GitaChapter 2Verse 20

Gita 2.20

Sankhya Yoga

न जायते म्रियते वा कदाचिन् नायं भूत्वा भविता वा न भूयः । अजो नित्यः शाश्वतोऽयं पुराणो न हन्यते हन्यमाने शरीरे ॥

na jāyate mriyate vā kadācin nāyaṁ bhūtvā bhavitā vā na bhūyaḥ ajo nityaḥ śāśvato 'yaṁ purāṇo na hanyate hanyamāne śarīre

In essence: The Self is never born, never dies—unborn, eternal, everlasting, ancient—it remains untouched even as the body falls.

A conversation between a seeker and guide to help you feel this verse deeply

Sadhak-Guru Dialogue

Sadhak: "These words... 'never born, never dies'... they sound beautiful but impossible. I watched my mother die. I felt her hand grow cold."

Guru: "You felt her hand—the body's hand. Did you feel her awareness leave? Or did you infer it from the body's stillness?"

Sadhak: "I... I assumed she was gone because the body stopped. But how can I know what happened to her consciousness?"

Guru: "Exactly. You saw the body cease functioning. The Self—which was never identical to that body—you cannot track with your senses. Where would you look for something that has no form?"

Sadhak: "But I miss her! The grief is real, even if you say her Self continues!"

Guru: "The grief is completely real, and I'm not asking you to suppress it. You miss her presence, her words, her touch—all expressions through the body. Grieve that loss fully. But underneath the grief, can you sense that her being—the consciousness that looked through her eyes—could never simply vanish?"

Sadhak: "Something in me does feel that she's... not gone. Just unreachable through the old channels."

Guru: "That intuition is closer to truth than your logical conclusion. The verse says 'purāṇa'—ancient. Her Self didn't begin when her body was conceived, and it didn't end when her body failed."

Sadhak: "Then why does death feel so terrible? Why does it break us?"

Guru: "Because we identify with the body and see others as bodies. We forget what we are. The Gita's purpose is not to make death pleasant—it is to reveal that what dies was never truly ourselves or our loved ones. The grief transforms when the identification shifts."

Sadhak: "I want to understand this not as philosophy but as... reality. How do I get there?"

Guru: "You don't 'get there'—you're already there. You've always been the unborn, eternal Self. You've just been hypnotized by the body's story. The question is not 'how do I become immortal?' but 'how do I recognize what I already am?'"

Did this resonate with you? Share it with someone who needs to hear this.

🌅 Daily Practice

🌅 Morning

Upon waking, before your mind assembles your identity (your name, your problems, your plans), rest for one minute in pure awareness. That awareness—unconcerned with past or future—is a glimpse of your unborn, undying nature. Carry this glimpse as you enter the day.

☀️ Daytime

When fear arises—fear of failure, rejection, illness, or death—pause and ask: 'What in me is afraid?' Notice that awareness itself is not trembling; only the mind-body is reacting. Let this noticing create a small space between you and the fear, loosening its grip.

🌙 Evening

Contemplate someone you have lost—a relative, friend, or teacher. Instead of focusing on the absence of their body, try to sense the presence that looked through their eyes. That presence was 'aja'—unborn. Where could it go? Rest in the mystery, without needing an answer.

Common Questions

If the Self is unborn and eternal, where does my sense of individual identity come from?
Individual identity arises from identification with the body-mind complex—your specific memories, thoughts, preferences, and physical form. This is called ahaṁkāra (the 'I-maker'). It's like a wave believing it is separate from the ocean. The wave is real as a pattern, but its 'separate existence' is a perspective, not an ultimate truth. The Self is the ocean; the individual sense is the wave-pattern that temporarily appears on its surface.
How can something be 'ancient' (purāṇa) but also 'ever-new' or eternal? Doesn't ancient imply old?
Ancient here means 'prior to time,' not 'long ago.' Something long ago is still within time's framework. The Self is purāṇa because it existed before time began its counting. Yet it is also nitya (eternal)—present at every moment—and therefore not 'old' in the sense of worn or faded. The Self is ancient like the space within a room: it was there before the walls were built, yet it doesn't age with them.
If the Self cannot be killed, does it feel what happens to the body? Does it suffer?
The Self is the witness of experience, not the experiencer in the usual sense. Pain registers in the body-mind; the Self illumines that registration. Think of a mirror reflecting fire—the mirror shows the flames but doesn't burn. However, this doesn't mean the Gita endorses callousness. The body's suffering is real at its level. Understanding the Self's nature brings compassion, not indifference—because you recognize all beings share this same eternal nature.