Growing up in a joint family, I watched the elders perform daily prayers to Ishwara. Oil lamps were lit, flowers were offered before the deities, and the house filled with the scent of incense and the sound of prayer. Devotion to Ishwara was woven into the fabric of our lives. His presence seemed to be everywhere.
And yet I had questions. Who is Ishwara? Why did my family worship with such certainty someone they could neither see nor touch? As I grew older, those questions became more urgent. Did Ishwara really exist? Faith alone was not enough for me. I wanted understanding.
Much later, while studying Vedanta with my teacher, I began to receive answers. Some of our earliest conversations centered on Ishwara. Her insights transformed my understanding—not only of Ishwara as a philosophical idea, but as a living presence in ordinary life.
The Creator and the Creation
“You have heard of Ishwara,” my teacher said, “but do you really understand what that means?”
I hesitated.
“Many people think of Ishwara as a distant God—someone they pray to when they need help. Others think of Him as the creator and sustainer of the universe. That is not wrong, but it is incomplete. Ishwara is not just the creator. Ishwara is both the creator and the creation.”
To explain this, she offered an analogy.
“Imagine a carpenter building a chair. The carpenter must have the knowledge and skill to shape the chair, but he also needs wood—the raw material. Without the carpenter’s intelligence, the chair cannot be formed. But without wood, there is no chair to begin with.”
She paused. “Now here is the difference. Before Ishwara created the universe, there was no material separate from Him. So what did He use? Only Himself. Ishwara is both the intelligence that shapes the universe and the very substance from which it is made.”
I must have looked puzzled, because she smiled and continued.
“Think of a spider’s web. The spider spins the web from itself. The material comes from the spider, and the knowledge that shapes it also belongs to the spider. Or think of a dream. In a dream, you create an entire world—mountains, cities, rivers, people. What is it made of? Only your own mind. And who is its creator? You. In the same way, Ishwara is both the intelligence behind the universe and the substance of the universe.”
A new understanding began to form.
“So Ishwara creates the universe from His own being. He is both the creator and the creation.”
“Exactly,” she said. “He is not separate from the universe. He appears as the universe.”
The Intelligence of Order
She continued, “Look at the order in the world. Planets move in precise patterns. Seeds become trees. Bodies grow, heal, and decay according to laws. Even the mind has its own order. This vast intelligence is not random. It is the expression of Ishwara.”
“And because Ishwara is all-pervasive, that intelligence is all-pervasive too. From the smallest particle to the furthest star, everything is held within that order.”
She let that sink in before adding, “Our own intelligence—our bodies, our minds, our power to think and act—is not separate from this larger order. It arises within it. When we understand this, gratitude and humility naturally follow. We no longer see ourselves as isolated individuals struggling against life. We begin to see ourselves as expressions of a larger intelligence.”
Something in me softened. Ishwara was no longer a distant deity presiding over the world from somewhere else. He was the very order and substance of existence itself.
Embracing Duality
Still, a question remained.
“What about suffering?” I asked. “If Ishwara is everything, how do we understand pain, loss, destruction, and failure?”
She became very still before answering.
“It is easy to see Ishwara in what pleases us. It is harder to see Him in what disturbs us. But Ishwara is not confined to our preferences. Creation and destruction are both part of the cosmic order. Birth and death, gain and loss, success and failure—these opposites are woven into life itself.”
She looked at me carefully. “To understand Ishwara more deeply, we must move beyond the habit of dividing reality into what we call good and bad. Ishwara is present in the whole, not merely in the parts we happen to like.”
That was not an easy teaching, but it rang true. Life was full of dualities, and none of them stood outside the order that governed everything.
A Personal Relationship
At our next meeting, my teacher shifted the conversation in a more intimate direction.
“You have done well in life,” she said gently, “but you still feel burdened, do you not?”
I nodded. She was right. I had spent years trying to control everything—work, family, future—and no matter how much I achieved, something still felt unresolved.
“You need to bring your understanding of Ishwara into daily life,” she said. “Otherwise it remains only an idea.”
“How do I do that?” I asked.
“By building a personal relationship with Ishwara.”
I was confused. How does one build a relationship with the intelligence behind the universe?
Sensing my hesitation, she explained, “Think of Ishwara as a living presence. If you relate to Him as a distant abstraction, the connection remains thin. But if you relate to Him as a friend, a guide, a source of refuge, the relationship becomes real.”
Her words took me back to childhood, to all those household rituals I had once dismissed. I suddenly understood that those acts of worship were not primitive gestures. They were ways of giving form to the formless so that the heart could relate.
“Speak to Ishwara,” she said. “Tell Him your fears, your frustrations, your joys. Nothing is too small. Nothing is too personal. The more honestly you bring your life into that relationship, the more natural trust becomes.”
This changed everything for me. Ishwara was no longer merely a philosophical principle. He had become intimate.
Letting Go of Control
“As this relationship deepens,” she continued, “you begin to see more clearly what is in your hands and what is not. You can act, but you cannot control every result.”
She paused, then offered an image I never forgot.
“It is like rowing a boat down a river. You can steer. You can row well or poorly. But you do not control the current. The river has its own flow. If you fight it constantly, the journey becomes exhausting. If you understand the current and work with it, the journey becomes lighter. Life is like that. Ishwara is the order in which all actions unfold.”
Her analogy landed deeply. I had spent so much of my life trying to overpower the current.
From Anxiety to Trust
“How do I begin trusting Ishwara more?” I asked.
“Start simply,” she said. “Before the rush of the day begins, pause for a moment and acknowledge His presence—within you and around you. Remind yourself that you are part of a larger order, and that you are not carrying life alone.”
She encouraged me to hold that attitude through the day.
“When challenges arise, remember: you are responsible for action, not for controlling the outcome. Act carefully, intelligently, wholeheartedly. Then let the result belong to Ishwara.”
That shift seemed small, but I could already sense its power. I did not have to become passive. I did not have to abandon responsibility. I simply had to stop carrying the impossible burden of total control.
Ishwara in Daily Life
As our conversation came to a close, I felt lighter.
Ishwara was no longer a remote figure to be remembered only in moments of need. He was the intelligence pervading everything—the unseen order in the cosmos, the quiet presence in the heart, the guiding current beneath every event.
To surrender to Ishwara is not to give up. It is to act with full care while releasing the arrogance and anxiety of imagined control. It is to understand that while we may be the doers of action, we are not the masters of all results.
And in that understanding, a certain peace begins to emerge.