Most of us find our peace of mind and happiness fluctuating wildly with the outcomes we encounter. Our lives are routinely governed by rigid goals and expectations; when circumstances fail to deliver what we desire, we suffer.
Yet, as we mature spiritually, a profound shift occurs. We begin to realize that true well-being need not depend on outward circumstances. We learn to stop allowing the pendulum of gain and loss to upset our internal balance. This royal, unshakeable state of mind is touted across the great spiritual traditions of the world as the ultimate milestone of human liberation.
The Traditional Foundations: Yoga and Upekkha
In the Bhagavad Gita, Lord Krishna defines this supreme evenmindedness as the very essence of Yoga, marking it as the goal of all spiritual practice:
“Perform your duty equipoised, O Arjuna, abandoning all attachment to success or failure. Such equanimity is called Yoga.” — Bhagavad Gita, 2.48
Similarly, in the Attha Lokadhamma Sutta, the Buddha speaks of the “Eight Worldly Conditions.” He asserts that by achieving absolute equanimity amidst these inevitable shifting forces, a person transcends the binding nature of mundane existence:
Gain and loss, disrepute and fame, blame and praise, pleasure and pain: these conditions that people meet are impermanent, transient, and subject to change.
A wise and mindful person knows them and sees that they are subject to change.
Desirable conditions don’t excite his mind nor is he repelled by undesirable conditions.
He has dispelled attraction and repulsion; they are gone and no longer present.
Having known the dustless, sorrowless state, he understands rightly and has transcended existence.
With deep insight into ourselves and the nature of life, we realize that external conditions cannot yield the lasting fulfillment we demand of them. When happiness is derived solely from external events, it is inherently fleeting.
Moreover, our initial judgments are frequently flawed; what we temporarily perceive as a tragedy often clears a path for unexpected blessings.
The Wisdom of “Maybe”
There is an ancient Taoist parable that beautifully brings this understanding home. It offers a timeless teaching on non-attachment, the fluid nature of reality, and the shortsightedness of rushing to judge events as purely “good” or “bad.”
The story first appeared over two thousand years ago in the Huainanzi (淮南子), an ancient Chinese philosophical compendium, and was popularized in the West by the philosopher Alan Watts during his lectures on non-duality.
The Story of the Farmer’s Horse
Once upon a time, there was an old farmer who lived in a small village. He was poor, but he owned a beautiful, strong stallion that was the envy of the entire village.
One morning, the farmer woke up to find the stable door open and the horse gone; it had escaped into the hills. The neighbors gathered around his home, shaking their heads in sympathy. “What terrible bad luck!” they exclaimed. “Your only valuable possession is gone.”
The old farmer calmly replied, “Good luck? Bad luck? Who knows? Maybe.“
A few days later, the stallion returned, but it wasn’t alone. It brought with it a dozen wild horses from the mountains. Suddenly, the farmer was a wealthy man by the village standards. The neighbors rushed back, full of excitement. “What incredible good luck!” they cried. “You’re rich!”
The farmer looked at them and softly said, “Good luck? Bad luck? Who knows? Maybe.“
The next week, the farmer’s only son attempted to tame one of the wild horses to help tend the fields. While riding, the horse bucked violently, throwing the young man to the ground. The son broke his leg severely in multiple places. The neighbors returned to offer their condolences. “This is awful,” they said. “Your only son is crippled, and now he cannot help you. What terrible bad luck.”
Again, the farmer replied, “Good luck? Bad luck? Who knows? Maybe.”
A month later, the country went to war. The king’s army marched through the village, forcibly conscripting every able-bodied young man to fight on the front lines. It was a brutal conflict, and virtually none of the village youth survived. But because the farmer’s son had a broken leg, the military officers passed him by.
The neighbors, weeping for their own lost children, came to the farmer and said, “You were right. Your son was spared. What great good luck you have.”
And the farmer looked out over his fields and said, “Good luck? Bad luck? Who knows? Maybe.”
Rest in the Witness
The core message of the old farmer matches the highest realizations of Vedanta and Buddhism, revealing three essential truths about the architecture of human suffering:
- The Transitory Nature of Existence: All worldly events—no matter how we classify them—are temporary patterns in the field of samsara. Clinging to static outcomes in an ever-shifting universe is like trying to carve one’s name into running water.
- The Illusion of Control: We only ever see a single thread of a grand, cosmic tapestry at any given moment. Life moves with an intelligence far vaster than our immediate preferences. What appears to be a devastating tragedy in chapter one is frequently the very catalyst that delivers grace in chapter three.
- The Trap of Dualistic Labeling: Splitting reality into rigid categories of “good” versus “bad” creates instant anxiety. By practicing a mind of “Maybe,” we step off the emotional roller coaster of our own projections and align ourselves with the natural, organic flow of existence.
Ultimately, this story reveals that the world will always present an undulating landscape of gain and loss, praise and blame, victory and defeat. The winds of circumstance are guaranteed to blow. However, suffering does not belong to the events themselves; it belongs exclusively to our psychological attachment to them.
