Gita 2.22

Sankhya Yoga

वासांसि जीर्णानि यथा विहाय नवानि गृह्णाति नरोऽपराणि । तथा शरीराणि विहाय जीर्णान्यन्यानि संयाति नवानि देही ॥

vāsāṁsi jīrṇāni yathā vihāya navāni gṛhṇāti naro 'parāṇi tathā śarīrāṇi vihāya jīrṇāny anyāni saṁyāti navāni dehī

In essence: Just as you discard worn clothes and put on new ones, so the soul discards worn bodies and takes new ones—death is merely a change of wardrobe.

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

Sadhak-Guru Dialogue

Sadhak: "Master, I understand intellectually that the soul is eternal. But when I think of my parents aging, of eventually losing them—the grief feels so real. How do I hold this teaching in my heart, not just my head?"

Guru: "Tell me—when your mother changes from her morning clothes into evening wear, do you feel you've 'lost' her?"

Sadhak: "Of course not. She's still my mother, just wearing different clothes."

Guru: "And if her clothes became very worn—torn, faded, uncomfortable—would you want her to keep wearing them forever? Or would you wish her to have fresh, comfortable garments?"

Sadhak: "I would want her to have new clothes... I see where you're going. But the body feels so much more real than clothes."

Guru: "Does it? Consider: the body you have now shares almost no atoms with the body you had at age seven. Every cell has been replaced. Yet you remained 'you' through all that change. What persisted while everything physical transformed?"

Sadhak: "The sense of being me... my awareness, my consciousness."

Guru: "Exactly. That awareness watched the body of childhood dissolve and the body of adulthood form. It will watch this body age and another emerge. The one who watches doesn't change when the watched transforms."

Sadhak: "But I won't recognize my mother in a new body. That's what hurts—losing the relationship, the face I love."

Guru: "The face you love has already changed countless times—from infant to child to woman to elder. Did you stop loving her when her face changed? What you truly love is not the garment but the wearer. And that wearer—that consciousness—can never be lost to you, only temporarily unrecognized."

Sadhak: "So death is like... my mother going into another room and changing into clothes I don't recognize yet?"

Guru: "Beautifully said. She hasn't ceased to exist—she's simply in garments you haven't learned to identify yet. The relationship of souls persists beyond any particular set of bodies. Those we love, we have loved before and will love again. The clothes change; the love remains."

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

🌅 Daily Practice

🌅 Morning

As you dress each morning, pause and consciously feel yourself as the one who puts on clothes, not the clothes themselves. Feel the gap between the dresser and the dressed. Say quietly: 'I am the one who wears this body, not the body itself.' Carry this awareness as you begin your day.

☀️ Daytime

When you encounter news of death—in media, conversation, or personal life—practice the reframe: 'A garment has been set aside; the wearer continues.' This is not denial of loss but recognition of continuity. Notice how this perspective affects your emotional response without suppressing natural compassion.

🌙 Evening

Before sleep, contemplate: 'This body has changed completely since childhood, yet I remained. Sleep will temporarily dissolve my waking experience, yet I will remain. Death will dissolve this body, yet I will remain.' Let this understanding infuse your rest with the peace of knowing yourself as the constant behind all change.

Common Questions

If changing bodies is as natural as changing clothes, why does death involve so much suffering? Changing clothes is painless.

The suffering comes not from death itself but from attachment—our clinging to the familiar form, our resistance to change. When you desperately hold onto worn clothes, refusing to release them, even that simple act becomes painful. The soul's transition is inherently natural; the suffering we experience comes from our identification with the body and our resistance to letting go. A person who knows they are the wearer, not the worn, can release the old garment with the same ease as changing a shirt.

If my loved ones take new bodies, can I ever find them again? What's the point of relationships if everyone keeps changing forms?

Souls connected by deep bonds tend to journey together across lifetimes. The Gita itself suggests this: the relationships we form are not random but reflect connections that transcend single lives. You may not recognize the new 'clothes' immediately, but the soul-connection remains. Moreover, the purpose of relationships is not permanent physical presence but spiritual growth and the expression of love. Each meeting is an opportunity—whether across one lifetime or many—to deepen that eternal connection.

This metaphor seems to trivialize death. Isn't there something sacred about the body? Shouldn't we grieve?

Krishna does not say the body is worthless—He says it is not the Self. The body is a sacred instrument, worthy of care and respect, just as fine clothes deserve proper handling. But confusing the instrument with the musician leads to unnecessary suffering. Grief at separation is natural and human—even Krishna later describes the sorrow of separation. The teaching is not to suppress grief but to understand its nature: you grieve the temporary absence of a form, not the death of a soul. This understanding doesn't eliminate grief; it transforms it from despair into poignant love.

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