Manifesting Awareness
A comprehensive
journal. A practical handbook.
Preface: Why This
Needs to Be Written
Awareness is not a
concept to be understood. It is a state to be inhabited.
And yet, almost
everything I have read or heard on the subject treats it as a concept. Books
explain it. Discourses describe it. Seekers discuss it. And then life happens,
and the discussion remains a discussion.
This journal is
different in its intention. It is written not to explain awareness from the
outside, but to map it from the inside, across the ordinary, unremarkable
texture of my real day. It is a practical guide, a handbook for living with the
inner witness active, not as a philosophy to admire, but as a Sadhana to
actually do.
The aim is direct and
unambiguous: Samyak Darshan, right perception, the direct seeing of the real
Self. Not as a future achievement. As a living, moment-to-moment reality.
Everything in this
journal points toward that. And nothing in it should be believed. Everything in
it should be tested, in my own experience, in my own day, right now.
Part One: Two
Tracks, One Life
In every moment, I am
operating on one of two tracks. The outer life, the actions, the roles, the
words spoken and the work done, may look identical from both tracks. An
observer watching from outside cannot tell which track I am on. This is one of
the most important and most uncomfortable truths about the inner life.
Track One: Awareness
as the Ground
On this track, I am
fully engaged in life. I work, I eat, I speak, I laugh, I respond to
situations, I carry responsibilities, I play roles. Nothing is missing from the
outside.
But inside, there is a
quality of witnessing that runs underneath everything. It is not a commentary.
It is not a voice saying "I am now being aware." It is more like a
silent, unbroken background of knowing. I am playing the role completely, sincerely,
even brilliantly. And yet, somewhere underneath, there is a quiet knowing that
it is a role. That the one playing it is not the character. That the
character's joys and difficulties are real within the story, but they do not
define or diminish or inflate the one who is playing.
In this state, new
impressions do not sink deep. Situations arise, I respond, and then the
situation passes. The inner ground returns to level. There is no emotional
weather that lingers beyond its natural span.
Track Two: Submersion
Without Awareness
On this track, I am
also fully engaged in life. From outside, the picture looks the same.
But inside, I have
forgotten I am acting. I have become the character. The character's enemies are
my enemies. The character's victories are my victories. The character's fears
are my fears. Every situation pulls me in. Every pleasant experience creates a
craving for more. Every unpleasant experience creates a desire to push away or
escape. Reactions are automatic. Emotions accumulate. The inner ground is never
level; it is always tilted toward the last thing that happened.
In this state, every
experience leaves a residue. The residue shapes the next reaction. And the
cycle feeds itself.
The critical point:
From outside, both tracks look the same. This means two things. First, no
external measure, no ritual, no label, no reputation, no display of spiritual
knowledge, can tell me which track I am actually on. Only the inner residue
knows. Second, and equally important: I cannot judge anyone else's inner state
from their behaviour. Someone who appears calm may be suppressing. Someone who
appears emotional may be witnessing that emotion with complete awareness.
Judgment of others, based on outward behaviour, is therefore not only unfair
but structurally impossible. The only inner state I have actual access to is my
own.
Part Two: The
Quality of Seeing
The Road Incident
I am driving. I pass
an accident on the road. There are injured people, chaos, bystanders. I see it
clearly, completely, with full attention.
Now, what happens
inside?
There are several
different inner responses possible, and they are worth examining very
carefully, because they look similar from outside, and sometimes even feel
similar from inside, but they are fundamentally different.
Response One:
Emotional submersion
I see the accident and
immediately feel a wave of distress. This distress has two layers, and it is
important for me to distinguish them honestly.
The first layer
appears to be sympathy for the victim. And there may be some genuine human
warmth in it. But if I look more carefully, underneath the sympathy, there is
often something else running: a subtle, fast-moving thought that says,
"This could happen to me." The distress is not primarily about the
victim. It is about the threat to my own safety, my own body, my own
continuity. My fake identity, the bodily self, has spotted a threat. And it is
responding with fear dressed as compassion.
This is not a
self-criticism. It is simply an honest observation. My fake identity's primary
function is self-preservation. It will dress that self-preservation in whatever
clothing is culturally acceptable. Compassion is acceptable clothing. But if
the compassion is primarily pointing inward toward "I must stay safe, I
must protect myself and my people," then it is serving the temporary
identity, not the witness.
The second layer is
when the distress genuinely extends toward the victim. But even genuine
sympathy, if it produces a lasting emotional weather, if it follows me down the
road and sits with me through the day, has moved beyond witnessing into
involvement. The emotion has claimed ownership of the Chetan.
Response Two:
Suppression mistaken for witnessing
I see the accident and
immediately, a trained reflex kicks in: "I must not react. I am a
spiritual person. I will be calm." The surface is calm. But underneath,
the emotion was there and was pushed down. This is not Saakshi Bhaav. This is
management. Management is useful in the world. But it is not liberation. The
suppressed emotion is still inside, still accumulating, still waiting. And it
will find its moment to surface.
The distinction
between real witnessing and suppression is crucial: in suppression, there is
effort. There is a "me" that is controlling. There is a slight
tension in the holding. In real witnessing, there is no effort. The emotion may
arise, but it is seen, the way I see a cloud pass across the sky. I do not grab
it. I do not push it. I simply see it. And it passes at its own pace.
Response Three:
Saakshi Bhaav
I see the accident.
The seeing is complete and clear. There is human warmth, natural and
uncontrived. If action is required and possible, the body-mind acts. If it is
not, it does not. Either way, the inner ground does not tilt. The seeing
happened. The Chetan noted it. And the car kept moving.
The test is simple: is
there a tail? Does the incident follow me? Does it occupy my mind ten minutes
later, an hour later? Does it produce a lingering anxiety about my own safety?
Does it generate stories about the fragility of life that I replay?
If there is no tail,
the seeing was clean. If there is a tail, something was grasped, either the
emotion itself, or the story built around it.
This does not mean I
become cold or indifferent. A witness is not cold. A witness is, in fact, more
fully present to what is (actually) happening than when I am emotionally
submerged. Submersion narrows the field. Witnessing expands it. I see more
clearly, not less, when the Saakshi is active.
Part Three: The
Doer and the Witness
This is perhaps the
most important and most subtle territory in the entire map of awareness. And it
requires very precise language.
Karta: The Doer
Being a Karta simply
means being the instrument through which action happens. I eat. I work. I
speak. I respond to situations. I fulfill my responsibilities. I engage with
the world. All of this is Karta, and there is nothing wrong with any of it.
Life requires it. Roles require it. Being a Karta is not the problem.
Karta Bhaav: The Sense
of Doership
Karta Bhaav is the
addition that happens on top of being a Karta. It is the feeling that "I
am the one doing this." It is the inner claiming of the action. It is the
subtle inflation that happens when something goes well ("I did this")
and the subtle deflation or defensiveness when something goes wrong ("this
was done to me"). It is the accumulation of identity around actions,
roles, and outcomes.
Karta Bhaav is what
builds the storehouse of Karma. Not the action itself. The claiming of the
action. The ownership of the outcome.
When a stone rolls
down a hill, it acts. It hits things. It moves other stones. But it does not
claim the action. It accumulates nothing internally from the rolling. It simply
is what it is, doing what its nature and circumstances demand.
I am infinitely more
complex than a stone. But the principle is precise: action without claiming is
action that passes through without accumulating.
Karta with Saakshi
Bhaav: The Living Synthesis
This is the path. Not
renouncing action. Not becoming passive or withdrawn or uninvolved. But acting
fully, completely, sincerely, responsibly, and even with excellence, while the
inner witness remains awake.
I play the role fully.
I know my lines, I hit my marks, I bring genuine effort and even genuine
feeling to the performance. The role is served completely. And throughout all
of it, there is a quiet background knowing: I am not this character. What
happens to the character does not define me. I am the one who is “playing” the
character.
This is the synthesis.
Karta (full action) plus Saakshi Bhaav (witnessing without claiming) equals
action that fulfils all outer responsibilities while accumulating nothing
inward.
Part Four: Across
the Day, Situation by Situation
This is where the
understanding becomes a practice. What follows is a detailed examination of
ordinary daily situations, mapping both the submerged response and the Saakshi
response, with honest inner tests to help me locate myself clearly.
The purpose is not to
judge any response. The purpose is to see clearly. Seeing clearly is already
the beginning of the shift.
Eating
Submerged: There is
anticipation before the meal begins. My mind is already in the food before my
body arrives at the table. While eating, there is a running commentary: this is
good, this is not as good as yesterday, I want more of this, I should not take
that. When the meal ends, there is a subtle incompleteness, sometimes mild
disappointment, sometimes a lingering wish for more. If the food was not as
expected, there is a small but real irritation.
Saakshi: My body
arrives at the meal. Eating happens attentively. Each taste is tasted. There is
no commentary running about quality, quantity, or comparison. The body receives
nourishment and signals satisfaction. When the meal ends, it ends. There is no
ledger, no residue, no wish for extension.
Honest inner test:
When I finish eating, I check the first thought. Is it already moving to the
next thing it wants? Is there a subtle reaching, even before the plate is
cleared? That reaching is the marker.
The deeper layer: Even
in eating alone, the fake identity can be active. Eating in a particular way
because it matches my self-image as a healthy or disciplined or spiritual
person. Feeling a quiet pride if I ate simply and without indulgence. Even this
is the ego at work, now wearing the clothes of discipline.
Business and Work
Submerged: Before a
meeting or transaction, there is a low hum of calculation and anxiety. During
it, my mind is half in the conversation and half already in the outcome. After
it, there is either a subtle inflation if it went well ("I handled that well")
or a deflation and replay if it did not ("I should have said this, why did
I say that?"). Even during a successful transaction, there is a quiet
alertness to recognition, to whether the other person appreciated the skill or
intelligence I brought.
Saakshi: I enter the
role of the professional fully. The preparation is thorough. My presence in the
meeting is complete. The skills are applied with genuine effort. And then,
whatever the outcome is, it is noted without inflation or deflation. The work was
done. It is done. The Chetan steps back.
Honest inner test:
After a significant work outcome, good or bad, I give it ten minutes and check
the inner weather. Is there still agitation, replay, pride, or anxiety? The
duration and intensity of that tail is a direct measure of how deep the Karta
Bhaav went.
The deeper layer:
There is a particular trap for me, if I am good at the work I do. The
competence itself becomes identity. Being known as sharp, reliable, insightful
becomes something to protect. And then any situation that might dent that
reputation triggers a response that has nothing to do with the work and
everything to do with protecting the self-image. I need to watch for this. It
is very fast and very subtle.
Receiving Praise
Submerged: Someone
says something appreciative. A warmth rises. There is a quiet tallying: who
said it, in front of how many people, how genuinely, how specifically. It is
stored. It is replayed later, sometimes more than once. If the praise is in
front of others, there is an additional layer of pleasure. My fake identity has
been elevated slightly, and it feels more real, more validated, more secure.
Saakshi: The praise
arrives. It is heard. If it is accurate, it is useful information. If it is not
accurate, it still passes through without being rejected with false modesty.
There is no inflation. There is no storage. There is no replay. The one who
praised is seen warmly. The praise itself dissolves like breath on a mirror.
Honest inner test: If
the same person who praised me yesterday says nothing today, is there a subtle
sense of lack? That lack is the direct measure of how much I was feeding on the
praise.
The deeper layer:
False humility is as much Karta Bhaav as overt pride. When someone praises me
and I say "no no, it was nothing," while inside something is quietly
pleased with both the praise and with the performance of humility, two layers of
ego are operating simultaneously. My Saakshi sees both. The response from
genuine Saakshi Bhaav is simple, natural, neither grasping nor deflecting. It
is not a performance of non-performance.
Receiving Criticism
Submerged: Criticism
stings. The first movement inside is defensive, even when the surface response
is calm. There is an immediate assessment: is this person qualified to say
this? Is this fair? And then either an internal rebuttal is constructed, or the
criticism is accepted outwardly while being rejected inwardly. Sometimes the
sting converts into a prolonged inner argument that continues long after the
actual conversation has ended. Sometimes it produces a wish to prove the critic
wrong. Sometimes it produces a subtle withdrawal from the relationship.
Saakshi: The criticism
is heard with the same openness as praise. The inner ground does not tilt. The
content is examined with genuine honesty: is there truth here? If yes, it is
received as useful. If no, it is noted and set aside, not as rejection, but as
simply not applicable. Either way, the Chetan is not diminished by what was
said. The role may respond appropriately on the outside. The Soul does not
flinch inside.
Honest inner test:
After criticism, can I feel exactly the same weight in my chest as after
praise? That equality of inner weight, that Madhyastha, is the measure.
The deeper layer: The
most insidious response to criticism is not anger or defensiveness. It is
spiritual defensiveness: "I am a seeker. I should not be reacting to this.
What is wrong with me?" Now there is guilt added on top of the reaction, and
the ego is involved twice. The Saakshi simply sees the reaction, without adding
a second layer of judgment about the reaction. Seeing is enough. It does not
require commentary.
Watching a Movie or
Entertainment
Submerged: The story
pulls me in completely. The hero's victories produce a rise of energy. The
hero's losses produce genuine distress. The villain produces actual dislike. An
emotional scene produces actual tears or tightening in the throat. When the film
ends, the mood of the film lingers. I carry the characters out of the room. If
the film was dark, my evening is touched by that darkness. If it was uplifting,
there is a slight high that I wish to extend.
Saakshi: Entertainment
happens with full attention and even genuine engagement. There is appreciation
for the craft, the story, the performances. The emotions that the story evokes
are noticed and even felt, because the witness does not block experience, it
simply does not claim it. And when it ends, I stand up and the film stays in
its place. The inner ground is exactly as it was when I sat down.
Honest inner test: Some
minutes after any entertainment ends, I check what I am carrying. If I am still
inside the story, still inside the emotions, still inside the characters, the
witnessing did not survive the experience.
The deeper layer:
Sometimes what I am seeking in entertainment is not enjoyment but escape. The
submerged state is uncomfortable, and entertainment offers a temporary exit
from the discomfort of being inside my own mind. If the motivation to watch
something is "I need a break from myself," the fake identity is
seeking relief, not the Chetan seeking rest. These are different.
Helping Someone,
Seva, Donation
Submerged: The act of
helping produces a warm glow. There is a quiet waiting for acknowledgment. If
it comes, the warmth deepens. If it does not come, there is a subtle
disappointment, sometimes converted quickly into a story about my own
selflessness ("I don't need thanks anyway," while the need for thanks
is exactly what generated the thought). There is an internal ledger, not always
conscious, that tallies what has been given and to whom.
Saakshi: The situation
presents itself, the body-mind responds, the help is given with complete
sincerity and even with joy, and then it is done. There is no waiting at the
door of acknowledgment. There is no ledger. There is no story built around the
act. The act is complete in itself; the moment it happens. What follows is
silence.
Honest inner test: If
the person I helped forgot entirely, never mentioned it, perhaps even credited
someone else, would there be any residue in me? The presence of that residue,
however small, however quickly suppressed, is the honest measure.
The deeper layer: The
most refined trap here is spiritual sharing, sharing teachings, wisdom,
insights, writing. It is very easy for me to feel that because the content is
spiritual, the act is pure. But if the sharing is accompanied by a wish to be
seen as wise, to be credited as a serious seeker, to build a reputation in any
community, the spiritual ego is feeding. The content may be true. The
motivation may still be the fake identity seeking sustenance. Both things can
be true at once.
Spiritual Study and
Practice
Submerged: The sitting
is pleasant. The teachings produce a soothing, expanded feeling. There is a
quiet pleasure in the depth of understanding. Sometimes there is a comparing
mind that notes how few others engage at this level. The practice becomes a retreat
from the day's agitations, a comfortable place where the ego feels elevated and
the spiritual identity is reinforced. The session ends and I carry a subtle
sense of having done something valuable, something that marks me as a seeker.
Saakshi: The study
happens. Something lands. Something loosens, gradually, in the layer of
identification. There is no performance of understanding. There is no
collection of insights to display later. If the practice produces peace, the
peace is noted without being grasped. If it produces discomfort, the discomfort
is seen without being resisted. The session ends and the Chetan is marginally
more transparent, not more decorated.
Honest inner test:
After sitting with any practice or teaching, I ask one question with complete
honesty: is "the spiritual seeker" now slightly more solid and
defined, or slightly more see-through? Inflation of the spiritual identity is
the most invisible of all traps, precisely because it wears the most acceptable
clothing.
The deeper layer:
There is a state that looks like Saakshi Bhaav but is actually a refined form
of pleasure-seeking. The quiet, expanded feeling of a good practice session is
genuinely pleasant. And the mind begins to seek that pleasant state. It begins to
practice awareness because awareness feels good. But seeking any pleasant
state, even a subtle and refined one, is still Raag (Craving). The practice has
become an object of craving. The genuine witness witnesses even this, without
grasping the pleasant states or avoiding the unpleasant ones.
Conversation and
Discussion
Submerged: In
conversation, my mind is often preparing its next point while the other person
is still speaking. There is a monitoring of whether the words I am saying are
landing well, whether the listener seems impressed or bored. When a point lands
well, there is a small inner rise. When it does not, there is a small
adjustment, often unconscious, to recover the listener's attention. The
conversation is being managed, not inhabited.
Saakshi: The listening
is actual. The speaking arises from what is actually present, not from what was
pre-planned. There is no monitoring of impact. The conversation serves whatever
it serves, and when it is done, it is done. If something I said was useful,
good. If it was not, equally fine.
Honest inner test:
After any significant conversation, is there a replay? Am I revisiting what was
said, how it landed, what I should have said differently? The replay is the
tail. The length of the tail is the measure.
The deeper layer: In
conversations about spiritual matters specifically, the temptation to perform
insight is very high. Speaking about awareness while the ego quietly monitors
its own eloquence is a particular layer of irony that the Saakshi can see with
gentle humour. The response is not guilt. The response is simply “noticed”.
Part Five:
Mind-Level Awareness and the Threshold of Experience
Everything described
so far operates, initially, at the mind level. And this is both necessary and
important to understand clearly.
When I first begin
practicing awareness, it is the mind that is practicing it. The mind becomes
quieter, more refined, more observant. It learns to step back slightly from
reactions. It begins to notice the tail after experiences, the replay after
conversations, the subtle inflation after praise. This is real and valuable. It
is the cleaning of the window.
But it is not yet the
experience of the room.
The Window and the
Room
Standing outside a
house, looking through a clean window, I can see the room clearly. The window
is clean. The view is good. The furniture is visible. The quality of light
inside is apparent. I can describe the room accurately.
But I have not walked
through the door.
Mind-level awareness
is looking through a clean window. The understanding is accurate. The
observations are real. The practice is genuine. But the experiencer is still
the mind, experiencing its own relative quiet and calling it Soul-awareness.
The Chetan is still being pointed at, not inhabited.
The difference is
this: at the mind level, awareness feels like a process. There is a
"me" who is being aware. There is effort, direction, a subtle
maintaining of the practice. There is something being done.
At the level of actual
Chetan-awareness, the "me" who was doing the watching quietly
dissolves. What remains is awareness without an owner. Knowing without a
knower. Not a dramatic event. Not a light show. In fact, it is quieter than
anything the mind produces, because the mind's own activity is what was
generating the noise.
The Reliable Marker
There is one
experiential marker that distinguishes mind-level practice from actual
Chetan-awareness, and it is precisely this:
At the mind level,
reactions are suppressed, managed, delayed, or consciously resisted. The
practice is working against the reaction. There is a force and a counter-force.
At the level of actual
Chetan-awareness, the craving for reaction simply does not arise. There is
nothing to suppress because nothing surges. The incident on the road is seen.
The seeing is complete. And there is no pull toward involvement, not because the
pull was resisted, but because the pull was not generated. The Chetan's nature
is to know, not to react. Reaction is the mind's addition.
What Happens at the
Threshold
The mind can bring me
to the door. It can clean the window. It can refine the instrument through
practice, observation, and honest self-examination. All of this is necessary
and real.
But the crossing of
the threshold is not an achievement of the mind. It is more like a release. The
mind, having done its work, having become genuinely quiet and transparent,
stops asserting itself. And in that stoppage, what was always already there becomes
obvious. The Chetan does not arrive. It was never absent. It was simply masked
by the mind's constant activity.
This is why no amount
of additional information, additional technique, or additional refinement of
method is what is ultimately needed. What is needed is the progressive
transparency of the instrument, until the light behind it simply shines through
on its own.
The awareness is not
partial or preliminary. It is the actual Chetan knowing itself. The work is not
to create more of it. The work is to remove what obscures it.
Part Six: The
Texture of Honest Practice
What Honesty Actually
Means Here
Honesty in this
context is not a moral virtue. It is a practical tool, and the sharpest one
available.
Every layer of
self-deception adds to the obscuration. Every performance, whether of
spirituality, of humility, of detachment, whether performed for others or for
myself, adds a layer between the instrument and the light. Honesty strips those
layers away. This is why the most practically useful thing I can do, in any
given moment, is to see what is actually happening inside, without editing it
for acceptability.
The fake identity is
not going to disappear because I have decided it should. It is going to be seen
through, moment by moment, with increasing precision and decreasing drama. The
seeing is the work. The seeing does not require me to be different from what I
am right now. It requires me to be honest about what I am right now.
Fake Humility is
Still Ego
This deserves its own
section because it is so common among sincere seekers and so invisible
precisely because it wears such acceptable clothing.
When criticism arrives
and I respond with exaggerated graciousness, when I deflect praise with
performative self-deprecation, when I speak about my own limitations in a way
that is designed to appear admirably self-aware, the ego is active. It has
simply changed its strategy. Instead of inflating directly, it is now inflating
indirectly, through the performance of non-inflation.
The Saakshi sees
through this immediately. The response it produces is not artificially humble
and not directly proud. It is simply natural. Proportionate. Unperformed. If
praise is accurate, it is acknowledged without theatre. If criticism is valid,
it is received without a dramatic art. If either is inaccurate, it is noted and
set aside without drama. There is no performance in any direction.
Satatam, Nityam,
Cheeram: Continuity as the Real Practice
No single moment of
awareness, however deep or genuine, is the destination. The destination is
continuity. Satatam (always), Nityam (regularly), Cheeram (for a long time).
These words describe not intensity but duration and regularity.
The Sadhana is not to
have more profound moments of awareness. It is to have more moments of
awareness, cumulatively, across the ordinary texture of the day. Four minutes
today. Four minutes and thirty seconds tomorrow. Five minutes next week. This
is not a failure of ambition. This is the actual mechanics of how the concealing
layers thin.
Each genuine moment of
Saakshi Bhaav, in the meal, in the meeting, in the criticism, in the praise, in
the honeytrap, is a moment of non-accumulation. Karma does not land. The
existing accumulation begins to reduce, although slowly but with practice, gradually.
The window gets slightly cleaner. The threshold gets slightly closer.
The Honeytrap and
Honest Negotiation
My mind's most
consistent strategy is negotiation. "Complete this first, then I will be
aware." "Just this once." "This situation is genuinely
exceptional." "After this phase of life settles, the real practice
will begin."
The honest observation
about these negotiations is not that they are evil or weak. They are simply the
fake identity's survival mechanism, and it is very good at it. It has been
doing it for a very long time. The Saakshi's response to a negotiation is not
anger or self-condemnation. It is simply “seen”. Noted. The negotiation is seen
for what it is, and in that seeing, some small fraction of its power dissolves.
If the pull wins
anyway, that is also seen, without drama. The Saakshi does not sulk. It does
not congratulate itself when awareness holds and punish itself when it does
not. It simply notes, and returns, and notes, and returns.
The Question to
Carry Through the Day
Not as a burden. Not
as a performance. Just as a quiet companion, available in any moment:
Which
"me" is this serving right now?
The temporary identity
(the name, the reputation, the comfort, the self-image, including the spiritual
self-image) or the real identity (the Chetan, whose nature is pure awareness,
whose benefit is the thinning of obscuration, whose destination is the direct
knowing of itself)?
This question, held
lightly and honestly, across the ordinary moments of the day, is worth more
than any amount of formal practice done with Karta Bhaav.
Part Seven: Samyak
Darshan is Not Far
Samyak Darshan, right
perception, direct seeing of the real Self, is not a distant destination
requiring years of further preparation. It is the natural result of the
obscuring layers becoming thin enough.
I already have the
understanding. The map is clear. The hunger is present, although seems hidden.
I have already tasted means of awareness, however theoretically (at the mind
level). The door has been visible. The life conditions are already arranged for
serious inner work. The outer compulsions have reduced.
What remains is not
new knowledge or new technique. What remains is the progressive, honest, daily,
undramatic work of seeing through the fake identity's strategies, in each
situation, in each moment, with increasing precision and decreasing gap between
the pull and the return.
Samyak Darshan is not
the result of doing something extraordinary. It is the result of seeing
something clearly. Something that is already here. Something that has always
been here.
The window is getting
cleaner.
The door is very
close.
Walk (“Self” instructing
this to “self”).
Not toward something
far away.
Walk toward what is
already here, already present, already the actual ground of every moment.
Quietly. Regularly.
Without performance. Without demanding a particular experience as proof.
See. Return. See
again.
The Chetan already
knows itself.
What is being worked
on is only the removal of what temporarily prevents that knowing from being
obvious.
And that work is
already underway. Where? No-Where? or Now & Here!
