at the heart of the metaphor used to illustrate the lesson in this chapter of the Bhagavad Gita: The tree is Samsara, the illusion that is the material universe in which all of us living beings are entangled. It’s as if we’ve walked into that tangle of branches and roots believing that’s where we will achieve our desires.

We are so attached that we identify completely with that physical world (convinced we are merely physical beings ourselves) and are convinced that this is where we can fulfill all our needs.

As the verse says, the leaves of the tree are the Vedas, and one who knows the tree, knows the Vedas. The Vedas are the sacred Hindu scriptures which in this context can be said to represent knowledge. But not knowledge of a mundane ‘ordinary’ kind.

The knowledge to realise (because we already possess this knowledge, we just aren’t aware of it yet) is that we are not the body, so we have no need to be bound to the tree of Samsara with its suffering and its endless entanglements. It is Self Knowledge.

This Self Knowledge leads us to develop what a following verse calls ‘the weapon of detachment’ with which we can chop down this very strong tree of attachments and illusions

A little note: I don’t like this weapon and chopping metaphor at all. I simply pass it on to you as written.

As we begin and progress with this process of truly realizing we aren’t the body, and therefore have no need to identify with or be attached to worldly objects and desires, then slowly the tangle binding us begins to clear, to fall away bit by bit.

I din’t think we need to actually get to that point of cutting down the whole tree before we begin to see results. to reap the benefits if you want to put it that way.

Each and every small thing, desire, compulsion or aversion we no longer feel ourselves bound to, frees us just that much more.

As with any tangle we get ourselves caught up in, once we loosen that first thread (to switch metaphors), the task of unravelling becomes easier.

It’s true – and I think I’ve mentioned it previously – some of my attachments and compulsions are loosening. Some (small ones I admit) have fallen away completely.

As you read in my little note, I’m not comfortable with the whole cutting down trees with weapons metaphor. Perhaps the loosening of threads, the unravelling of tangles and knots sits better with us.

Perhaps my – our? – efforts at detaching from the desires and aversions, from the compulsions for worldly things and objects, and for sense pleasures, can be achieved by a more gentle untying we could call it. A kinder, gentler, calmer, friendlier, means to realizing we are already free.