"Trailing clouds of glory we come", says the poet. Not all of us come as trailing clouds of glory however some of us come as trailing black fogs; there can be no question about that. But everyone of us comes into this world to fight, as on a battlefield. We come here weeping to fight our way. So, on we go till death comes and takes us off the field - victorious or defeated, we do not know. And this is delusion.

Hope is dominant in the heart of childhood. The whole world is a golden vision to the opening eyes of the child, he thinks his will is supreme. As he moves onward, at every step nature stands as an adamantine wall, barring his future progress. He may hurl himself against it again and again. The further he goes, the further recedes the ideal till death comes, and there is release, and this is maya.

A man of science rises, he is thirsting after knowledge. No sacrifice is too great, no struggle too hopeless for him. He moves onward discovering secret after secret of nature, searching out the secrets from her innermost heart and what for? The senses drag the human soul out. Man is seeking for pleasure and for happiness where it can never be found. For countless ages we are all taught that this is futile and vain, there is no happiness here. But we cannot learn, it is impossible for us to do so, except through our own experiences - we try them and a blow comes. Do we learn then? Not even then. Like moths hurling themselves against the flame, we are hurling ourselves again and again into sense pleasures, hoping to find satisfaction there, we return again and again with freshened energy thus we go on, till crippled and cheated we die and this is delusion.

It is a most difficult and intricate state of things to understand. It has been preached in every country, taught everywhere, but only believed in by a few, because until we get the experiences ourselves we cannot believe in it. Time, the avenger of everything, comes, and nothing is left. He swallows up the saint and sinner, the King and the peasant, the beautiful and the ugly, he leaves nothing. Everything rushing towards that one goal, destruction. Our knowledge, our arts, our sciences, everything is rushing towards it. None can stem the tide, none can hold it back for a minute. We may try to forget it, in the same way that persons in a plague - stricken city try to create oblivion by drinking, dancing and other vain attempts and so becoming paralyzed. So we are trying to forget, trying to create oblivion by all sorts of sense - pleasures. And this is maya.

Two ways have been proposed, one method is very common ie "It may be very true, but do not think of it. 'Make hay while the sun shines', as the proverb says. It is all true, it is a fact, but do not mind it, seize the few pleasures you can, do what little you can, do not look at the dark side of the picture, but always towards the hopeful, the positive side. There is some truth in this, but there is also a danger. The truth is that it is a good motive power. Hope and a positive ideal are very good motive powers for our lives, but theme is a certain danger in them. The danger lies in our giving up the struggle in despair. Such is the case with those who preach, take the world as it is, sit down as calmly and comfortably as you can, and be contented with all there miseries. When you receive blows, say they are not blows but flowers and when you are driven about like slaves, say that you are free. Day and night tell lies to others and to your own souls, because that is the only way to live happily. This is what is called practical wisdom and never was it more prevalent in the world than in the 19th century because never wore harder blows hit than at the present time, never was competition keener never were men so cruel to their fellow men as now, and therefore, must this consolation be offered. It is put forward in the strongest way at the present time, but it fails. We cannot hike a carrion with roses, it is impossible. It would not avail long, for soon the roses would fade, and the carrion would be worse than ever before. So with our lives. We may try to cover our old and festering sores with cloth of gold, but there comes a day when the cloth of gold is removed and the sore in all its ugliness is revealed.