Category: yoga

Quantum darshan; Chapter 19 – Parity: The Tilt of Creation

At the very start, the universe was almost perfectly balanced — like a mirror showing the same picture on both sides. It simply means, In the beginning, the universe was perfectly symmetric—there was no left-right distinction between object and image, no real-virtual difference between the two, and although charges, forces etc. were opposite, they were exactly equal, creating a state of complete balance. Every particle, every force, every tiny action had an equal and opposite twin. If the universe had stayed this way, nothing would have moved. Nothing would have changed. Nothing would have existed as we know it.

But the universe didn’t stay perfectly balanced. It tilted. Even a tiny tilt was enough to start everything moving and changing. This small imbalance is seen in two important ways in science:

  1. Parity asymmetry – Some forces in nature, like the weak nuclear force, do not treat left and right the same. Tiny differences here meant that the universe could have direction, that one side could behave differently from the other. The weak nuclear force is the only one that prefers one “handed” direction over the other, breaking the mirror symmetry of nature. This tiny one-sidedness preferred reactions that allowed matter to win slightly over antimatter after the Big Bang, making the very existence of stars, worlds, and life possible. Likewise inside the body, If prana flowed perfectly symmetrically in the Sushumna, meaning equal left and right, equal up and down, there would be no directional impulse—no manifestation of individual experience, no creation of worlds—just pure nonduality, just as perfect parity symmetry would prevent matter from winning over antimatter, leaving the universe empty. This imbalance in the magnitude of prana drives specific emotions and actions. When the upward-moving prana is dominant, a person becomes more spiritually oriented; when the downward prana is stronger, one is more physically inclined. Similarly, greater prana flow in the left channel (Ida Nadi) makes a person more feminine, while dominance in the right channel (Pingala Nadi) makes one more masculine. When prana becomes equal in all directions, the opposing currents neutralize each other, leading to breathlessness in Kevala Kumbhaka or Nirvikalpa Samadhi—a thoughtless pre-creative state, just like the stage preceding the beginning of creation.
  2. Matter-antimatter imbalance – At the beginning, matter and antimatter were almost equal. But there was a tiny excess of matter. This small difference is why stars, planets, and life exist at all. Without it, everything would have destroyed itself in a flash of energy. Likewise inside the body, at the very beginning, the potentials for stillness and manifestation were almost equal: the upward and downward currents in the Sushumna flowed symmetrically, just as matter and antimatter existed in nearly equal amounts. Then a tiny excess of upward flow appeared, creating just enough imbalance to spark individual experience—thoughts, sensations, and life—allowing consciousness to unfold into worlds, while a small excess of matter over antimatter allowed stars, planets, and life to exist. Without this slight tilt, everything would remain in perfect nonduality, like a universe where matter and antimatter annihilate each other completely, or a Sushumna where energy flows perfectly symmetrically, producing no manifestation at all.

Let us rewrite this in further detail. At the very beginning, the universe was almost perfectly balanced, like a mirror reflecting an object — left and right were opposite in appearance but equal and followed the same rules. Although they appear slightly unequal—differing only in direction—they remain identical in their underlying laws and reactions. In other words, both have been said equal with respect to rules obeyed, not appearance. This is called symmetry: even if something looks reversed, its behavior is still predictable and is equal to parent form. But if the universe had stayed perfectly symmetric meaning if particles and their mirror images were equal in number, nothing would have moved or changed. Everything would have cancelled out with its mirror image. Matter and antimatter would have destroyed each other, forces would have canceled out, and creation could not have begun. Treat antimatter as mirror image of matter. A tiny tilt — a small breaking of symmetry of number or force — changed everything. Weak forces began to treat left and right differently, a scientifically proven effect called parity violation, and some reactions slightly favored matter over antimatter — a phenomenon known as CP violation or charge-pairity violation. Matter and antimatter always have opposite charges. Matter is what makes up the universe — electrons, protons, and neutrons — while antimatter is their “mirror opposite,” like positrons and antiprotons. Normally, when matter and antimatter meet, they annihilate each other, producing energy. But in experimental particle decays, there is a slightly higher probability for matter to form than antimatter. Though these differences are extremely tiny, they pile up repeatedly in the early universe, eventually creating a small excess of matter that formed all the stars, planets, and life we see today. Even at the quantum level, particles exist in multiple possibilities, and one outcome becomes real when measured — this is called quantum collapse. Together, these scientifically proven effects explain how the universe tilted, giving direction to galaxies, allowing stars to burn, molecules to have “handedness,” and life to grow. Symmetry alone is stillness, like calm water; breaking symmetry is motion, like a river flowing. Creation began with this first tilt, the subtle imbalance that turned potential into reality, stillness into movement, and possibility into the living, evolving universe we see today. Yet at the deepest level, why nature has these rules — why left differs from right, or matter slightly outweighs antimatter — remains one of the greatest mysteries of existence. The same mystery extends to the body as well: why Ida differs from Pingala, or why the upward surge of energy outweighs the downward flow, remains one of the greatest mysteries of existence. Philosophically, it may be regarded as the growth-oriented wish of the Almighty Supreme.

If we dissect it further, in the universe, symmetry is subtle and sometimes broken. Parity (P) violation shows that nature is not perfectly left-right symmetric — the weak force “prefers” one handedness. Charge (C) violation reveals that swapping particles with their antiparticles (means replacing particles with their antiparticles or in other words charged particle made oppositely charged antiparticle) does not always produce identical behavior and weak nuclear force does not affect them equally. CP violation goes deeper: even after combining a mirror flip with a particle-antiparticle swap means after directional swap and trying to correct it with charge swap, a tiny asymmetry still remains. While P and C can be violated independently, Parity violation (P) was already known in the weak force — it treats left and right differently. When scientists combined parity violation with charge conjugation (C), which swaps particles with antiparticles, they expected the two violations to cancel out. But experiments showed that even this combined symmetry (CP) is slightly violated — meaning a small imbalance still remains. In other words, CP violation means that an imbalance — arising from the combined effects of charge violation and parity violation — still remains, although it is reduced after attempting to correct the parity violation through particle swapping. This tiny leftover asymmetry is crucial, as it helps explain why matter dominates over antimatter in the universe, showing that the cosmos itself carries an inherent, subtle bias at the most fundamental level. In yogic terms, If the asymmetry between the upward and downward prana is balanced by shifting the flow between Ida and Pingala, a subtle imbalance still remains — and this residual asymmetry gives rise to thoughts.

In yoga and the human body, symmetry too is subtle and often incomplete. The two sides of the body — ida and pingala, lunar and solar currents — represent the left-right (P) aspect of our internal energy field. Perfect balance between them creates stillness; imbalance generates movement and evolution. The charge (C) aspect parallels the polarity of emotion and intention — attraction and aversion, desire and renunciation — our human version of positive and negative charge. Yoga gradually harmonizes these forces, yet even after deep purification, a faint residue of imbalance often remains — the yogic equivalent of CP violation. This subtle leftover tendency — neither purely active nor passive, neither fully detached nor fully engaged — becomes the creative bias that sustains individual existence, just as cosmic CP violation sustains matter itself. Without that faint asymmetry, neither the universe nor the yogi would manifest as a living, evolving expression. Hence, the aim is not to erase all imbalance, but to realize its sacred role — the gentle imperfection that allows consciousness to experience itself as creation.

In another analogy, In the beginning, both the universe and a perfectly still mind were in flawless balance—no left or right, no real or virtual, just pure symmetry. Yet, tiny biases—like subtle impulses in meditation or CP violation in particles—created small differences. Normally, perfect balance would erase them, but a slight openness lets them persist, seeding growth: in the cosmos, it became stars and galaxies; in the mind, it becomes evolving awareness. From the subtlest imperfection, the greatest creations arise.

Think of a pot of water. If the pot is perfectly still, the water stays still. Tilt it just a little, and the water flows. That’s what happened with the universe — it leaned slightly, and the flow of galaxies, stars, and life began.

In Indian philosophy, this is like Shiva and Shakti. Shiva is stillness, perfect balance. Shakti is movement, the first tilt, the first action that starts creation. Without Shakti, the universe would remain frozen and silent.

Even at the tiniest level, in the world of quantum particles, things can exist in many possibilities at once. When a particle is measured or interacts with something, one possibility becomes real — this is called quantum collapse. By itself, quantum collapse doesn’t create the universe’s tilt, but it shows how possibilities become reality. The real tilt comes from nature’s small preferences — like the slight favoring of matter over antimatter.

In the human field of consciousness, countless thoughts, emotions, and intentions also exist in superposition — potential realities waiting to be chosen. The moment awareness focuses on one thought or emotion, that possibility collapses into experience — just like a quantum event manifesting from probability. Meditation trains this awareness to become a silent observer, reducing unnecessary collapses caused by mental restlessness. Yet, even in deep stillness, the mind retains its subtle bias — its own version of nature’s tilt — a gentle preference shaped by tendencies (vasanas) and latent impressions (samskaras). The subtle bias within consciousness sustains individuality, propelling life’s continuity from moment to moment. Yoga doesn’t erase this bias but purifies it until the remaining preference aligns with truth itself. Then, consciousness begins to choose effortlessly — not from ego, but as pure intelligence expressing harmony. What once was mental decision becomes spontaneous movement, free of tension or motive. Every action, word, or thought arises as if the universe itself is flowing through the individual. This is quantum darshan — the direct seeing where observer and observed merge, and infinite potentials collapse into form by the silent will of Truth. Life then unfolds naturally, every moment luminous, precise, and whole — not chosen by someone, but happening through the still radiance of awareness itself.

Because of these tiny tilts, the universe works the way it does:

  • Galaxies spin in certain directions. This is reflection of directional preference of quantum world.
  • Stars burn matter, not antimatter. This is like life shines with ascending energy in spine.
  • Life uses molecules with a preferred “hand” (left-handed or right-handed). Amino acids of proteins, the main building blocks of body have left handed twists.
  • Time moves forward, never backward. On paper or equation, it can move backward but in reality, time always moves forward.

Without these tiny imbalances, nothing would grow, nothing would change, nothing would exist. Symmetry is like calm, still water. Asymmetry is like a river flowing toward the sea. Symmetry is silence; asymmetry is life itself.

Everything we see — from the tiniest particle to the largest galaxy — began with a tiny tilt, the first small imbalance that made the universe start moving, growing, and creating.

Similarly, within the human being, perfect balance is pure stillness — samadhi, where all dualities dissolve into calm symmetry. Yet life as we know it arises from tiny tilts within that stillness — the pull of desire, the urge to breathe, the impulse to move, to love, to seek. Just as the cosmos began from a minute asymmetry, the human journey unfolds from the faint imbalance between rest and expression, awareness and activity, Shiva and Shakti. Too much symmetry and one dissolves into stillness; too much asymmetry and one is lost in turbulence. Yoga is the art of keeping this sacred tilt alive — not erasing it, but refining it until it flows in harmony with the universal rhythm. In that subtle dance between silence and movement, the yogi mirrors the cosmos: still at the center, yet ever-creating at the edge.

When Sleepiness Became Dhyana

After a few days of worldly indulgence—caught up in the sense of heightened ambition for a minor physical property, working tirelessly for it—I noticed my yoga routine faltered. The rhythm that once carried me into calm depth grew shaky. My sittings reduced, and the familiar breathless stillness in dhyana did not appear.

When the worldly deal finally finished, I spent two or three days trying to regain the lost acceleration. As soon as I opened my eyes in the morning—whatever the time—I would rise from bed and first sit for dhyana, then yoga, alternating both. Today I rose around three-thirty in the morning. I went through everything including both types of neti and also dhouti, yet the breathless dhyana eluded me.

Later, after lunch, while sitting in vajrasana, I caught a small glimpse of that breathless state. In the evening I sat long—from four-thirty to five-thirty. The breathing was like a rocket, fast and fierce, and it wouldn’t calm down despite simple watching and the mental recitation of Soham. Then a kind of drowsiness appeared, an urge to lie down. I resisted it, and soon the body grew tired enough that it couldn’t keep pace with the breath. The breathing itself began to subside and finally became breathless, although not fully as earlier. I couldn’t hold it beyond an hour, but something new dawned on me: perhaps deep dhyana is like sleep—but with awareness.

It felt like a discovery. If I keep trying while sitting, and tiredness and sleepiness develop, deep dhyana comes of its own accord. There seems to be a lot of similarity between sleep and yoga, so much so that many people say I’m just sitting and pretending to do yoga while actually sleeping.

That realization opened an inner understanding. What I had stumbled upon matched what the old yogic insights describe. After intense worldly activity, the rajas in the system—the restless energy of ambition—agitated the prana and made the mind outward-bent. That’s why my yoga was disturbed. Yoga thrives on sattva, on balance. The disturbance wasn’t a fall; it was simply the pendulum of prana swinging outward before returning inward.

When I sat again, the period of “rocket-speed” breathing was the body’s way of clearing that outward energy. The prana was neutralizing the residue of worldly intensity. Such rapid breathing often comes when sadhana resumes after heavy worldly engagement.

Then the fatigue came. The body wanted rest. I understood that this sleepiness wasn’t an obstacle—it was a doorway. When the body tires, egoic control relaxes. Effort softens. The automatic patterns of breath and thought lose momentum. If awareness remains present, if I do not slip into ordinary sleep, what unfolds is wakeful stillness—a state like sleep, yet suffused with consciousness.

In yogic terms, this is the threshold where the transition from waking (jagrat) toward turiya begins, passing through a “sleep-like” quiet where only awareness remains and the body and breath rest deeply. Breathless samadhi doesn’t come through effort but through the total exhaustion of effort.

It became clear that when striving ends and awareness simply watches, the body may fall into sleep-like repose, breath may stop, and consciousness alone remains. That is the path leading into Yoga Nidra, Dhyana, and Turiya alike.

Yoga Nidra, Breathless Dhyana, and Turiya—One Thread

I saw that all three—Yoga Nidra, Turiya, and breathless Dhyana—are reached through the very process I experienced. The difference lies only in depth and continuity.

Yoga Nidra happens when body and senses withdraw, mind slows, thoughts fade, and a gentle sleepiness comes while awareness stays faintly awake. Breath grows light or pauses briefly. I realized that the tiredness and sleepiness bringing deep dhyana are the same threshold where Yoga Nidra begins.

Deep Dhyana or Kevala Kumbhaka unfolds when mind and effort both stop. Awareness is steady and bright. Because the mind’s vibration ceases, breath naturally ceases too. The breathless state comes not from control but from silence itself. Here time and body vanish; only luminous stillness remains.

And Turiya—the “fourth state”—is that awareness of awareness itself. It’s the substratum beneath waking, dream, and sleep. When I stay aware through the Yoga-Nidra-like stillness, without slipping into sleep, consciousness recognizes itself. Breathlessness is incidental; the real mark is unbroken awareness through all states.

Yoga Nidra quiets the mind; Dhyana stills both mind and breath; Turiya shines as the background of all. They don’t come strictly one after another in time but unfold in depth. Breathless dhyana uncovers Turiya; Turiya is what remains when even the sense of meditating dissolves.

So, the relationship is simple:
Yoga Nidra is mental slowing with calm breath,
Breathless Dhyana is total stillness of mind and breath,
Turiya is the foundation discovered when stillness itself is seen to be one’s own nature. Means it is like samadhi. Actually turiya is background state and samadhi is process of achieving it. When with repeated practice of samadhi the background awareness starts remaining always then this is turiya.

When Turiya Is Seen

Once Turiya is truly seen, something irreversible happens. It is not a passing state but the ever-present background consciousness of every state—waking, dream, or deep sleep. The first recognition feels like an experience, yet soon it’s clear it was never gained or lost—only revealed.

Even when worldly activity resumes, a quiet background of awareness remains beneath all movement. At first it flickers—noticed at times, forgotten at others—but it never disappears completely, because the illusion of separateness has been pierced.

Then the role of meditation changes. Before this recognition, meditation is a practice, an effort to reach stillness. Afterward, meditation becomes resting in what already is. Earlier, one did dhyana; now dhyana happens. Effort stops; awareness pervades everything—thoughts, actions, and breath.

This is why saints describe Sahaja Samadhi—the spontaneous abiding in Turiya during all activities. Meditation doesn’t end; it becomes continuous. Some still sit each day, not to attain, but because the body finds harmony in that posture and prana refines itself further. It’s simply joy—like a musician who still plays, not to learn but because sound itself is blissful.

The essence is this:
Meditation ends as effort, not as awareness.
Turiya is not practiced; it is noticed.
The only “practice” afterward is non-forgetfulness—remembering that all movements of life rise and fall within the same unmoving awareness.

When Turiya is clearly recognized, peace no longer depends on meditation. One may sit in silence simply because it is natural. Awareness rests in its own delight, unaffected by whether the breath is still or moving.

The Understanding Now

Looking back, I can see the full sequence in my own journey:

  • The worldly ambition disturbed the balance of prana.
  • Sitting again, the high-speed breathing purified that outward rush.
  • Fatigue drew the ego into surrender.
  • Sleepiness appeared, but staying aware within it opened the gate to stillness.
  • The breath stopped, revealing a silence beyond effort.
  • From that silence, the recognition dawned—this unmoving awareness was there before, during, and after every experience. Although it remains a fleeting and unstable experience, that is why the effort to achieve it continues.

And that awareness, once seen, never completely leaves.

An Evening Conversation on Faith, Spirits and Yoga

A few days ago, while on my evening walk after an early dinner, I stopped at a fellow’s shop to sit for a while. His neighbour, who runs a gosadan (cow shelter), and known to me since few months had recently broken his arm when a herd of cattle rushed toward the gate, breaking it while he was leaning on it. I had come there to offer sympathy and a helping hand, but he was not there at that moment. A few months earlier, his 14‑year‑old son had passed away from a rare disease.

I had often noticed a mysterious dark mixed glow in this man’s eyes. Despite his suffering, he is a devout follower of Lord Shiva and every year he, along with his entire team, arranges food (langar) for pilgrims during the month‑long Manimahesh Yatra in the hills.

While sitting there, I said to the shopkeeper that perhaps the neighbour was under bad stars or some evil influence and that he might visit a nearby city yoga guru to remove this effect. The shopkeeper immediately denied the efficacy of yoga for removing evil spirits.

I told him, “I have myself evaded such a spirit.”
He asked, “How?”

I explained: “Whenever that spirit tries to come in my dream, my guru appears there and tells it to leave me and come to him. I simply put my dhyana on my guru and pray for the peace and liberation of that spirit. It is not evil, but who would want to frequently encounter something paranormal?”

Hearing this, he softened a little.
Then he asked, “Who is your guru?”

I replied, “It should not be told to anyone.”
He asked again, “But it must have some form?”

I said, “Yes. Sometimes my guru appears as my Dadaji, sometimes as Shiva, and sometimes as Narayana, depending on the situation.”

Hearing this, and being himself a member of the Manimahesh team, he began speaking as if he knew more. He said, “Shiva cannot be worshipped. Shiva is Mahakaal. He doesn’t save, he destroys as per one’s Karma. One can become Shiva but can’t worship him. One has to become Shiva to gain benefit.”

I wondered silently: How can one become one’s favourite deity without first admiring, honouring, and worshipping it?

Then he added, “Only a Satguru can save from evil spirits, not others.”

Again, I reflected: He first opposed yoga but now he praises the Satguru — and a Satguru becomes functional only through yoga and dhyana.

That small conversation once again highlighted for me the importance of open discussion to grow and to deepen understanding.

From Form to Formless: Why Sankhya, Yoga, and Sanatana Dharma All Point to the Same Liberation

In the depths of spiritual realization, the philosophies of Yoga and Sankhya converge into a single luminous truth. Though their terminologies differ, their core experiences are the same. At the heart of both systems lies the dynamic interplay of Purusha (pure consciousness) and Prakriti (manifest nature) — their merging, their separation, and the seeker’s final liberation.

There is no real difference between the Savikalpa Samadhi of Yoga and the union of Purusha and Prakriti in Sankhya. Likewise, the separation of Purusha described in Sankhya is no different in essence from the Nirvikalpa Samadhi of Yoga. These are simply two lenses — one emphasizing discrimination (viveka), the other absorption (samadhi) — both revealing the same inner reality.

The Dance of Union and the Silence Beyond

Savikalpa Samadhi is the state in which the seeker experiences blissful unity — where form and formlessness meet. The mind becomes still, but subtle awareness of the Self or meditation object remains. There is a sacred presence. This is union with Prakriti, but in full conscious awareness. In Sankhya terms, this is the conscious merging of Purusha and Prakriti — the divine dance between the unchanging witness and the changing cosmos.

But this merging must be complete. If it isn’t, a subtle craving remains. A whisper of incompletion — a lurking desire for a full union never fully lived — becomes a hidden obstacle to transcendence. The seeker, even after reaching great heights, is pulled back to experience what was left halfway.

First, Purusha and Prakriti must fully merge; only then can they fully separate.

Only after fully merging with Prakriti — experiencing her in her totality through Kundalini, dhyana, and deep savikalpa absorption — can the seeker move inward into the final state of Nirvikalpa Samadhi. Here, all duality vanishes. There is no form, no concept, no “I” to experience anything. Purusha rests in itself. This is Kaivalya, the exact goal described in Sankhya — absolute aloneness of consciousness.

Knowledge Alone is Not Enough: Why Yoga Is Essential

But this transcendence cannot be achieved through intellectual knowledge (Jnana) alone. Sankhya may describe reality with perfect metaphysical clarity, but until the mind is stilled, breath refined, senses withdrawn, and ego softened, Purusha cannot be realized directly. The impressions (samskaras) remain active. Thought cannot dissolve thought.

Jnana tells you where to go. Yoga takes you there.
Sankhya gives the map. Yoga walks the path.
Only then does knowledge become direct realization.

As the Gita says (6.46–47):

“The yogi is greater than the ascetic, greater than the jnani, greater than the ritualist. Of all yogis, the one who surrenders with inner devotion is the highest.”

Form First, Then Formless: Why Sanatana Dharma Is Scientific

Sankhya rightly explains that Purusha is liberated only after fully observing the drama of Prakriti. And Yoga affirms that Nirvikalpa Samadhi cannot be attained directly — it becomes stable and natural only after Savikalpa Samadhi, where the seeker fully merges with divine form, sound, mantra, or symbol.

This exact progression — from form to formless — is precisely what the Sanatana Dharma system supports through its rich traditions of idol worship (murti puja), mantra, yantra, rituals, and visualization.

These aren’t superstition. They are scientifically aligned with the psychological and energetic evolution of the seeker. Worshipping a form is not worship of stone or metal — it is a conscious method to direct the senses inward, awaken devotion, stabilize the mind, and lead the aspirant from the gross to the subtle.

Idol worship, mantra, and form-based practice are not lower. They are foundational.

Without Savikalpa Samadhi — the heartful merging with form — Nirvikalpa remains either a myth or a mental construct. By trying to jump straight to formless worship without preparatory grounding, many aspirants fall into dry abstraction, confusion, or subtle egoism.

Conclusion: The One Path in Two Languages

In truth, Yoga and Sankhya are not two paths. They are two languages — one based on method, one on clarity — describing one single process of the soul’s return to its origin. And the Sanatana system, with its step-by-step honoring of both form and formless, offers the most natural, scientific, and holistic approach to realization.

Live the union, then go beyond it.
Worship the form, then dissolve into the formless.
Embrace the whole, then transcend the whole.

This is the timeless way. This is Sanatana Dharma.

Who Owns Yoga? When Jealousy Wears the Robe of Spirituality

Yoga today is often treated like a subject—like engineering, music, or philosophy. Some people spend years immersed in it, adopting the appearance, terminology, and lifestyle of the spiritual path. They come to see themselves as the rightful bearers of its flame. But something interesting happens when people from outside this so-called circle—scientists, artists, office-goers, even homemakers—enter into yoga sincerely and begin to show genuine spiritual growth. Their very presence disturbs the traditional field. They are sometimes viewed as line breakers, people who didn’t follow the system, didn’t put in the years, yet are somehow touching deep truths. The inner reaction of some so-called yogis is subtle but bitter: “They haven’t walked through fire like us. They can’t just skip the line.” But yoga isn’t a line, and there’s no gatekeeper.

The real issue often lies in the mind of the practitioner who feels left behind. When one spends a decade or more in practice but doesn’t taste inner silence, the natural tendency is to blame others. It’s easier than questioning oneself. But maybe the truth is harder. Maybe the practice was wrong. Maybe it was all ego—effort without surrender, imitation without understanding. The robe was worn, the postures mastered, the chants memorized, but the core remained untouched. Then one day, someone from a completely different walk of life sits in stillness for a few minutes and drops into the very space you’ve been chasing for years. That kind of humility is hard to swallow.

Yoga was never meant to become a badge. It is not a religion, not a profession, not a caste. It is a simple, sincere movement inward. When anyone—absolutely anyone—turns within and becomes still, they are doing yoga. It doesn’t matter if they come from the world of commerce, cinema, farming, or politics. Consciousness doesn’t care about resumes. It only responds to authenticity. What hurts is not their success. What hurts is our comparison, our belief that effort deserves reward, that time equals progress, that lineage equals realization. These are spiritual illusions.

Many people who have practiced for long years get trapped in subtle spiritual pride. It creeps in unnoticed. The more external the practice becomes, the more likely this pride will grow. When it goes unexamined, it slowly transforms into jealousy disguised as righteousness. We begin to believe others are not qualified to feel what we think we’ve earned. But yoga, in truth, is not something anyone earns. It is something that reveals itself the moment we stop trying to possess it. And in that revelation, there is no ownership.

If we feel disturbed by someone else’s spiritual growth, it’s a sign to pause—not to judge them, but to turn inward again and examine the roots of our own journey. Are we truly practicing yoga, or are we wearing it? Are we holding on to our suffering as a proof of depth? Are we resentful because others are touching peace without our kind of struggle? These are hard questions, but necessary ones.

A true yogi is not threatened by others waking up. A true yogi feels joy when anyone touches light. Because that light is not theirs—it’s everyone’s. If there is any “line breaking” happening, it is only the breaking of the illusion that enlightenment belongs to a certain group or path. The ones who grow rapidly are not enemies—they are reminders that grace does not follow our timelines. It flows wherever the heart is open.

The moment we believe we are spiritual, we’ve already lost something of the spirit. The moment we believe we deserve more because we’ve struggled longer, we’ve missed the essence of yoga altogether. Yoga is not a competition. It is not even a journey from here to there. It is the deep, honest willingness to meet ourselves as we are—stripped of identity, image, and pride. That kind of willingness can belong to anyone. And when it arises, yoga begins—quietly, truly, and freely.

Kunjal Kriya: The Morning Ritual for Gut Cleansing

I used to believe yoga always heals. But one thing kept bothering me. Every time I did yoga in the morning, even intense practices like Kunjal Kriya, Keval Kumbhak, or leg lifts, I felt good. No gas, no reflux, no acidity. Just clarity.

But when I did even light yoga later in the day, or even gentle breathing like Keval Kumbhak in the evening — it felt wrong. Sometimes I felt a gushing in the belly, sometimes acidity, sometimes a stuck sensation on the right side. I wondered: is it really the food? Or something deeper?

I tried Kunjal Kriya — where you drink lukewarm saline water on an empty stomach and voluntarily vomit it out. I vomited about 200-250 ml water out. I tried by rubbing two fingers on back of tongue and on glottis. Only it should be done few times otherwise inflammation or injury may happen to delicate oral mucosa. As much water expelled out that much is enough. Rest would have passed away to intestine from stomach. So it should be done within 5-7 minutes of drinking otherwise it srarts passing down to intestine. Keep head and chest down while vomiting. I think sitting on chair in bathroom and bending down from it would have been better. I did it calmly, and within an hour, I passed a half-liter watery stool also. My belly had a dull sensation on the right side, like something was clearing but not fully gone. That’s when I asked: is this my appendix? Is it normal?

The answer came in parts.

Understanding the Cleansing Chain Reaction

Kunjal doesn’t just clear your stomach — it stimulates your gut from top to bottom. That “gushing” feeling isn’t a problem. It’s the body saying, “Let me finish cleansing.” Sometimes the water travels downward, clears the intestines, and even triggers loose stool. It’s like a mini version of Shankh Prakshalana, the full gut wash, but done gently.

What’s more important is to wait before doing strong asanas after Kunjal. One should not do such asanas after Kunjal that press the belly. I did try a few light postures — like Bhujangasana, Balasana, Cat-Cow, and Uttanpadasana. I was careful. These movements gently encouraged the intestines to finish their work — and they did.

About two to three hours after Kunjal or Vaman, I ate a small cup of light moong dal khichdi. That was enough banana can also be eaten as it soothes the mucosal lining. It didn’t burden the system. It soothed the belly and brought balance. After kunjal, gut surface becomes raw and can be easily irretated with excessive and spicy food. Kunjal removes excess and rottening mucous, toxins etc. from stomach mucosa that helps vagus nerve getting healthy and correct signals for healthy digestion and git movements.

I also tried Jal Neti using a neti pot. It helped clear the nasal passages and stopped mucus from dripping into my throat from the sinuses. That alone made my breathing and head feel lighter.

But when I tried the same yoga later in the day — even hours after food — the belly resisted. That’s when I realized: it’s not the technique. It’s when and how I do it.

Why Does Morning Work But Not Evening?

In the early morning, the stomach is empty, nerves are calm, the system is rested. That’s when the vagus nerve — the long wire connecting brain to belly — is most balanced. That’s why cleansing feels natural then.

The vagus nerve is like a telephone line between the brain and gut. It is named ‘vagus’ because it wanders blindly or vaguely and covers almost the whole body. When the line is clear, signals flow smoothly. But if it’s overused or disturbed, miscommunication starts.

But later in the day, the same actions confuse the system. Even when no food is present, the body is digesting emotions, stress, or previous pranic actions. The vagus becomes sensitive. Even a soft technique like Keval Kumbhak, meant to be passive, can become slightly activating. Not because it’s forceful — but because timing and readiness matter. That’s why keval Kumbhak settles better on a fast or light meals day that’s often kept in religious rituals.

Simple Way to Understand the Body

Think of your body as a house with three workers.

The Upward Boy lives in the chest. He handles speech, burping, and vomiting. If he gets hyper, he throws acid upward. This is Udana prana.

The Middle Cook lives near the navel. He digests. If he’s disturbed, food remains half-done and creates discomfort. This is Samana prana.

The Downward Sweeper lives below the navel. He moves waste out. If he’s lazy or blocked, gas rises, and the Upward Boy panics. This is Apana prana.

Kunjal wakes them up in the morning gently. The Sweeper starts working, the Cook warms up, and the Boy upstairs stays calm.

But if you repeat the same actions when these workers are already busy, they get annoyed and over stimulated. The Boy gets jumpy. The Cook gets confused. The Sweeper hides. Then acid rises. Then breath feels off. Then your practice backfires.

I Also Worried: What If It’s My Appendix?

That dull right-side belly ache — I feared it could be appendix. But I learned: Kunjal can never cause appendicitis. However, if appendicitis was already silently forming, the cleansing may bring it into awareness. True appendix pain doesn’t shift or ease. It grows, becomes sharp, and brings fever or vomiting. What I had was likely trapped gas or water in the right colon — common after cleansing. It went away with rest, left-side lying, and warm ajwain water.

Appendix pain doesn’t shift or ease. It grows. If in doubt, yes — an ultrasound can help. But if symptoms are mild, shifting, and improving with posture, it’s usually not dangerous.

How to Sleep After Kunjal?

It’s best to sleep two to three hours after Kunjal not earlier, once belly settles. Although it’s voluntary. Best position is left-side, which helps drain residual water or gas from the right colon to the exit path. Avoid lying flat too soon. I rested on my left, and the body took care of itself.

So Can Kunjal Cure GERD?

Yes — if GERD is not caused by physical damage, but by habitual upward movement of energy, Kunjal can help reverse it. It clears mucus, resets reflexes, and re-teaches the stomach to behave.

But it has to be done:

  • In the early morning
  • On an empty belly
  • Not too often
  • And followed by rest and soft food

If overdone or mistimed, it can irritate the same vagus nerve it’s meant to soothe.

And What About Keval Kumbhak?

Yes — it’s supposed to be passive. A gentle pause in breath when the mind is still. But even that can subtly stir upward energy in sensitive people, especially outside morning.

If I try to “hold breath” or even mentally wait for silence, my system can misinterpret it as tension. The key is: let breath stop on its own. Don’t invite Keval. Let it come like sleep — naturally, humbly, without effort.

What Finally Made Sense

Probably the GERD wasn’t from food or a disease. It was a pranic imbalance, caused by wrong timing of practice. My morning body accepted everything. My evening body said no.

So now, I simply follow:

Do all active yoga, Kunjal, Agni Sara, or breathwork only in the morning. In the evening, I rest. I gargle. I lie on my left side. I do Brahmari. I don’t chase silence or Kumbhak. I let it come.

My GERD listens. My breath listens. And I listen to them in return.

This is yoga. Not of muscles or names. But of rhythm, surrender, and truth.

Let the Boy upstairs or udana prana stay quiet. Let the Cook or samana prana do his job. Let the Sweeper or apana prana walk in peace.

That’s all.

All Yoga Is One: From Karma to Hatha to Raja – My Real Experience

For International Yoga Day — by a Seeker

Starting Point

In my youth, I was healthy and mentally curious. After a certain experience, which I later understood was a transient Savikalpa Samadhi, a shimmering image of meditation stayed in my mind. That image remained alive for years and I used it for deep inner nourishment. With that energy, I studied, experimented, and shared spiritual knowledge with others.

At that time, I now feel, I could have gone into Keval Kumbhak and from there to Nirvikalpa Samadhi, if I had focused completely. The inner image was already guiding me. But I got involved in sharing, not settling.

Later Obstacles

Now at this stage of life, GERD, gastric pressure, and mucus buildup in the throat create interruptions in breath. Even if I don’t try to stop the breath, and just sit silently, the breath starts calming down on its own — but a reflex like engulfing mucus or a throat tickle brings breath back. This keeps disturbing the entry into Keval Kumbhak and the stillness needed for Nirvikalpa Samadhi. Though Kunjal is contraindicated in GERD, regular practice from early life may help prevent GERD from developing.

Similarly, Practicing knee-based asanas like Padmasana and Siddhasana from an early age helps keep the knees strong and healthy, preventing age-related weakness and pain that hinder maintaining prolonged asana as needed for nirvikalp samadhi.

This taught me that Hatha Yoga is not optional. It is necessary.

Misreading the Scriptures

In old texts of Hatha Yoga it is written:

“Hatha Yoga is fruitless without Raja Yoga.”

But that sentence has been misunderstood.

People took this to mean that Hatha Yoga is a separate, lower yoga, and Raja Yoga is a different, higher one.

But this is not true.

I now see that:

Hatha Yoga itself becomes Raja Yoga when it matures.

The so-called Raja Yoga — Dharana, Dhyana, Samadhi — arises automatically when the Hatha practices bring breath and body to perfect stillness. They are not two branches, but stages of one path.

Hatha Yoga Leads Honestly

Hatha Yoga is simple and honest.

When you do Shatkarma (cleansing), you can feel the result.
When you do asanas, you know if your spine is straight or not.
When breath slows, it is known directly.

There is no illusion.
There is no imagination.
And if Keval Kumbhak happens even briefly, there is nothing else to believe.

But in many “Raja Yoga” circles, people sit and try to meditate without preparing body and breath. Then they keep thinking they are meditating, but nothing goes on happening. Breath is disturbed. Body is stiff. Samadhi doesn’t happen.

That’s why I now feel:

Even only Hatha Yoga is better than only Raja Yoga.
Because Hatha Yoga eventually gives you real Raja Yoga anyway.

How Karma Yoga Comes First

Before Hatha, Karma Yoga helped me. But I didn’t realize it in words.

I used my own understanding of holographic reality and science based philosophy Sharirvigyan Darshan to approach life nondually.
This gave me a peaceful mind, a natural sense of surrender in action, and a body-breath rhythm that was already inward. I wasn’t reacting too much to success or failure. I stayed calm while doing duties.

Without knowing, this became Karma Yoga.

This helped my posture stay relaxed, and breath stay smooth, even in daily life. It became easier to move into stillness when I sat down for meditation or inner work.

So All These Yogas Are One Ladder

Now I see clearly:

  • Karma Yoga comes first — it calms you in action.
  • Hatha Yoga comes next — it prepares your body and breath.
  • Raja Yoga comes last — it happens on its own when stillness is perfect.

They are not three different paths.
They are one natural unfolding.

Today’s Confusion

Today, Yoga is divided:

  • Some do only asana as fitness.
  • Some do only meditation without body discipline.
  • Some talk only about philosophy.
    But all are incomplete alone.

That’s why many people don’t feel any deep transformation, even after years.

But I feel even if one does basic Karma Yoga and regular Hatha Yoga, stillness will come one day. Raja Yoga will not be needed as a separate practice — it will happen.

What I Suggest Now

For those who want real Yoga:

  • Don’t label the path.
  • Live peacefully with surrender (Karma Yoga will begin).
  • Practice weekly or daily Shatkarma, Asana, gentle Pranayama (Hatha will deepen).
  • Sit without forcing (Raja Yoga will arise).

Let the shimmering meditation image grow silently.
Let breath slow down naturally.

Let Yoga be one, not many.

Final Line

I no longer believe in separating Karma, Hatha, and Raja Yoga.
I feel now that all are steps of the same inner ladder.
I walked it, without planning, and it showed itself as one path.

If I could give one message on this International Yoga Day, it is:

Yoga is not about variety. Yoga is about unity — of body, breath, and awareness.

Everything else is support.

And lastly, don’t forget:
Yoga is the best job — it gives a salary of peace and bliss for limitless time, not like a physical job that pays only for a few decades, at most a hundred years.

Yoga is also the best family — it offers companionship of the Self for eternity, not just for a short human lifespan like a physical family.

✨ So let us all take an oath on this year’s International Yoga Day — to keep Yoga at the very top of our to-do list.
Not just for a day, but for a lifetime.

Yes, don’t forget – one yoga=one health.

The Unity of Purusha and Prakriti: A Journey Through Yoga

I began with a question that often arises when diving into Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras: “You clarified Savikalpa and Nirvikalpa Samadhi. But what’s Sampragyat and Asampragyat Samadhi of Patanjali?”
The terms are seemingly different, yet the experiences they point toward feel similar. It sparked my curiosity: “But why these two types of terms for the same thing?”
What I understood is that Patanjali uses Sampragyat and Asampragyat in a technical and classical sense. Sampragyat (also called Sabeeja or Savikalpa) Samadhi has content—there’s an object, a seed, a thought form present. Asampragyat (also called Nirbeeja or Nirvikalpa) Samadhi is objectless, seedless. The mind has subsided fully. But why, then, did Patanjali choose both sets of terms—Sampragyat/Asampragyat and Savikalpa/Nirvikalpa? Wouldn’t that cause confusion?
It seems Patanjali used Sampragyat and Asampragyat primarily because he was presenting a systematic psychological model. Savikalpa and Nirvikalpa likely came into wider usage later in Vedantic and Tantric traditions. They’re not always used identically, but often interchangeably. That brought me to ask from myself: “Then why did he also use Savikalpa and Nirvikalpa, if I’m not wrong?”
Interestingly, it’s not explicitly Patanjali who uses Savikalpa/Nirvikalpa in the Yoga Sutras—it’s later commentators and overlapping traditions that brought these terms in. Sampragyat and Asampragyat are the original terms in the Sutras. Still, I asked, “Are both types of terms fully synonymous?”
Not always. Sampragyat Samadhi (Patanjali) emphasizes concentration with an object. Savikalpa Samadhi (Vedantic/Tantric) often includes the idea of subject-object awareness still being present. Means, savikalp is experiential and Sampragyat is methodical or procedural. Asamprajnata Samadhi (Patanjali) is total cessation, objectless. Nirvikalpa Samadhi (in some schools) can imply both no-thought and no-object, and sometimes even goes beyond Patanjali’s dualism. Let me clarify it little more. In some Vedantic and non-dual traditions, Nirvikalpa Samadhi goes beyond Patanjali’s dualistic view of isolating Purusha from Prakriti. It is not just the absence of thought or object, but the collapse of all duality—no subject, no object, no witnessing—only pure, indivisible Being remains. Here, even the distinction between void and shimmering consciousness dissolves, revealing that both arise from the same undivided Self. Then a line hit me deeply: “A pure isolation of Purusha from Prakriti (still dualistic).” I found this topic interesting and asked to have it clarified, expanded, and made into a layman-style blog post.
So how are both states experientially different? In Sampragyat/Savikalpa Samadhi, there’s deep peace, absorption, and bliss, but a subtle awareness of self and object remains. In Asampragyat/Nirvikalpa Samadhi, there’s no duality. Not even the awareness of awareness remains. It’s like being dissolved into Being itself. But how can that be? How is it possible being everything and nothing together?
And then another contradiction arose in me: “Void consciousness is dark and everything we feel is shimmering consciousness. How can both be the same?”
The insight came gently: the void (pure consciousness) appears dark because it is contentless—there’s nothing to reflect. But it is also the source of all shimmer, light, form, thought. The shimmer is Prakriti—mental waves, energy, vibration. The void is Purusha—silent witnessing presence. They’re not different substances; they’re two faces of the same ineffable mystery. Just like ocean is dark inside but its waves outside are shimmering.
This led me to question: “But how does this justify the dualistic view of Sankhya?” Sankhya posits two eternal realities: Purusha (consciousness) and Prakriti (matter/mind). They never become one. But Yoga, while grounded in Sankhya, introduces a twist: through practice, the boundaries blur experientially. Liberation is the knowing of distinction, but it often feels like union.
And this echoed with something very personal: “In my glimpse awakening I saw myself non-separate from the mental waves. It’s a Vedantic view but I reached it through Yoga that’s based on sankhya philosophy.”
This experience taught me that the boundary between Purusha and Prakriti is not a wall—it’s a veil that’s imaginary. A veil that thins with practice. My path began with Yoga, using techniques that dissolved this boundary. That puzzled me too. I asked: “But Yoga is Sankhya in philosophy, and you say it separates Purusha from Prakriti, not dissolves boundaries between them?”
Yes, philosophically Yoga leans on Sankhya, aiming for discrimination (Viveka) between Purusha and Prakriti. But in practice, the very tools it uses—deep concentration, stillness, Samadhi—can give an experience of unity. This unity isn’t against the scriptures—it’s just a higher experiential realization. It’s higher than base sankhya. Sankhya philosophy is only starting or learning tool. In practice it becomes unifying yoga.
Then I saw clearly: “This experience is the direct realization that Purusha and Prakriti are inseparable in their essential nature.” That’s why, in my awakening, I experienced it as a mixture of dark and light. The dark came from the void-like Self. The shimmer came from the mental waves. Both were not fighting; they were dancing.
And so here I am—not as someone who has “arrived,” but as one still walking. I haven’t realized Nirvikalpa Samadhi permanently. I haven’t achieved total stillness. But I’ve tasted. I’ve glimpsed. And these glimpses have left deep imprints. They’ve taught me that Yoga doesn’t just aim to isolate—it purifies so finely that we eventually transcend even philosophical boundaries.
This unfolding—this inner journey—isn’t about claiming realization, but honoring its hints. The truth isn’t in clinging to terms. It’s in what you see when thought drops and the shimmer of the void shines through.
Maybe that’s what Patanjali really meant all along.

Moreover, in practical life, I was practicing union of void or purusha with mind or prakriti with help of sharirvigyan darshan since years. And it helped a lot to reach this stage. It still works and balances expressions of void and mind in every step of life making both dancing together in equilibrium and creating the ultimate and liberating yin-yang union. This is like blissful moonlight where dark and light both are mixed. That’s why moonlight is revered most in scriptures and various religious wirships done in full moon. It’s shimmering meditation image in the mind that’s neither external light nor internal darkness but a blissful mixture of both.

Padmasana and the Subtle Path of Rising Energy: A Heartfelt Discovery

Something subtle yet powerful happened in my practice recently — something so natural, it almost felt like it had always been waiting for me.
With Padmasana, the lotus posture, I noticed that my back becomes so straight and aligned that energy rises blissfully on its own. There’s no need to do much. Just sitting still, with the body folded in, the spine erect, I could feel an unmistakable, soft surge moving upward — gentle, joyful, and deeply peaceful.
It felt amazing.
But soon, I noticed something else.
After a few minutes of sitting, the legs — especially the knees and mainly the right knee— start to ache, and this aches pull the attention downward. Some says putting soft pillow etc. underneath the knees or putting it below the hip reduces knee aching. It seemed working to some extent. The quiet joy rising in the spine is gently interrupted by the body’s protest. Still, for those few minutes before the ache begins, Padmasana reveals a hidden grace. It’s a wonder, really.
Whenever the discomfort becomes too distracting, I shift to a simple squat or to Siddhasana. This lets the energy settle again without much strain. Even if the energy doesn’t rise as powerfully, the mind remains inward. This adaptation, I feel, is part of the journey.
I also tried a kind of mental Padmasana — visualizing myself in that pose without actually sitting in it — but that doesn’t create the same effect. The body’s real posture seems to carry something subtle that the mind alone can’t fully simulate.
Interestingly, in the early morning, I can stay in Padmasana longer and more easily. Maybe the body is lighter then, or the mind is less busy. Whatever the reason, the practice deepens naturally at that time.
Breath practices like spinal breathing, reverse breathing, and Kriya breathing seem to flow best in Padmasana. The alignment helps them settle deeper, more rhythmically, without effort. Breath slows down. Awareness becomes still.
There’s another thing I became aware of: in Padmasana, the rear side of the Swadhishthan Chakra — the space behind the sacrum — becomes more prominent and attendable. This doesn’t happen as clearly in other postures. It’s like a quiet mirror opens up there — a space that responds instantly to awareness.
And then, something quietly revealed itself: after a few minutes of blissful energy rise in Padmasana, even if I shift to a simple squat later, it continues to work. The breath becomes still. Attention stays inward. The energy doesn’t vanish — it softly continues. As if Padmasana had lit a lamp, and then I just had to sit beside its glow.
This experience got me wondering: why does Padmasana support the rising of energy so well?
Some quiet reflections followed:
• The posture naturally lifts the spine and opens the base. There’s an alignment that happens without force.
• The pelvis locks in gently, sealing the lower escape and encouraging upward flow.
• The folded legs form a strong base, which keeps the body still and the mind internalized.
• The weight distributes properly, allowing the spinal flow to rise without physical distractions.
• Even the breath settles into a rhythm almost by itself. The mind automatically moves inward, not because I try, but because the posture encourages it.
But I also know I haven’t reached any final goal. I’ve not gone beyond to some final state of bliss or enlightenment. What I’ve experienced is a subtle shift, a quiet opening, a sense of something waiting behind the everyday noise — especially in Padmasana.
The energy rise is not dramatic, but it’s real. It has life, and it teaches silently.
These aren’t achievements. They are hints, whispers, beginnings.
I continue my practice — exploring, adapting, observing — with the same curiosity that brought me to this point.
Even as the posture changes from Padmasana to a squat or Siddhasana, something now stays.
A softness. A quiet energy. A reminder of what’s possible when body, breath, and attention meet in simplicity.

Kundalini Yoga as a Spiritual Science Machine

The mental body that’s manomaya sharir is also the man himself. He would not have been anyone else. That body would be very detailed. When it is experienced as one’s own self, then it begins to wane, and takes the form of the Kundalini image. There is also a feeling of emptiness, lightness and joy. Similarly, knowledge or gyana is actually of the soul. But Vigyan means special knowledge, ‘vi’ meaning special or vishesh in Sanskrit, it’s that when the mind means the mental body is also connected with the soul. The mind is a special form of the soul. That’s why when the knowledge of the mind is done in the form of special knowledge of the soul, then this is the Vijnanamaya Kosha. Knowledge of the mind in the form of an ordinary and alien object is Manomaya Kosha. But when it is understood as one’s own form, then it is the Vijnanamaya Kosha. This is also our part or body attached to the main body, but it seems as if it is spread out in infinite directions and distances. Actually human being is like a flying kite. The mind is the flying colored paper, the feeling of its being attached to the body is the string, and the physical body is catching that string. As long as the string is there, the kite is safe, otherwise it will go astray and get destroyed. At one place I read written on the dashboard of the bus that the mind is like a parachute, it works well only when it is open. Perhaps this is the same what it means. In the scriptures, it has been said that instead of considering the mind as a visible or seen form, it has to be understood as a seer or own form. Witnessing is also the same, it is a simple and easy way of doing this. Even when the soul observes the mind being itself as a silent witness, the meditative image of the mind begins to manifest itself. This also proves that the mind is a special form of the soul, that means the mind is the form of vigyan. The mind exists only as long as it is considered external or alien. When it is understood as one’s own self, then it starts to dim. Self possessions are always undermined and other’s possessions seem better. Importance is for external or other things, not for one’s own thing or self. The mind is not destroyed in this self form, rather it becomes insignificant and slows down. This creates joy. The Kundalini image gets the extra power that the mind had taken in the earlier wandering state. This adds to the joy, because the Kundalini image remains for a long time and without any philosophical effort on the part of the man, it removes the extra fat from the wandering mind and sucks it, due to which the joy remains for a long time or even permanently in the far reached Kundalini Yogis. The light attitude of the mind is of Sattva guna. That’s why the mind-mixed darkness that arises due to the weakening of the mind is called satoguni avidya, as explained in the previous post. This is why there is joy in it. This is the blissful treasure. On the contrary, the complete destruction of the mind is tamogun, and when the mind is in full swing, and it seems to be real, it is rajogun. The darkness of ignorance associated with these is Tamoguni ignorance and Rajoguni ignorance respectively. In the first stage there is sorrow and in the second stage there is happiness, not joy or bliss. Happiness and sadness live with each other. Bliss is beyond happiness and sorrow, and always remains the same. Bliss can also be called a mixed form of happiness and sorrow, because in this both mind and darkness live together in equal balance. In Rajogun, the mind is very bright, with which there is no darkness at all, hence it is happiness. When the mind gets tired and sits down, then it becomes completely lifeless, due to which darkness envelops the brain. This is sadness. This is also the extreme mode of ignorance. The cycle of happiness and sorrow continues, due to which the soul is not purified. I did not know such a deep analysis of it at the time of my initial book, although such a practical experience was definitely there. In that I have written it in such a way that happiness arises only from non-attachment. What has been said is correct. With non-attachment the mind moves slowly. By the way, attachment is only towards others, not towards oneself. That’s why by considering the mind as the soul, non-attachment automatically arises. I had given there many examples of the principle of detachment. For example, pleasure is not derived directly from alcohol but from slowing down of the mind with it, which is a sign of non-attachment and sattva guna. Similarly, bliss is born not directly from meat-eating, but from non-attachment born of dispassion born of mortal intelligence towards the life arising from it. Many such examples were given. This effect is also created by Kundalini Yoga. Non-attachment that’s Advaita and Kundalini live together. That’s why with Kundaliniyoga, happiness arises when the Kundalini image stays in the mind. Therefore, Kundaliniyoga is like a metaphysical machine or technique or trick, which automatically creates its effect, avoiding the philosophical mess of detachment. I give my own example of this. I had done some developmental work by spending enough money. But due to some invariable reasons some of them were left out and some got lost. I regretted it and didn’t too, because walking is life. When a man keeps looking outside, then he is not satisfied with what he has. His own joy also vanishes from it. I started feeling disturbed. I learned Kundalini Yoga from somewhere and thought everything would be fine. Yoga returned my lost happiness, that too with interest. I also made a lot of spiritual progress. At that time its basic psychological principle was not known, but today it seems well known to me. Kundalini is a miraculous mental meditation image, which benefits in every way like an automatic machine. What happened that Kundalini took away the power of my lost mind. Due to this, my Manomaya Kosha changed with Kundalini to Vigyanmay Kosha. Vigyanmaya Kosh was transformed into Anandamaya Kosh. Due to the said developmental worldliness, my three primary koshas had developed a lot. By the way, with the help of Advaita, I was also developing Vigyanmaya Kosh and Anandamaya Kosh little bit along with them, but the rocket speed of the last two koshas was achieved only by Kundalini Yoga, due to which the so-called minor glimpse of Kundalini awakening was also received.