Ojas sat under the old banyan tree, watching the morning mist rise from the forest floor. The wise monster had learned many truths on a long journey—that darkness and light need each other, that questions matter more than answers sometimes, and that beneath our fears are wishes waiting to be heard.
Now Ojas lived what had been learned, day by day, moment by moment, welcoming anyone who needed a listening ear or a gentle word.
One morning, three visitors arrived, each carrying heavy burdens in
their hearts.
First came a young deer, trembling and anxious. "I'm too scared to explore the forest," she whispered. "I see danger everywhere."
Then arrived a crow, his feathers ruffled with anger. "Everyone has wronged me," he cawed bitterly. "The world is full of enemies."
Finally, a small mouse scurried up, eyes downcast. "I'm too tiny to matter," she squeaked. "Nobody sees me. Nobody cares."
Ojas looked at each visitor with kind eyes and said, "Sit with me. I want to show you something magical."
The three creatures settled nervously around the wise monster.
"Close your eyes," Ojas said gently. "Feel your breath moving in and out, like a river flowing through you."
They breathed together in silence.
"Now," Ojas continued, "place your paw, wing, or tiny hand on your heart. Feel it beating. That rhythm—do you feel it?"
The deer, the crow, and the mouse nodded.
"That same rhythm beats in my chest too," said Ojas. "And in the rabbit hiding in the bushes. And in the peacock preening by the pond. And in the bear sleeping in her cave."
The crow opened one eye suspiciously. "What does that prove? We're all different. Some of us are angry, some afraid, some forgotten."
Ojas smiled. "Look closer. Your anger, crow—beneath it is hurt. You were wounded, and you're protecting that tender place. Am I right?"
The crow's feathers softened. "Yes," he admitted quietly.
"And you, little deer—your fear is actually love. You want to live fully, to experience the forest's wonder. Fear is just love worried about losing what it cherishes."
The deer's ears perked up. "I never thought of it that way."
"And you, small mouse—you feel invisible because you long to matter, to contribute, to be part of something bigger."
The mouse's whiskers twitched. "Yes! I want to help, but I don't know how."
Ojas placed a gentle paw on the ground between them. "In each of you, there is a light. The same light that lives in me. Some call it the divine spark. Others call it consciousness. The ancient ones knew this truth—that what makes you 'you' at your deepest core is the same essence that makes me 'me.' We're not separate. We're parts of the same whole."
"But how can the same light be in all of us when we're so different?" asked the deer.
"Watch," said Ojas.
The wise monster asked the crow to share his story. As the crow spoke of betrayal and loneliness, the deer's eyes filled with recognition. "I've felt that too," she whispered.
Then the mouse shared her fear of not mattering, and the crow nodded. "Sometimes I shout and make noise just so someone will know I exist," he confessed.
When the deer spoke of her anxiety, all of them understood. Even Ojas said, "I once felt like a monster—something to be feared, something that didn't belong. Until I discovered that beneath my shadows, beneath everything I thought made me unworthy, there was light."
"Do you see?" asked Ojas. "When you truly listen to another's heart, you find your own feelings there. When you look past the surface—past the feathers, the fur, the scales, the size—you find the same light that shines in you. This is what it means to recognize the sacred in everyone."
The mouse looked up at the massive Ojas. "Even in someone as different from me as you?"
"Especially then," Ojas replied warmly. "The creatures you fear, the ones you judge, the ones who seem nothing like you—they all carry the same light. The monster parts are not the enemy. They're just the parts that need love the most."
The crow shifted uncomfortably. "But what about those who've hurt me? Does the light live in them too?"
"Yes," said Ojas gently. "And this is the hardest truth. When you can see that light even in those who've wounded you, you free yourself. You don't have to approve of their actions. You don't have to forget what happened. But recognizing their essence—however hidden or forgotten—helps you release the burden you've been carrying."
"How do we practice this?" asked the deer.
"Start simple," said Ojas. "When you meet someone—friend or stranger, kind or cruel—pause. Take a breath. Ask yourself: 'What if this being carries the same light I do?' Look for what connects you rather than what separates you. See yourself in them, and them in yourself."
The three visitors sat quietly, feeling something shift inside them.
The mouse suddenly scurried over to the crow. "I see you now," she said. "Not as someone big and scary, but as someone who knows loneliness like I do."
The crow looked at the tiny mouse and felt his heart soften. "And I see you—not as insignificant, but as brave for showing up and speaking your truth."
The deer approached both of them. "I see you both as fellow travelers, each carrying your own fears and hopes, just like me."
Ojas's eyes glowed with warmth. "This is the gift of seeing the divine in everyone. It doesn't erase our differences or our difficulties. But it connects us to something greater than our individual struggles."
"But Ojas," asked the mouse, "if we're all one, why do we feel so separate?"
"Because we forget," said Ojas softly. "We get caught up in our stories—I'm small, I'm angry, I'm afraid. We name things before we know them, and the names stick even after they're no longer true. But when we pause, when we breathe, when we look deeper—we remember."
As the sun climbed higher, the three visitors prepared to leave. But they were different now—lighter, more connected, less alone.
"Will you teach others this practice?" asked Ojas.
The deer nodded. "I'll try to see the light in those I fear."
The crow ruffled his feathers. "I'll look beneath the surface, even when it's hard."
The mouse smiled. "I'll remember that being small doesn't mean the light in me shines any less brightly."
"Your stories will help others find their way," said Ojas. "Share what you wish someone had told you. That's service from the heart."
Ojas watched them go, knowing they would stumble and forget sometimes. That was part of the journey. Wisdom wasn't a destination—it was a way of traveling.
That evening, as stars appeared in the darkening sky, Ojas whispered to the wind: "May all beings recognize the sacred in themselves and in each other."
And somewhere in the forest, the deer paused before a thornbush and saw not just danger, but shelter. The crow landed beside a lonely sparrow and shared his perch. The mouse helped an ant carry a crumb, no longer feeling too small to matter.
Because they had learned what Ojas knew: that the divine doesn't live far away in distant heavens—it lives in everyone, in everything, in every moment. Hidden beneath our shadows. Present in our questions. Waiting in our breath. The same sacred spark, dancing in different forms, all of us just walking each other home.
