Much of what we call “life” — its highs and lows, the triumphs and heartbreaks — is quietly steered by three powerful undercurrents: fear, anger, and desire. So deeply woven into our personal, professional, and social worlds, they often move us without our even knowing. Decisions we think are rational, reactions we believe are justified, and pursuits we assume are meaningful — they are often echoes of these three internal forces.

In Vedānta, these forces aren’t just emotions or psychological states. They are seen as disturbances — distortions that keep us bound to samsāra, the cycle of worldly entanglement. This samsāra isn’t just about birth and death. It’s about being caught in patterns, in cravings and aversions, in endless reactions that rob us of clarity, peace, and freedom.

No wonder then, that the sages of old described samsāra as an ocean. An ocean doesn’t offer firm ground. It swells, it crashes, it pulls. And like a boat without an anchor, we’re constantly tossed about by the waves of bhayaḥ (fear), krodhaḥ (anger), and kāmaḥ (desire).

These aren’t poetic metaphors. They reflect real, lived experience. Fear grips the body — your heartbeat races, your breath shortens. Anger consumes the mind — clouding thought, erupting in words or silence. Desire hijacks the intellect — convincing you that “just this one thing” will complete you. And once that desire is fulfilled, a new one quietly takes its place.

There is no end to how much life can be at the mercy of this trio. That’s what makes samsāra so exhausting — not because of the events outside, but because of what they stir inside us.

But Vedānta, with its compassionate clarity, doesn’t leave us there.

It begins with a simple yet radical invitation: Become aware.

Awareness is the first step. Not suppression, not judgment — just quiet, honest awareness. See how fear tightens your chest. Watch how anger hijacks your clarity. Notice how desire makes promises it rarely keeps. Observe how these play out not just in thought, but in your body, mind, and intellect.

When you begin to observe them, a subtle space is born — a space between you and the emotion. You realize: I have fear, but I am not fear. I experience anger, but I am not anger. I feel desire, but I am not desire.

This is no small realization. It’s the beginning of freedom.

Vedānta calls this space vivekaḥ, or discernment — the ability to see what is passing and what is permanent. The body changes, the mind fluctuates, the emotions rise and fall. But the ātmā, the self, remains untouched — ever present, ever aware.

And from that discernment comes vairāgyam, dispassion. Not cold detachment, but a quiet strength — the ability to no longer be pulled in every direction by every passing emotional wave.

This is how we begin to manage the trio — not by fighting them, but by seeing through them. By understanding that their power lies not in themselves, but in our mistaken identification with them.

As this understanding deepens, the mind slowly becomes śāntaḥ — calm, steady, unshaken. And in that stillness, we are ready to look deeper, to see what was always here beneath the waves: the truth of who we are — whole, free, and fearless.

So yes, samsāra is an ocean. But Vedānta offers the boat, the compass, and the steady hand of wisdom.

It starts with awareness.

It leads to freedom.

Credits: Teachings drawn from the tradition of Advaita Vedānta and the timeless wisdom of the Bhagavad Gītā.