Time moves on. That which was the future becomes the present, and itself rolls away to join the endless ocean of the past. Time never stops, under no conditions, for no person! It is ever on the march! Man, gather¬ing memories from his own ‘past’ barricades his ‘present’, sets them ablaze with his excitements in his day to day life, and the rising fumes of his bosom blurs his vision to make his fife rugged with his anxieties for the future F As we thus waste ourselves with our endless maneuvers, in the irresistible stride of time, all our hopes and plans get defeated and routed.
The young courageous heart of the spiritual child Nachiketa realizes this ridiculous tamasha, when he consoles his old father Vachasravas, by reminding him that “things born must die and perish away only to be born again”—nothing is permanent.
Later the same spiritual hero talking face to face with his teacher; Lord Death, at Death’s own portico, with utter disdain rejected the gifts that Yama offered him, and there again we hear the same truth expressed in the vigorous words of the child “even the longest life that you can give is but a trifle; may you keep to yourself the dance and the music.”
The day decays to end itself in the night. The night dies only to blossom forth into the following day. The dawn grows in vigor and heat to be the noon, but soon waves away to the mellow dusk. On the wheel of happenings, the months steadily glide along and in its soft-footed silent march; the irresistible floods of time roll up in waves of years, sweeping everything in front of its relent¬less might. Hushed in the silence of its own wonderment, the Age slips unperceived into its slushy grave.

Life is at Time’s mercy…………In not recognizing this, man desires to enjoy the sense-objects, strives, sweats and toils endlessly to acquire, to possess and to aggran¬dize – to hope, to spend………..And death snatches away everything from him…………….He is compelled to leave everything here – and with painful bundles of Vasanas, acquired in his desire-ridden selfish fife, the miserable creature departs. How sad! Indeed, how tragic!
The objects glitter with an illusory beauty and sing their dissipation-songs only because they are rendered so enchanting by our own mind—just as the objects of flaming joys in our dreams! This dazzling glow of joy in them conceals the Highest Reality. “A golden disc covers the brilliant face of Truth”, declares Isavasya Upanishad, and therefore the Upanishad student therein could not realize what the teacher declared. Everything that is here present is clothed by Isa. Sensuous passions alone make a man blind to his own true state of perfection.
Desire for the fleeting, delusory, golden-deer is for the time being, seemingly more powerful for Sita than her infinite love for Rama, her Divine Beloved. This is delusion at play—Maya with a vengeance.
Life steadily ebbs away, but desire fed by the sense gratifications only grows the more by them. Body decays and becomes infirm. It has grown to have no more strength to enjoy, but the man hungers all the more for sense enjoyment. Death crawls behind. Disease and decay accompany him. Piloted by worries and anxieties, this mournful procession reaches the edge of the grave still man wants the joys of the pain-ridden objects.

Be wise. Seek the all satisfying Reality that lies behind the mental show of change and sorrow. The infinite alone will satisfy you. Seek it with a mind withdrawn from the fever of all passions.