Tree of Detachment: Experiments of a Seeker

 📖 Chapter 1 — Detached Attachment

Today is September 6, 2025.
I am writing down my personal experiences and experiments. Since childhood, questions have always arisen in my mind. Back then, I did not know whether they were real questions or just the effects of body changes, anxiety, or something else. Even today, I am not completely clear about them. And now I no longer feel the need to make them clear.

Now, in 2025, when I am in my mid-30s, I want to share some recent experiences.

I have been influenced by Sikh philosophy, other rationalised religious thoughts, science-based analysis of the universe and other aspects of Bhakti Yog, Karma Yog, Gyan Yog, Dhyan Yog etc . Each time I felt — “Now I have understood.” And each time I thought — “Now I should start writing.” But then came the question: “Is this the ultimate truth?”

This does not mean that what I write today is the ultimate truth or ever will be. I only mean that whenever I reflected during meditation, thinking, reading, or listening, I received some answers. But later, with new reading, listening, or self-inquiry, those earlier answers were rejected.

It is possible that in the future I may interpret today’s experiences differently. But right now, this is what I am experiencing. I will not call it truth or falsehood.

Perhaps the ultimate truth — if it exists — can hardly be attained in this temporary world, in this body that only carries the soul. The body and brain only respond situationally, in time. And so I decided to write down honestly what happened in each moment, what I felt and understood.

The Beginning of the Experiment

In December 2024 (I don’t remember the exact date), I was sharing some thoughts with my friend Sukhdip Singh. He told me about a term — Detached Attachment.

According to him, a person can live with physical pleasures, with body and mind, but with Detached Attachment.

That is:
Stay connected to your relations and possessions — love them, care for them — parents, siblings, daughters, friends, cars, houses.
But remain conscious that if they are gone tomorrow, life will still go on.

Thus, relations remain, enjoyment remains, without the concept of renouncing the world. And when something or someone is gone, life still continues.

I really liked this term.

Living the Idea

I usually understand things easily, but to make an idea part of life, it must be lived and practiced.

It is like fishing.
If someone tells you fishing is entertaining, you may find it boring. Who would sit for 7–8 hours by a pond, waiting for a fish that may or may not come? And even if one small fish comes, it may not be enough to feed a person.

Where is the entertainment in that?
But if you actually try fishing for a few days, your body, your mind, and your brain will change. Your body will crave it again, your mind will hunt for dopamine.

And after 7–8 hours, even if you catch just one little prawn or fish, the release of dopamine will give you immense joy. And the next day, you will want to go fishing again.

You may not even like eating fish, but still you will go — not for food, but for dopamine. Slowly, fishing becomes part of life.

Detached Attachment was similar. I understood it in theory, but I had to live it.

Choosing the Tree

For any experiment, there must be a subject, an object, conditions, and expectations.

I decided not to test this experiment with any of my close relations, because emotions would interfere. I needed something new.

In the town where I live — Walsall — there is a large Arboretum park. It has a big lake, jogging areas, a cricket ground, and other play areas. Across from the lake, there is a bench where I used to sit every evening and recite Rehras Sahib and Sohila (Sikh evening prayers).

After prayer, I began to stand near a tree by the lake. Many trees surrounded the lake, but this one had a proper space to stand.

One day I looked carefully at the tree and remembered Buddha’s story — his meditation under the tree. At that moment, I felt — this tree can be part of my experiment.

So I started including it in my routine. I would stand there, look at it, pray, reflect, share my thoughts silently. After two months, it became a compulsion. Whenever I passed that way, I had to stop by the tree.

After some time, I deliberately did not go near it. And I discovered — the tree still lived in my mind, but I was no longer bound to it. The tree was part of my life, but detached.

The Turning Point

Everything was fine. But one day, when I returned from grocery shopping, with a bag on my back, I entered the park. As I passed by the lake and approached the tree, I saw — under my tree stood a little girl, perhaps 4–6 years old.

That place, where for the past 8 months I had never seen anyone else, suddenly had someone there. At that moment, I realised — I was still attached.

I even felt envy towards that little child. And then I laughed at myself — that such a small child had defeated me.

Now, when I go there, I still do my prayers standing near that tree. If someone else is there, it doesn’t matter. The tree is part of my life, but it also has its own independent existence.

The Understanding

I realised something fundamental about human nature.
We put effort into bringing something into our lives.
Once it becomes part of life, the body relaxes. We feel comfortable.
Then the mind starts chasing other things we don’t yet have.

But if that thing suddenly disappears, the love for it rises again. Its absence disturbs us, creates anxiety worse than before. This applies to wife, girlfriend, parents, siblings — everyone.

I thought the tree was normal, that its absence wouldn’t matter. But when that little girl stood under it, I felt separated from it.

This is purely biological. Attachment, detachment, emotions — all are natural. Without them, we are not alive, not conscious.

So I told myself: “This is only Pardeep’s body behaving like this. Do not suppress it. Flow with emotions. Feel them. Accept them. And consciously observe.”

For me, being conscious itself is everything. The rest is just debris.




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