Acharya Prashant explains that what we consider to be a very serious matter was once just dust flying in the wind. He states that those who lived in grand palaces, their graves are now being dug up by dogs. This, he says, is the reality of our serious matters. The most serious matter is life itself. If you die right now, people will refer to your body as 'soil'. This is the status of our seriousness. As long as we are breathing, we are very serious, lamenting the pain of the heart and liver, walking around with a face as if gravity is three times stronger for us. This seriousness stems from the ego. Taking one's pain with great seriousness is ego. We think, 'We are very important, so our sorrows are also very important.' For everyone, their own story is of great importance. He uses the analogy of children fighting over a toy, which an adult would find trivial. He says our situation is no different; the story of our life is like a nursery rhyme about a peacock being taken away, highlighting its triviality. Even nature is surprised by our faces, wondering how we became this way. Everyone seems to carry an ocean of pain, a level of suffering not seen in animals or nature. An animal, even when dying, is in a better state than a human. If one animal complains of pain to another, the other will not pay it any mind. A person should have only one pain: the pain of being human, the pain of separation (Viyog), the pain of a half-baked, half-born consciousness. But we are unaware of this fundamental pain and are instead caught up in all other pains. We were born to be free, but we live in bondage. This one pain should exist, but it doesn't. We are so shallow that even our sorrows lack depth and truth. There is no crying person who cannot be made to laugh in five minutes; our tears lack continuity. How can one take them seriously? If one must express their sorrow, it should be to someone who does not give it much importance, who does not validate it as true. One who considers sorrow to be true will also consider happiness to be true, and both are great bondages. A worldly person reacts to sorrow by running towards pleasure. A wise person, however, sees that both sorrow and pleasure are part of the same worldly game and moves beyond both. Those who are sorrow-centric are actually matter-centric, lamenting that they did not get the happiness they wanted from the world. The spiritual mind, when it feels sorrow, renounces both sorrow and happiness together. When the trivial reality of the world is known, how can one give weight to the happiness and sorrow that come from it?