Collaboration Magic
Three gazes are said to be unbearable:
that of the sage, piercing with truth; that of the serpent, coiled in primal potential; and that of the weak, whose silent cry summons the weight of the cosmos itself. Weakness is more potent than even the most incredible power, for the power scorched by weakness is utterly rooted out. If a helpless person is humiliated or struck, and their cry for help finds no protector, divine punishment overtakes the oppressor – not as wrath, but as inevitability. It is the collapse of what has betrayed its purpose.
The gaze of the weak
is not what it seems. It wields no weapon, no overt force, yet it bears the unbearable weight of justice. It is a cry amplified by the invisible architecture of dharma, the unshakable law of righteousness that governs all existence. In their vulnerability, the weak possess a power that transcends strength, for they compel the mighty to reveal their true nature. And when that might fails the test, it crumbles under the weight of its own illusion.
The sage’s eyes unmask, offering not just truth but truth so vast it annihilates the scaffolding of falsehoods. To meet that gaze is to face the unbearable clarity of being seen wholly, without pretense. The serpent’s gaze, however, is not a mirror of wisdom but a confrontation with the raw forces of life – unapologetic, primordial, and commanding. It offers no shelter from the confrontation with survival, forcing the gaze inward toward surrender or transcendence.
But the eyes of the weak carry a greater burden. Their power is not to strike back but to summon a reckoning that transcends human control. To harm the helpless, to humiliate the vulnerable, is not merely an act of cruelty but a severing of the thread that binds the moral and cosmic order. Weakness holds within it a divine authority, a quiet invocation of balance that turns the gaze of the abuser inward. Their strength is unmasked as hollow, their power as an illusion.
Weakness is sacred. It does not fight; it does not wield, but it commands. When the cries of the helpless are met with silence, when the vulnerable are struck and abandoned, the universe itself rises as witness. This is not vengeance. It is the recalibration of existence, the balancing of scales that were never meant to tilt. The fall of the ruler who exploits the weak is not retribution but the natural collapse of a hollowed structure that cannot bear its own weight.
The weak resist not with swords but with a silence that reverberates into the unseen. Their presence magnifies the flaws of the oppressor, a mirror that reflects cruelty so vividly that it cannot be ignored. To mistake this silence for submission is the gravest arrogance, for it is the very silence that summons powers far beyond human reckoning. The gaze of the weak is not passive; it is a force that dismantles empires.
Bhishmadeva’s teaching reveals the paradox of power. Strength that does not bow to protect becomes brittle, shattering under the weight of its own hubris. The eyes of the weak hold a truth that demands reckoning, a mirror that enlarges every fracture in the oppressor’s foundation until collapse is inevitable. To harm the helpless is to awaken forces beyond sight, to disturb the stillness that sustains the sacred. And in that disturbance lies the origin of the oppressor’s undoing.
What makes the weak unbearable is their refusal to be erased. Their silent demand for dignity transcends force; it is a call that ripples through time and space, reshaping all it touches. The sage dismantles the mask. The serpent demands surrender. But the weak summon justice itself. In their gaze, power is tested, righteousness is measured, and injustice is exposed. Weakness is not the absence of power; it is the field upon which all power is judged. Those who fail that judgment are not merely punished – they are undone.
The Brilliant Lamp 