consciousness – Demystifying Kundalini

Pyramids, Temple Architecture and Kundalini: Exploring the Hidden Geometry of Spiritual Awakening

A New Insight During Deep Dhyana

During deep dhyana, I experienced an interesting insight connecting the shape of a yogi sitting in Padmasana with the structure of temples and pyramids. The seated body has a broadly conical form, with a wide base tapering towards the head. The crown represents the highest point, which I associate with Sahasrara, the chakra symbolizing the connection between earthly existence and heavenly transcendence. This resemblance led me to contemplate the possible relationship between human anatomy, sacred architecture, Kundalini awakening, and ancient beliefs about life after death. What emerged was a geometric model connecting the body, the movement of prana, and the symbolic meaning of structures built for spiritual purposes.

The Three-Dimensional Pyramid and the Human Body

The pyramid in my contemplative model represents the human body sitting in Padmasana, viewed as a three-dimensional structure rather than a flat shape. The backbone forms the main posterior axis, representing Sushumna, the central channel of traditional yogic anatomy. It extends upward from the base of the seated body towards Sahasrara, represented by the pyramid’s apex. Two slanting lateral planes extend from the central spinal axis towards the left and right sides of the body, corresponding symbolically to Ida and Pingala. The planes are widest at the base, encompassing the legs and lower trunk, and progressively narrow as they rise, following the decreasing width of the body towards the shoulders, neck, and head. In this way, the three-dimensional pyramid reflects the body’s changing width from its broad lower region to its narrow upper region. The arms extend laterally near the shoulders, while the outward-slanting planes can be contemplated in relation to the throat, ears, and eyes. The two lateral planes connect through the front plane, across which I perceive energy moving in a straight path from left to right. Above these converging regions, Sahasrara remains the solitary apex, symbolizing the culmination of the upward movement towards transcendence.

The two lateral planes, the central axis, and the connecting front plane form the main elements of this model. The front plane connects the left and right sides, while the slanting planes represent their relationship with the central spinal axis. The model therefore combines the body’s overall shape with a representation of the perceived movement of energy within it.

The Movement of Prana Between Ida and Pingala

Sometimes during ascent of energy, I experience energy oscillating between Ida and Pingala in a pattern resembling the geometry of a pyramid. I perceive energy moving from the left slanting plane towards the right, with both sides emerging from the central spinal axis. Across the front of the body, this movement follows a straight path from left to right. I associate this direct connection with the pyramid’s straight front plane, which differs from its two slanting lateral planes. I have also experienced a sensation associated with the left-slanting plane around the heart.

The most significant part of this experience occurs when I contemplate the entire body icluding appandages in this pyramidal arrangement. I feel that energy from different parts of the body converges towards the central spinal axis, which I associate with Sushumna. Rather than concentrating on an isolated chakra or body part, I maintain awareness of the whole body as one integrated structure. The legs, arms, sensory regions, lateral planes, and central axis become parts of a unified mental image. In my experience, the oscillation between Ida and Pingala and the convergence of awareness towards Sushumna become complementary aspects of the same contemplative process. The upward extension of the central axis towards Sahasrara represents its culmination. This is my interpretation of the sensations experienced during dhyana, rather than a claim that the subtle channels follow these exact geometric paths as physical structures.

Temples and Pyramids as Symbols of Transcendence

The resemblance between the meditating body, temple architecture, and pyramids raises an interesting philosophical question. Could similar geometric forms serve as symbols of the relationship between earthly existence and transcendence? In my interpretation, the broad base represents grounded physical existence, while the tapering summit represents the upward movement of consciousness towards Sahasrara.

The temple’s rising superstructure can thus be contemplated as resembling a yogi sitting in meditation, with the uppermost point representing the crown. The pyramid offers a similar geometric image. Its broad foundation and narrowing summit can be interpreted as representing the journey from embodied existence towards a higher state of awareness. This does not establish that the builders of these structures intended precisely this meaning, but it offers a way to explore their forms through the perspective of yogic contemplation.

Pyramids are also popularly associated with extraterrestrial civilizations. I have considered whether the extraterrestrial world, understood in my philosophical framework as a world beyond ordinary earthly existence, might be associated with transcendence. However, a connection between pyramids and extraterrestrial civilizations has not been established by reliable scientific evidence. My central interest is the symbolic resemblance between these structures and the meditating body, rather than a claim about their builders.

The Temple Bell, Tantric Union and Kundalini Energy

Another insight emerged from contemplating the bell hanging inside a temple. In tantric symbolism, the bell can be associated with the union of masculine and feminine principles. In my interpretation, this union represents the joining of complementary energies at the base, where Kundalini is traditionally symbolized as a dormant serpent. The bell’s sound becomes a symbol of the energy expressed through this union.

The metal chain connecting the bell with the upper structure offers another element of the model. I interpret the chain as representing Sushumna, linking the lower part of the temple with its highest point. The bell represents union and the arising of sound, the chain represents the central pathway, and the summit represents Sahasrara, associated with spiritual awakening and wisdom. Together, these elements create a symbolic sequence connecting tantric union, sound, the upward pathway, and transcendence. Oscillation of chain to and fro after giving a little push to it is like left-right oscillation of prana in ida and pingla or upward and downward oscillation of breath. The initial sound emerging in bell is like feel of sushumna flow with bliss. Later on when chain becomes central and stationary after loosing all power of push to oscillate and bell stops sounding, it represents fully breathless final state even when sushumna flow is present but it’s not felt. It’s like nirvikalpa samadhi. It may be transient glimpse or may be long enough according to meditation practice.

Sitting inside a dome-shaped or pyramid-like temple may also encourage peace and contemplation. The architecture, the sound of bells, devotional associations, and the quiet atmosphere can help direct attention inward. When the entire structure is contemplated as a representation of the meditating body, its different elements become parts of one integrated image of the inner yogic journey. The proposed movement of Kundalini through the chain is symbolic, not an established physical mechanism, but the practice of focused contemplation may help settle the mind.

The Ganga, Egyptian Mummies and Liberation After Death

This insight led me to compare Hindu funerary traditions with ancient Egyptian practices. In Hindu belief, immersing the ashes or bones of the deceased in the Ganga is associated with spiritual merit and the person’s destiny after death. I contemplated the Ganga as a symbol of the flow of Sushumna towards liberation. Through this symbolic relationship, the remains of the deceased become connected with a sacred process representing release from earthly existence. In this interpretation, the river serves not merely as a physical destination for the remains but also as a spiritual symbol.

I then considered whether the preservation of Egyptian mummies inside pyramids might express a comparable hope. If the pyramid resembles a yogi sitting in meditation, with its apex representing Sahasrara, could the preserved body inside it be understood as maintaining a symbolic connection with spiritual ascent? Perhaps the Egyptians regarded the continued preservation of the body as important for the deceased person’s continued existence in the afterlife. This possibility is worth exploring, although the specific connection with dhyana energy and Sahasrara is my hypothesis, not an established explanation of Egyptian beliefs.

Ancient Egyptians had their own religious understanding of bodily preservation, resurrection, and life after death. Hindu funerary traditions developed within their own religious and philosophical settings. Whether the two traditions borrowed ideas from each other would require historical evidence. Nevertheless, the comparison raises an important question: could different civilizations have used different physical symbols to express a similar hope for existence beyond earthly life? In one tradition, the remains are entrusted to a sacred river; in the other, the body is preserved within a monumental structure.

The difference between the Egyptian and Indian traditions may be related to their different natural surroundings. India has the Ganga, a sacred river that flows from the Himalayan region, whose majestic mountain landscape can itself be contemplated as resembling a meditating yogi. In this symbolic interpretation, the Ganga represents a natural flow of spiritual energy from the heights towards the plains. Ancient Egyptians, lacking a comparable river originating from such a mountainous landscape, may have created an artificial symbolic resemblance through the pyramid, whose broad base narrows towards the apex like a meditating yogi rising towards transcendence. This is a possible interpretation of the two traditions rather than an established historical explanation.I see a possible symbolic parallel between these practices, although their historical origins and meanings must be examined separately.

One Geometry, Many Spiritual Symbols

The insight that emerged during my deep dhyana brings together the human body, temple architecture, pyramids, sacred rivers, funerary practices, and the symbolism of Kundalini. The pyramid provides a geometric model for the meditating body. The backbone represents the central axis of Sushumna, the two lateral planes represent Ida and Pingala, and the front plane represents the direct connection between the two sides. The oscillation of prana between the lateral pathways and the convergence of awareness towards the central axis form the experiential core of this model. Sahasrara, represented by the apex, symbolizes the culmination of the upward movement towards transcendence.

The temple bell adds the symbolism of tantric union and sound, while its chain represents the connection between the lower structure and the summit. The Ganga and Egyptian pyramids extend the contemplation towards the question of liberation after death, suggesting how physical forms and rituals may become symbols of spiritual hope. In India, it was traditionally believed that as long as the ashes of a deceased person remained in the River Ganga, their soul would continue to remain in heaven or attain liberation. The Egyptians went a step further. They built pyramids so extraordinarily durable and protective against environmental influences that the mummies buried within them could survive almost forever.

These parallels do not prove that all the traditions share a common historical origin or that their symbolic relationships describe a measurable flow of spiritual energy. They offer a way to explore how geometry, ritual, architecture, and meditation can express humanity’s enduring search for transcendence. The central insight is that the external form of a sacred structure can be contemplated as a representation of the inner yogic journey, from the integration of bodily awareness and complementary energies to the stillness and wisdom symbolized by Sahasrara.

Cyclicity of Life and Spiritual Growth: How Different Environments Shape Human Consciousness

Introduction: The Hidden Value of Changing Environments

I have gradually come to see cyclicity as an important factor in spiritual growth and the development of an all-round personality. Different environments offer different experiences, and their effects may complement one another over time. A fast-paced, materialistic environment, a peaceful rural setting, a spiritual atmosphere and a place focused on earning and social responsibilities can each contribute something different to human development. Perhaps the important point is not to remain permanently in one environment, but to understand what different environments offer and how their combined influence can enrich life.

This observation emerged from my own life, which has passed through several contrasting phases. I spent approximately the first eighteen years in a fast and materialistic environment, followed by five years in a slower, nonmaterial environment. I then returned to a materialistic home environment for three years, experienced another six years in a slow and peaceful setting, and eventually entered the spiritual environment in which I have now spent about ten years. Interestingly, these latest ten years have felt almost like ten days.

Worldly Activity and Spiritual Detachment Can Exist Together

My experience has taught me that worldly engagement and spiritual detachment do not necessarily belong to separate stages of life. They can operate simultaneously. Even while living in fast-paced environments, I was practising contemplation through Sharirvigyan Darshan. I contemplated my actions and their results as activities of the dehpurusha, the bodily principle responsible for the body’s functions, rather than continuously identifying myself as the individual doer. This understanding of action, detachment and nonduality helped reduce unnecessary mental involvement in worldly affairs, even when external life remained active.

During the latest ten years, meditation, tantra and a peaceful environment have further reduced my preoccupation with worldly thoughts. The difference is not that I was attached to the world earlier and became detached only later. Detachment was present even during the faster phases, but the overall movement of life was greater. In the present environment, both external activity and mental preoccupation are comparatively reduced. I suspect that the effects of earlier experiences have also accumulated, contributing to the present condition.

How Contrasting Environments May Complement Each Other

A single environment may not provide every kind of experience needed for a broad understanding of life. A busy city exposes people to competition, administration, livelihood, social relationships and practical challenges. A peaceful village may offer simplicity, closer contact with nature, fewer distractions and more opportunities for contemplation. A spiritual setting may support meditation and self-inquiry, while active social environments may reveal aspects of human behaviour that remain less visible in solitude. A materialistic environment can serve two complementary purposes in spiritual growth. It can lay the foundation of spirituality through nondual living and karmayoga, in which a person performs worldly actions without excessive attachment to the doer or the results. At the same time, it tests the depth of spiritual progress by exposing a person to worldly pressures, desires and responsibilities. Thus, materialistic life is not necessarily opposed to spirituality; when approached with awareness and detachment, it can become both a ground for spiritual development and a test of how firmly that development is established.

Neither environment is necessarily superior in every respect. Their value may lie in their complementary qualities. Experience of one can reveal the benefits and limitations of another. A person accustomed to city life may discover the importance of peace after spending time in a village, while someone living in solitude may better appreciate the practical value of worldly engagement after returning to an active environment.

This does not mean that everyone must experience every type of place to grow spiritually. Rather, contrasting environments provide different opportunities for learning, and their effects may become more meaningful when a person reflects on them. This cyclicity also occurs naturally in human life. Innumerable villagers leave their homes to earn a living in cities and later return with their savings to enjoy the peace of nature and village life. After experiencing the pressure and chaos of the city, they appreciate the value of peace more deeply. Yet this appreciation is relative and may gradually diminish with prolonged exposure to a peaceful environment. They may then begin to miss the activity, opportunities or social engagement of city life, bringing them back into contact with it. In this way, people may alternate between contrasting environments without consciously intending to do so for personal or spiritual development. Life itself exposes them to different conditions, allowing them to experience their benefits and limitations. The same principle may extend to spiritual growth: active worldly life can provide both a foundation for nondual karmayoga and a test of detachment, while peaceful surroundings offer opportunities for deeper contemplation for furthering spiritual growth. Their complementary influence may become clearer through repeated experience.

How People Carry Different Environments Into a Home

Physical movement between places is not the only way to encounter different environments. People themselves can carry the influence of the places in which they have lived. Someone who has spent years in a foreign country, a busy city or a remote village may bring different habits, attitudes, experiences and perspectives into a household.

When such a person joins a family accustomed to another way of life, the household receives some of the influence of that person’s previous environment. A person accustomed to an active urban lifestyle may introduce new approaches to work and social interaction, while someone from a peaceful and contemplative setting may bring different habits of living and thinking. The influence depends on the individual, but this process allows complementary experiences to enter a place without everyone having to travel.

Thus, environmental diversity can reach people indirectly through relationships. A household may remain physically stable while its members encounter a wider world through one another.

The Temple Pujari: From Repeated Movement to Conscious Integration

I see this principle in the life of a temple pujari who first travelled to a distant city to earn a living. After several years, he returned to a remote village temple, where the calm environment allowed him to devote himself to yogic practices and attainments that he associated with that period. However, earning too little in the village made it difficult to support his family, so he eventually returned to the city and resumed a more active life.

After experiencing both conditions, he understood the value of changing locations and began alternating between city and village living. The city offered better opportunities for livelihood, while the village provided peace and favourable conditions for yogic practice.

His experience illustrates how a person may initially move between environments because circumstances demand it, but later learn to use their complementary benefits consciously. What once appeared to be a choice between earning and spiritual peace became an opportunity to accommodate both. This is not a universal solution, but it shows how experience can transform repeated movement into a more considered way of living.

The Tribal-Area Minister: Frequent Movement and a Broader Outlook

I also notice a similar pattern in a minister from a tribal area who frequently move between the state capital and his village home. The capital involve active public responsibilities and administrative work, while the village offer direct contact with local communities and a different way of life. His frequent movement expose him to contrasting social conditions and a wide range of experiences.

Such movement can help a person understand different perspectives and adapt to changing circumstances. Administrative experience may reveal one set of problems, while direct contact with village life may reveal others that are less visible from an office. However, frequent travel does not automatically produce wisdom. Its value depends on how a person observes, understands and uses the experiences gained.

The pujari and the minister follow different patterns, but both examples raise the possibility that people who regularly encounter different environments can develop a broader understanding than those whose experience remains confined to one setting.

Mobility, Nonattachment and the All-Round Personality

I have observed that people who move between different places can sometimes develop an all-round personality and become less dependent on a particular living environment. They may learn to function in contrasting conditions without requiring one place to provide everything they need. Such flexibility can support practical judgement, social understanding and psychological adaptability.

However, physical mobility should not be confused with spiritual detachment. A person may travel extensively while remaining attached to status, comfort or particular experiences. Another person may remain in one home while practising profound nonattachment. The deeper issue is not how often someone changes location, but how they relate to the circumstances in which they live.

When mobility and inward detachment develop together, a person may appreciate different environments without becoming psychologically confined to any one of them. This can allow the benefits of contrasting experiences to be integrated rather than treated as competing alternatives.

Wandering Ascetics and the Traditional Search for Freedom

Traditional Indian wandering ascetics, including parivrajakas, often moved between forests, mountains, villages, towns and pilgrimage centres. These different settings could provide solitude, contact with ordinary people, opportunities for spiritual discussion and repeated adaptation to unfamiliar circumstances. Some ascetics wandered extensively, while others remained in monasteries, forests or particular religious centres. Their practices and purposes varied.

Wandering could expose ascetics to a wide range of human experiences and loosen dependence on familiar surroundings. Yet travel alone did not guarantee spiritual attainment. Its value depended on the discipline, contemplation and nonattachment cultivated by the individual.

The same distinction applies to householders and working people. A person need not become a wanderer to benefit from different environments. Travel, relationships and changing responsibilities can also provide contrasting experiences. Conversely, remaining in one place need not prevent spiritual development if the person can observe life without excessive attachment.

Cyclicity as a Principle of Human Development

These observations suggest that cyclicity may be understood as more than repeated movement between places. It can be a process through which contrasting experiences reveal their complementary value. A person may encounter different environments over many years, move between them within a short period, or receive their influence through other people. In each case, the important question is what is learned and how that understanding shapes later choices.

Cyclicity does not necessarily produce growth by itself. Its benefits depend on reflection, adaptability and the ability to carry lessons from one situation into another. Repeated exposure to contrasting conditions may help integrate practical experience, psychological understanding and spiritual contemplation.

Perhaps the most useful outcome is not permanent attachment to a peaceful place or endless movement between active places. It is the ability to benefit from different conditions while maintaining an inner orientation that is not entirely dependent on any one of them.

A person can benefit from both environments by practising active karmayoga through Sharirvigyan Darshan in a busy, materialistic setting and passive, Kundalini-oriented yoga in a peaceful environment. The former allows spirituality to develop through worldly action, nondual contemplation and detachment, while also testing their stability amid everyday pressures. The latter provides favourable conditions for meditation, inwardness and deeper yogic experiences. By experiencing both, a person may grasp the spiritual essence of each environment and integrate active engagement with passive contemplation in a balanced way.

Conclusion: Different Places, One Continuous Journey

My experience suggests that different environments can contribute to the same continuing process of spiritual development. Worldly engagement and detachment can coexist, while meditation, tantra and nondual contemplation may deepen an inward orientation across changing circumstances. The influence of earlier phases may also continue into later life, so that growth is cumulative rather than confined to one period.

The temple pujari, the frequently travelling minister and the traditional wandering ascetic, even my own journey too illustrate different ways of encountering contrasting environments. Their lives suggest that diversity of experience can broaden understanding, while detachment may help a person benefit from that diversity without becoming dependent on any single place.

The central possibility is simple: different environments can complement one another, and cyclic movement can help integrate their benefits. The ultimate value may lie not in choosing one environment over all others, but in learning how to live wisely in different conditions while preserving inner freedom.

Lastly, this cyclicity is like the Buddhist Dharma Chakra, meaning the chakra or cycle of dharma, or like opportunities to live with greater nondual and detached awareness. It also reminds us of the Vedic verse Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam, which means the whole earth is one family. Just as a family helps in someone’s spiritual development, the whole world does so in the same way, or even better, as its larger size offers more options and produces greater effects.

Spirituality Made Simple: Yoga, Paramatman, Quantum Verse and the Selfhood of Everything

The more I look at spirituality, the more I feel that it is remarkably simple, but has been made complicated by an enormous amount of overlapping, contradictory and often confusing literary material. Different traditions have described inner experience through different languages, symbols, philosophies, metaphysics, rituals and doctrines. With time, the descriptions have become so numerous that the literature can sometimes appear more difficult than the reality it tries to describe. I increasingly see a distinction between the actual experience and everything built around it: first there is experience, then interpretation, then doctrine, and finally a vast literature preserving all of it, including disagreements. The experience may remain simple even when its description becomes enormous.

Yoga Is Simply Union with Paramatman

For me, the simplest meaning of spirituality is yoga. Yoga means union, or merging, and in the spiritual sense I mean merging with Paramatman. Even the word Paramatman can be made much simpler than the way it is often treated in philosophy. Literally, parama means supreme and atma means self. Individual selves are limited by body, identity, place, time and circumstance. But there can be understood to be a Self that transcends every individual limitation, every boundary of time and space and every separate identity. It is the Supreme Self, the highest possible level of selfhood. No self can be higher than this. It is the top self, and that is Paramatman.

Once this is understood, the direction of yoga becomes remarkably clear. The goal is the Supreme Self. The ordinary obstacle is our identification with the limited individual self. The practice is therefore not some mysterious search for an entirely foreign reality, but a movement beyond limited selfhood toward the Supreme Self.

Simple Does Not Mean Effortless

I do not mean that realization is obtained without effort. Realization may require sustained practice, discipline, meditation, contemplation and transformation. What I mean is that the effort itself can be simple, straight and direct. A path can be difficult without being complicated. This distinction is easily lost in spiritual literature. The method may require persistence, but its essential direction need not be intellectually elaborate.

I would put it simply as: know the limited self, turn awareness toward the deeper Self, experience that Self more directly, become established in it and live from it. Understanding the idea is not the same as realizing it, just as knowing that fire is hot is different from actually touching it. Conceptual knowledge gives the direction; practice makes the knowledge experiential.

See Yourself in Everything

This is why one sentence increasingly expresses the whole movement for me: simply see yourself in everything. It is not that you see only your thoughtless state in everything. Rather, you see yourself in every state, whatever it may be—thoughts, emotions, actions, sensations, perceptions, and every other form of experience. This is not merely an intellectual exercise. It means progressively moving beyond the narrow feeling of “I am only this individual” and recognizing a common fundamental selfhood in everything. It also gives a practical interpretation to the old expression atmavat sarvabhuteshu: see beings as yourself, not necessarily as identical individual persons, but as sharing the same fundamental basis of selfhood. Different beings clearly differ in their capacities, forms and expressions, just as a bus and a car are not the same, yet they can share a basic structure and function. In the same way, individual selves are limited and different, while the deeper principle of selfhood can be understood as universal. Keeping only a limited similarity in view may yield little, because any single aspect can be absent or misleading. But keeping the full similarity in view gives a much greater possibility of recognition. It is like trying to catch many apples: even if we cannot catch all of them, the wider reach may at least help us catch one, whereas by aiming at only one apple, we may miss it altogether.

This makes spirituality practical. It does not require escaping ordinary life. It is a matter of recognizing the same underlying reality within ordinary existence.

The Quantum Verse and a Larger Pattern

This understanding unexpectedly meets what I have called the Quantum Verse. The Quantum Verse is expressed through four simple lines: No religion better than humanity. No worship better than work. No teacher better than problem. No hermit better than householdship. These lines were initially meant as guidance for human life, but I now see a larger possibility in them. Just as we are inspired by the same underlying “verse” to live, act, learn and develop, perhaps every level of existence is also participating in that same underlying order.

I do not mean that a quantum particle literally reads or consciously remembers a verse. I mean something deeper: the same underlying principle that operates through us may also be operating through the development of everything else. A quantum particle follows its nature without remembering any philosophy. A human being also lives according to deeper natural principles, knowingly or unknowingly, whether or not the person remembers the Quantum Verse. We do not have to consciously recall a principle for our existence to participate in it.

From Quantum Activity to Conscious Self-Recognition

This leads to a striking way of looking at progressive development: vacuum, quantum activity, particles, matter, life, consciousness and finally conscious self-recognition can be seen as stages in one continuous unfolding rather than completely disconnected events. Even the vacuum, and whatever may lie conceptually beyond it, can be regarded in this philosophical picture as belonging to the same underlying process from which quantum particles and the observable world progressively emerge.

The human being would then not be an outsider suddenly introduced into the universe. We would be a later, self-aware expression of the very process that produced the universe. The same “line of action” runs through both. Whatever we become through development, the universe has already been expressing the underlying principle through its own progressive development. The seeker and the universe are therefore not moving according to two unrelated principles.

This also explains the difference between unconscious participation and conscious spirituality. We already participate in the universal process simply by existing. The remarkable thing is that the same process has been operating through us unknowingly for eons, yet we remain bound by it because we do not recognize what is happening. Liberation, in this view, does not come merely from recognizing it once and then forgetting it. The recognition has to be contemplated continuously until it becomes a living and increasingly stable awareness. It is like a thief who is imprisoned without really understanding what a prison is or how it works. Once he begins to understand the prison and continuously contemplates its structure, a point may come when he discovers a way out even without originally knowing how to escape. In a material prison, one can also deliberately look for weaknesses and manipulate its physical structure because its nature is relatively concrete. In spirituality, however, the difficulty is far greater. We cannot fully grasp the nature of the self or the exact mechanism of its bondage, much less intellectualize it completely. The bondage is too subtle to be understood merely as an object of thought. Therefore, the most direct possibility of release is to keep recognizing, again and again, the fundamental equality of oneself with everything, in every state of experience. It is not enough to see only a thoughtless or peaceful state as one’s true nature; thoughts, emotions, actions, sensations and every other experience must also be included. By continuously holding this complete similarity in contemplation, a stage may eventually arise in which the limited individual sense of self gives way to the Supreme Self without the need for some separate special achievement. Yoga can accelerate this process because practices such as dhyana deliberately work toward stillness, concentration and expansion of self-awareness, but even yogic states can fade when the recognition is not continually reinforced in ordinary life. A nondual way of living therefore becomes important: the recognition must continue not only in meditation but through the whole range of everyday experience. We are not importing a new principle into life; we are gradually recognizing and embodying the universal principle that was already operating through us all along.

A Philosophical Insight, Not a Claim That Physics Has Proved Spirituality

There is an important boundary here. Quantum physics gives us a scientific description of quantum fields, particles, vacuum states and their interactions. It does not, by itself, establish Paramatman, universal selfhood or a conscious cosmic verse. The Quantum Verse, in this sense, is a philosophical interpretation of a perceived pattern, not a scientific conclusion derived from quantum equations. The value of the comparison lies in the conceptual parallel, not in claiming that modern physics has proved a spiritual doctrine.

What feels newly important to me is the possibility that spirituality, human life and cosmic development may be understood through one continuous principle rather than through separate compartments. If we can really see ourselves in everything, then yoga is no longer an obscure collection of doctrines. It becomes a direct movement from limited selfhood toward Supreme Selfhood, from unconscious participation toward conscious recognition.

The literature may remain vast, contradictory and fascinating. But beneath it, the essential direction can still be simple: live, observe, become aware, see yourself in everything, and move beyond the limits of the individual self toward Paramatman, the Supreme Self. This is perhaps why spirituality can be both demanding and surprisingly straightforward: the realization may require a lifetime of effort, yet the fundamental direction of that effort may be almost astonishingly simple.

Sun, Quantum Interactions, Living Organisms and Kundalini: A Cyclic View of Karmayoga, Samadhi and Nature

The Sun as a Realm of Extreme Interaction

I began with a simple thought: the Sun is not merely the gravitational hub of the solar system but a tremendous center of physical interaction. Compared with the relatively cool planets, asteroids and other bodies moving around it, the Sun is an extraordinarily energetic environment in which an immense variety of processes are taking place continuously. Nuclear fusion occurs in its core, charged particles interact in its plasma, photons are absorbed, emitted and scattered, atoms and ions are excited and ionized, and electromagnetic and magnetic processes constantly reshape its plasma. In that sense, the Sun can be thought of as a gigantic natural laboratory of nuclear, quantum, atomic, electromagnetic and plasma interactions. This does not mean that every quantum interaction in the universe is centered on the Sun, but it does suggest that the Sun is one of the most intensely active natural environments in our immediate cosmic neighbourhood.

This led me to a more unusual question: why should we not compare the Sun with a living organism? At the ordinary level they seem completely different. One is inorganic and enormously hot, while the other is organic and living. But when we look deeper, both are made of matter governed by the same underlying physical laws. At atomic and quantum levels, both involve particles interacting, exchanging energy, changing states and participating in larger systems. Their mechanisms are not identical, but the basic fact of continuous interaction is common to both. In the Sun, extreme heat, pressure and energy make countless interactions possible; in a living body, enzymes, molecular structures, energy gradients and cellular regulation facilitate and control an enormously complex network of interactions. Heat is not literally the equivalent of an enzyme, because heat mainly increases molecular and particle energies whereas an enzyme is a selective catalyst that lowers an activation barrier and regulates a particular biochemical reaction. Yet the comparison remains meaningful at the level of a system in which energy enables and sustains interaction.

From Chaotic Karmayoga to Stabilization

From here I began to see the quantum particles of the Sun metaphorically as Karmayogis. They are continuously active, continually interacting, moving and transforming in an extremely energetic environment. When matter leaves such extreme conditions and becomes part of a cooler and more stable planet, the same activity is no longer expressed in the same chaotic intensity. Matter becomes comparatively stabilized. I began to see this as somewhat similar to a Karmayogi gradually turning toward sitting Kundalini Yoga. First there is intense activity, then stabilization, then deeper observation and stillness.

In this view, the history of matter can be imagined as a cycle rather than a straight line. In the Sun there is intense interaction, something like a highly active worldly condition. In cooler environments there is increasing stability. On a developed planet, highly organized matter eventually gives rise to living organisms. Life brings back intense activity, but now the activity is far more ordered. This difference between earlier chaotic activity and later organized activity became important to my thought. The earlier activity can be compared symbolically with Karmayoga before the deeper regulating principle has been consciously observed. The later activity, in living organisms, resembles a more orderly worldliness, in which countless processes are coordinated through an extraordinary degree of regulation.

Pure Awareness and the Return to Ordered Action

I then connected this with the yogic cycle that I have experienced and contemplated. A yogi may begin in active worldly life, gradually cultivate observation and regulation, move into Kundalini Yoga and deeper meditation, and eventually enter states of profound stillness such as Samadhi. But Samadhi does not necessarily mean permanent abandonment of activity. Activity can return. What changes is the quality of that activity. After the regulating principle has been seen directly, worldly action can become more orderly, less chaotic and less dominated by unconscious reaction.

This is why I found a parallel between cosmic activity and yogic development. In my interpretation, the particles are not being said to feel or think like human beings. I am not proposing that an electron experiences pure awareness, performs Karmayoga or enters Samadhi. The comparison is based on observable or structural behaviour rather than on claiming identical inner experience. A particle undergoes interactions, energy exchange, transitions and stabilization; a human being experiences action, mental movement, regulation, stillness and renewed action. The inner reality may be completely different, while the pattern of movement can still appear similar. The important distinction is therefore between similarity of pattern and similarity of consciousness.

The Universe as a Cycle or Chakra

This made the idea of the chakra especially meaningful to me. Reality appears less like a straight road and more like a wheel: interaction leads toward stabilization, stabilization allows deeper organization, deeper organization gives rise to more sophisticated activity, and activity can again move toward stillness and observation. The yogi experiences such movement inwardly, while nature displays comparable cycles outwardly. In the yogic case, however, the cycle becomes consciously observed.

This is also why I related the idea to the Dharma Chakra of Buddhism. A wheel suggests continuous movement rather than a final linear endpoint. Stillness and activity are not necessarily enemies. One may move from action to stillness and then return to action at another level. The return is not simply a repetition of the beginning; it can be a return informed by what was discovered in stillness.

Sun Worship, Karmayoga and the Living Body

From this perspective, even ordinary spiritual practices began to acquire a new meaning for me. Giving water to the rising Sun in morning worship can be understood symbolically as aligning oneself with an active, energetic principle. The ritual involves standing, movement, intention and conscious orientation toward light and energy. It can therefore encourage alertness, vitality, gratitude and readiness for action, making it resemble the mental quality of an active Karmayogi. The comparison is not that energy from the Sun’s quantum particles is literally transferred into the worshipper’s mind. Rather, the Sun becomes an object through which a particular quality of consciousness may be cultivated.

By contrast, meditation on simpler and apparently more peaceful objects, such as a stone or a quietly flowing river, may encourage a calmer and more observant state. A stone appears stable even though microscopic interactions continue within it, while a river is continuously moving without displaying the restless complexity of human thought. Contemplating such forms of nature can therefore become a way of cultivating peaceful Yogic awareness. Again, the point is not that the stone’s particles are literally peaceful or that the river transmits a quantum state into the meditator. The object of contemplation acts more like a mirror for the quality of consciousness being cultivated.

Sharirvigyan Darshan provides an especially interesting bridge between the two modes. When the body itself becomes the object of contemplation, one can observe that it is simultaneously intensely active and capable of being observed in stillness. Countless organs, cells, molecules and biochemical reactions are continuously functioning, while the meditative observer can remain quiet. Thus the living body brings together the two poles of the idea: ceaseless activity and silent awareness.

One Pattern Appearing at Different Levels

My larger intuition, therefore, is not that the Sun, a stone, a living body, a quantum particle and a yogi are literally the same thing. They clearly are not. The Sun is a plasma-filled star, a stone is stable matter, a living body is an extraordinarily organized biological system, and a yogi is a conscious human being. What interests me is that similar patterns may appear at very different levels: interaction, transformation, stabilization, organization, renewed activity and, in the human case, conscious observation of the whole process.

The Sun may represent intense activity; the cool planet, stabilization; life, highly ordered activity; meditation, observation and stillness; Samadhi, profound stabilization; and the return to life, Karmayoga informed by awareness. Seen this way, the universe, the living organism and the yogic journey can all be contemplated as different expressions of a recurring cycle. Nature provides the outer pattern, while Yoga provides the possibility of experiencing such a cycle consciously from within.

Quantum Darshan: From Atmavat Sarvabhuteshu to the Unity of Consciousness

There is a Sanskrit teaching that has suddenly appeared to me in a new light: “Atmavat sarvabhuteshu yah pashyati sa panditah” — one who sees all beings as oneself is truly wise. I have often approached spiritual ideas through direct observation rather than through belief, and this verse now appears to me as one of the deepest philosophical foundations of what I spontaneously call my “Quantum Darshan.” What interests me is not merely its familiar ethical meaning, as though it simply advises us to treat others as we would like to be treated. Its deeper possibility is ontological. It suggests that beneath the apparent multiplicity of individual beings there may be a fundamental commonality of consciousness. In that sense, the verse becomes much more than a moral instruction. It becomes an observation about reality itself: many beings may appear separate at the level of body, mind and personality, while the underlying principle by which experience is known may not be as divided as the external world suggests.

Atmavat Sarvabhuteshu and the Mystery of One Consciousness in Many Beings

This understanding fits closely with the direction of my wider writings on Kundalini, meditation, awareness, non-duality and spiritual psychology. Again and again, my own experience has led me toward a distinction between the changing individual structure and the awareness in which that structure is experienced. Normally, the world encounters consciousness only through its association with a particular body. We therefore naturally think of consciousness as belonging to separate individuals: this person has consciousness, that person has consciousness, and every being appears to have its own isolated center. But when attention turns inward through meditation, this assumption can become less obvious. The body remains, sensations remain, thoughts may remain, but awareness itself can be experienced in a way that seems less restricted by ordinary personal identification. This is also connected with my earlier experiences of deep dhyana, breathlessness, Keval Kumbhak, Savikalpa and the movement toward states I have described in relation to Nirvikalpa. The essential question becomes whether consciousness is truly fragmented or whether fragmentation is largely a feature of embodiment and identification.

It is not limited to living beings but extends to non-living beings as well. All matter, whatever its nature or external appearance, also holds a deeper existence that remains unaffected by its outward form. In casual living, we generally consider outer forms as real, but their inner, deeper and pure existence is their true nature. This is why we speak of Paramatman as Atman present in everything.

Even in Sharirvigyan Darshan, the body’s cells, tissues and structures are contemplated as non-distinct from the meditator’s own sense of being. Quantum Darshan simply extends this inquiry further, to every fundamental particle, and ultimately even to the underlying space in which everything exists. A brick, for example, is not ultimately separate from the soil and material from which it is formed. In the same way, no material form can be considered completely separate from the deeper existence underlying it.

Therefore, there is a reason to regard Sharirvigyan Darshan and Quantum Darshan as practical modern extensions of the ancient insight expressed in the verse, “Atmavat sarvabhuteshu yah pashyati sa panditah.” This does not mean that only when the meditator reaches a purified state of the Self can he meditate on his similarity with the world. The sense of selfhood associated with every thought, emotion, bodily structure and interaction also needs to be included in this inquiry. Every cell and every fundamental particle participates in the innumerable interactions that collectively constitute what we call a human being, just as they participate in the interactions of the wider material world. Thus, the same principle can be followed progressively from the human level to the cellular level, from the cellular level to the quantum level, and ultimately to the very ground of space itself up to fundamental pure existence, extending the contemplative insight from the individual body to everything that exists.

Moreover, atmvat literally means “like oneself,” not “fully oneself.” Different beings and things express consciousness to different degrees, so they are not entirely equal in their expression of consciousness. However, their basic structure and fundamental functions are similar, just as a bus and a car are not equal in size or capacity but share the same basic structural principles and serve similar functions.

From Kundalini Experience to a Quantum-Like Vision

My use of the word “Quantum” is therefore philosophical rather than a claim that ancient scripture has scientifically proved modern quantum mechanics. I am not presenting Kundalini or this Sanskrit verse as experimental evidence from physics. Rather, I find that some modern scientific ideas provide a useful language for expressing an intuition that arose independently through contemplation and experience. In my spontaneous formulation, the sequence is simple: one underlying consciousness, apparently expressed through many observers, each associated with a separate body and mind. The multiplicity is real at the empirical level, but perhaps not final at the deepest level of awareness. This is where the phrase “Atmavat sarvabhuteshu” becomes especially powerful. To see all beings as oneself can mean not merely developing sympathy toward them, but recognizing a deeper continuity of being. The individual remains individual in practical life, yet the ultimate subjectivity behind experience may be understood as less divided than the personalities through which it appears.

I even feel that this verse is the core of every secret of spiritual development. Without this understanding, there can be no real spiritual development, while with it, spiritual development can continue in every condition of life. It gives a direction in which every experience and every condition can become part of spiritual development. However, one still has to do good karmas, because the fruits of karmas are inevitable and have to be tolerated when they come. Spiritual understanding does not make one free from the fruits of one’s actions; therefore, good karmas remain necessary while progressing on the spiritual path.

I feel that my first awakening came through this verse, which entered my life naturally through a Sanatana family environment. My second awakening came through the same verse again, but this time in a completely different and unexpected form, disguised as Sharirvigyan Darshan and later as Quantum Darshan. The outer forms were different, but I now feel that the underlying insight was the same. This is what makes the mahima of this verse indescribable and apparently infinite to me.
Because of this personal experience, I find it difficult to compare this verse with other mantras or spiritual teachings, even with Gayatri Mantra. To me, it stands at the top of everything that existed, exists, or will exist. This is not a claim that others must accept, nor do I intend to diminish the importance of other mantras or paths. It is simply how the verse has revealed itself through my own life and spiritual development. Others may experience another mantra or teaching as supreme, and I have no doubt about that. For me, however, the same simple insight has appeared again and again in different forms, first through my family environment and later through my own contemplative discoveries, making me feel that its depth is far beyond what I had understood when I first encountered it.

The amazing thing is that it does not say that the Atma, or pure Self, is similar to everything, as many religions and sects do. Such an idea can become impractical because one cannot live ordinary worldly life while constantly remaining established in the pure Self. Instead, it says atmavat—whatever self-status you actually have is similar to everything. This makes the teaching practical, workable, and effective in ordinary worldly life. Interestingly, the same core message is carried by both of my nondual philosophies as their very foundation—not deliberately or intellectually, but through experiential understanding alone.

The beauty is that ātmavat does not necessarily point to an abstract, pure Ātma that no one can ordinarily observe; with paśyati, it can point to the self as actually experienced—whatever self-status one inhabits. Thus, instead of merely saying “the Ātma is in all,” it offers a practical principle: see others as you see yourself, making nonduality workable in ordinary life.

Had the intended meaning been the pure Ātma itself, the expression could have used ātmanam in an appropriate grammatical construction; the use of ātmavat instead emphasizes “like oneself” or “as oneself.”

On final analysis, the single reason for the principle’s practical ineffectiveness appears to be that people first try to experience the pure Self and then meditate on making that Self similar to everything. But the principle seems to work in the opposite direction: the pure Self cannot be approached experientially without first meditating on the similarity between oneself and everything outside. That “oneself” is not the yet-unexperienced pure Self, but the experiential self-status—the gross self containing all the thoughts, actions, emotions, sensory feelings, and other experiences present at a particular time. If one has already attained the pure Self, why would one need to meditate on making it similar to everything, when nothing other than the pure Self is then experienced? Thus, ātmavat points more naturally to this experiential self-status rather than the pure Self, making the principle practical and workable in ordinary life.

The Core of Quantum Darshan

Seen in this way, the Sanskrit verse becomes a remarkably concise starting point for the whole inquiry. “Atmavat sarvabhuteshu” begins with the perception that the self seen within oneself is not fundamentally absent from other beings. From there, the question naturally expands: if consciousness is experienced as the subject here, what exactly makes it fundamentally different there? Individual bodies, memories, personalities, nervous systems and life histories clearly differ, yet the bare fact of awareness presents a deeper philosophical puzzle. My Quantum Darshan or earlier sharirvigyan darshan grows spontaneously from this tension between apparent multiplicity and possible underlying unity. It does not claim to have converted spirituality into physics. It attempts something more modest and, to me, more meaningful: to place direct meditation experience, ancient symbolic wisdom, non-duality and contemporary scientific thinking into one field of inquiry without forcing any of them to become something they are not. The Sanskrit sages expressed the insight in the language of the self and all beings; my own experiences have led me to approach the same mystery through looking at similarity between scince and spirituality.

Why Puranic Stories Have Endless Layers of Spiritual Meaning

The Many Layers of a Puranic Story

Puranic stories are amazing psychology because they can benefit almost every kind of reader, even when different readers understand completely different things from the same story. I have been thinking particularly about the stories of Ganga and how they seem to work at many levels at once. A child may simply enjoy them as wonderful fictional stories filled with extraordinary events, characters, imagination and adventure. There is no need for the child to understand philosophy or yoga for the story to give joy. As the same person grows older, however, the story can begin to provide moral, social, cultural, devotional and spiritual meaning. The remarkable thing is that discovering a deeper meaning does not make the earlier meaning useless. The story can continue to operate at several levels simultaneously. Thus in a way these stories are wonderful spiritual sanskar builders since the childhood so that yoga doesn’t look strange in later life but well known since quite earlier. Ganga story is just one example among plethora of such awe inspiring stories.

Ganga as Nature Worship and Spiritual Practice

The first important layer I see is the nature-worshipping layer. A person who does not understand yoga or symbolism may simply regard the physical Ganga as sacred. He worships the river, respects it, visits it and develops reverence toward nature. In this sense, he may unknowingly participate in something close to a nondual spiritual attitude: nature is not treated merely as an object outside oneself but as something worthy of sacred recognition. He does not need to intellectually understand nonduality or quantum philosophy for this attitude to influence him. By regarding the natural world as sacred, he is indirectly prepared for a more spiritual relationship with existence.

This is especially interesting because the Puranic tradition repeatedly gives sacred significance to rivers, mountains, forests, animals and other aspects of nature. The ordinary person therefore receives a spiritual orientation through something immediately accessible. Spirituality does not have to begin with an abstract philosophical concept. It can begin with a river.

The Same Ganga as a Yogic Symbol

At another level, the same Ganga story can be approached by a yogi. The river can be understood symbolically as an inner current, and its descent, flow and relationship with Shiva can be contemplated as representations of an inner spiritual process. In my own way of looking at Kundalini and yoga, such imagery can be related to the movement of consciousness and the Sushumna. The physical river remains a real river, but it can simultaneously become an inner map. Although inside is same as outside like microcosm inside macrocosm. So Ganga as sushumna also give similar nonduality effect when revered. Additionally it gives direct yoga benefit too. Together, Nonduality and yoga lives together in cause and effect relationship.

This makes me wonder whether nature worship and yogic symbolism are not accidental additions but two especially important layers of Puranic storytelling. Both belong to major spiritual domains, and the Puranas are known primarily for dealing with religious and spiritual subjects, although they also cover cosmology, mythology, ethics, ritual, sacred geography, devotion and social life. The possibility therefore arises that the stories were designed to communicate spirituality through forms that could be understood at very different levels. I would not claim that every particular yogic correspondence was consciously encoded by an original storyteller without textual evidence, but the structure certainly allows such a reading.

The Social and Behavioral Education Hidden in the Story

The same narrative can also work at a social and behavioral level. A woman reading a revered female figure may find respect for womanhood and may receive an example of qualities considered admirable, such as courage, dignity, devotion, responsibility, compassion or strength. A man may receive another kind of lesson. Seeing a feminine figure treated with reverence can encourage him to understand that externally visible physical strength does not determine human worth. A woman’s lesser average physical strength cannot become a justification for domination, humiliation or mistreatment.

The story therefore does not have to be understood as a yogic text to influence conduct. Someone interested only in ordinary human behavior can still receive ethical education from it. The important point is not that every person must literally imitate every action of a mythological character, but that the narrative can provide models from which people draw principles appropriate to their lives.

From Childhood Imagination to Yoga

This suggests a gradual ladder of reception. A child enters through imagination and fictional joy. An ordinary adult may receive moral and cultural instruction. A person concerned with social behavior may learn respect, duty and appropriate conduct. A devotee may develop reverence for the sacred. A nature-oriented person may learn to see the natural world as worthy of respect. A spiritual seeker may discover symbolic and psychological meanings. A yogi may recognize an inner map involving consciousness, prana, chakras or Sushumna. A deeper contemplative may eventually use the same imagery in nondual contemplation. Although all these steps of ladder complement each other beautifully.

One possible limitation, especially in the modern context, is that a person may become too fascinated by the miracles, supernatural events and extraordinary fictional world of Puranic stories. Instead of using the stories as symbolic, devotional or ethical pathways, some readers may begin to take every extraordinary element literally. In a modern life that depends heavily on practical reasoning, scientific understanding and evidence-based thinking, this could sometimes create tension with a person’s ordinary intellectual and practical outlook. This does not mean that Puranic stories necessarily produce such an effect, nor that everyone is affected by them. For many people, the imaginative and miraculous elements may remain simply part of the storytelling tradition while the deeper values are retained. The concern is that, for some readers, excessive attachment to the supernatural surface may overshadow the symbolic and practical dimensions of the stories, at least to some degree. In earlier traditional societies, where religious, mythological and everyday life were much more closely integrated, the same tension may not have appeared in the same form. Modern readers, however, live simultaneously in a scientific, technological and highly practical world, so maintaining a distinction between symbolic mythology and empirical fact can sometimes be important. The challenge, therefore, is not necessarily to reject the miraculous dimension of Puranic storytelling, but to allow imagination and spirituality to coexist with scientific reasoning and practical life.

These layers need not replace one another. A child who once enjoyed the story can later discover its moral meaning, then its devotional meaning, and perhaps much later its yogic significance. The story grows with the reader.

Why the Layers May Be Practically Endless

I think the layers can go almost endlessly. This does not necessarily mean that every possible interpretation was deliberately placed inside the story by its original composer. Rather, a rich symbolic narrative can interact with different ages, personalities, life situations and levels of understanding, producing new meaningful readings. Its depth is therefore not exhausted when one hidden meaning is discovered.

Perhaps this is one of the great strengths of Puranic storytelling. The story does not demand that everyone understand spirituality in the same language. The child receives wonder; the ordinary person receives values; the devotee receives sacredness; the nature-lover receives reverence for the world; the socially oriented person receives behavioral lessons; and the yogi can discover an inner spiritual map. The same narrative can entertain, educate, shape behavior, cultivate devotion and prepare consciousness for yoga.

The Outer River and the Inner River

The Ganga example brings the whole idea together for me. The outer Ganga can remain an actual physical river and at the same time become sacred nature, an object of devotion, a cultural symbol and an inner yogic metaphor. The ordinary worshipper does not need to know the yogic interpretation for the practice to have value. The yogi does not need to reject the physical river after discovering the inner meaning.

Perhaps this is the deeper genius of Puranic storytelling: it gives spirituality an outer form that almost anyone can approach while leaving room for an inner meaning that can unfold progressively. Nature can be sacred outside, while the same sacred geography can become yoga within. What begins for one person as a child’s wonderful story can become for another a moral education, for another a way of relating to nature, for another a devotional practice, and finally for a yogi a doorway into the mystery of consciousness.

How Ancient Yogis and Celestial Vehicles Flew: The Mystery of Breathless Dhyana

Deep Dhyana as an Experience of Flight

Deep dhyana can sometimes feel surprisingly similar to flying high into the open sky. The experience is not simply one of sitting quietly with closed eyes. As meditation deepens, awareness can seem to move away from its ordinary ground of bodily sensation, familiar thoughts, and the gross world, creating a feeling of rising upward into an entirely different space. The comparison with an aeroplane came naturally to me because both experiences seem to involve a struggle between a downward pull and an upward movement. In an aeroplane, gravity continuously pulls the aircraft toward the earth, while lift generated by the wings counteracts that downward force and allows the plane to rise. In deep meditation, breathing can be experienced in a somewhat similar symbolic way: ordinary breathing seems to keep consciousness closely connected with the body, thoughts, sensations, and the surrounding physical world, almost like gravity keeping the aircraft grounded.

Breathlessness as Inner Lift

As dhyana becomes deeper and the breath becomes extremely subtle or appears to halt, that ordinary anchoring seems to weaken. Breathlessness then feels less like a mere absence of breathing and more like the generation of an inner lift. Just as lift allows an aeroplane to overcome gravity and rise, the cessation or profound stilling of breath can feel as though consciousness is no longer being held down by its usual connection with bodily and worldly awareness. The experience can become like entering deep space, where the familiar gross world is no longer prominent and even the ordinary stream of thoughts related to that world can disappear. This should be understood as an experiential analogy rather than a claim that breath literally produces a physical force that lifts consciousness. What matters is the striking similarity in how the transition is actually felt.

The Tug of War Between Downward and Upward Pulls

At certain stages, a distinct tug of war can be sensed between these two tendencies. One pull seems to draw awareness downward toward the body, breathing, thoughts, and ordinary identity, while another seems to draw it upward toward stillness, expansion, and deeper absorption. This gives the meditation a dynamic quality even when the body itself is almost motionless. The contrast can be especially clear when the mind has become quiet but some subtle bodily anchoring remains. The deeper movement then seems to involve gradually loosening that anchoring until awareness can remain in a state that feels much less connected with ordinary physical and mental experience.

The Hum of the Engine and the Sound of Prana

Another part of the analogy comes from sound. An aeroplane has a continuous engine sound during flight, together with a subtle vibration running through the aircraft. During deep dhyana, an internal hum or continuous subtle sound may similarly be noticed. In yogic language, such inner sound may be described in terms of prana-nada or anahata nada. Along with the sound, a fine internal vibration can sometimes be felt. The comparison is not that the two sounds are physically identical, but that both experiences can provide a continuous background sensation accompanying movement or sustained stability. The aircraft seems to fly within its engine’s hum and vibration; meditation can seem to deepen within a comparable field of inner sound and subtle vibration.

Emerging from Dhyana Feels Like Landing

The analogy becomes even more meaningful when meditation ends. A plane descending from great altitude does not usually return to the ground in a single instant. Its descent is gradual, followed by approach and landing. Deep dhyana can feel similar. Coming out of profound absorption may happen slowly, with awareness returning first to a subtle sense of individuality or bodily presence, then to more recognizable sensations and thoughts, and finally to the ordinary environment. The gradual character of this return is one reason the experience can feel like a real journey rather than simply a temporary closing of the eyes. One seems to descend from a subtler inner space back into the familiar ground of everyday consciousness.

Why Ancient Yogic Imagery of Flight Is Interesting

This experience also gives a new way of looking at ancient yogic imagery. Yogis are sometimes depicted as flying, rising, or moving through the sky, while traditional scriptures contain descriptions of aerial vehicles and extraordinary forms of movement through space. Such imagery can be approached in more than one way. It may have been intended literally, symbolically, or through a mixture of historical belief and spiritual metaphor. There is no need to decide that question merely from the meditation experience. Yet the experiential parallel is interesting: when consciousness seems to rise beyond its normal bodily and mental ground, the language of flight becomes a natural image for describing it. What was once expressed through the image of ascending into the sky may also be understood as an attempt to describe a profound inward movement that ordinary language finds difficult to capture.

It is difficult for ordinary people to imagine consciousness existing independently of the body, let alone consciousness itself flying freely through space. This may be one reason why celestial vehicles were described in the form of flying rathas or chariots. In the scriptures, the ratha is often used symbolically to represent the body: the horses represent the senses that draw it, the charioteer represents the intellect that guides it, and the traveller seated in the ratha represents the soul or consciousness inhabiting the body. Since consciousness is normally perceived by the world only through its association with the body, the idea of consciousness flying beyond the body could naturally be represented as a flying ratha, with consciousness imagined as a celestial being travelling upon it. In this sense, the celestial vehicle may be understood as a symbolic image of the journey of consciousness beyond its ordinary bodily ground.

From Grounded Awareness to Inner Space

The central insight of this whole experience is therefore not simply that breathlessness feels unusual. It is that breathing, stillness, bodily anchoring, thought, inner sound, vibration, ascent, and return can appear as parts of one continuous process. Ordinary breathing seems to belong to grounded embodied awareness; deepening stillness feels like the generation of lift; the silent or nearly breathless state resembles entering inner space; the conflict between grounding and ascent is felt as a tug of war; the inner hum and vibration accompany the journey; and emergence from dhyana resembles a gradual landing. Whether one interprets this entirely psychologically, physiologically, spiritually, or through a combination of these perspectives, the analogy provides a simple way to describe something difficult to explain directly: deep meditation can feel not like remaining in one place, but like leaving the ordinary ground of consciousness and gradually returning from a vast inner sky.

Kundalini Yoga, Muladhara and the Natural Path from Sexual Energy to Spiritual Awakening

Muladhara, Reproductive Energy and the Purpose of Nature

I have been looking at Kundalini not simply as a mystical idea, but as a natural process of consciousness, and this has led me to a different understanding of why Kundalini Shakti is traditionally associated with Muladhara and described in the form of a powerful Goddess. It is not that every function of the body becomes enhanced when energy rises from Muladhara. Rather, brain is energised to produce a type of addictive bliss and awareness that propels one to raise the muladhara energy up through the spine. And the easiest and most effective way to do it practically is the reproduction itself. Thus the nature has already placed an exceptionally powerful mechanism at the foundation of embodied life: the reproductive impulse. Attraction, sexual desire, pleasure, bonding and reproduction are powerful enough to draw attention almost completely toward another person and toward the continuation of life. In biological terms, this serves procreation and the continuation of the species. But perhaps the same intensity can also become relevant to spiritual awakening when it is consciously witnessed rather than merely followed.

Sexual Attraction as a Powerful Activation of Muladhara

This makes the traditional image of the Goddess in Muladhara interesting to me. It’s called muladhara-vasini means one residing at muladhara. “residing” and “activating” are not two separate ideas in this interpretation. If the Goddess is said to reside in Muladhara, her presence itself signifies that Muladhara is alive, activated, and functioning through her Shakti. It is directly stated in the scriptures that the Goddess resides in Muladhara. I think this can also be understood to mean that the Goddess activates Muladhara. In this sense, the two ideas are essentially the same: when someone truly resides in a house, the house becomes inhabited, active, polished , washed and groomed through their presence. Likewise, the Goddess residing in Muladhara can signify the activation of the power lying dormant there. The Goddess is represented in feminine form, and there is an obvious experiential dimension to the way the feminine can activate the reproductive centre of the male. I do not see this as two completely different mechanisms, one sexual and another yogic. The underlying principle is the same. The direct attraction between man and woman can activate a deeply rooted life-force, while Kundalini Yoga may approach that same force through meditation, visualization, pranayama, mantra, devotion and other more conceptual or religious means. Tantra, in comparison, can approach the same principle more directly and in a comparatively raw form. The difference, therefore, may be in the method of activation and direction rather than in the fundamental energy itself.

However, in female it may be god residing in muladhara. So it’s not like the shakti is male or female look. It can have any look but mainly it’s given female look as mostly males used to do kundalini yoga like babas,yogis etc. Second reason is attraction. As female produce more attraction through her clean appearance and voice and many other qualities so kundalini have been given feminine form.

Nature’s Bait and the Moment of Thoughtless Bliss

This also gives a different meaning to the idea that nature has provided sexual pleasure as a kind of bait. The immediate purpose of the mechanism is reproduction, but the intensity accompanying it can produce an unusual alteration of attention. Particularly around sexual release, there can be a brief interval in which ordinary thought becomes extremely quiet or disappears for a moment. It can feel deeply relaxing and blissful, with awareness seemingly coming closer to the Self. I would describe this more cautiously as a momentary thoughtless state or a fleeting glimpse of inner stillness rather than automatically calling it Nirvikalpa Samadhi. Nevertheless, the resemblance is philosophically interesting: an ordinary biological process can provide a very brief experience of a mind temporarily free from its usual stream of thoughts and mental activity. The same force can also give rise to Savikalpa Samadhi and sudden awakening.

From Thoughtlessness to Witnessing and Purification

The important point is not that sexual release itself is liberation. Rather, the experience may reveal something about the possibility of stillness. If that brief thoughtless state is consciously recognized, it can become a basis for witnessing. But without knowing oneself, even momentarily, as the pure awareness devoid of thought-forms, how can witnessing truly begin? When a person has become completely identified with thoughts, he does not recognize himself as the witness; he has, in a sense, become the thoughts themselves. The witness can appear only when there is a glimpse of that silent Self which is other than the changing thought-forms. The moment of stillness accompanying sexual release can therefore become significant: in that brief silence, the ordinarily hidden Self may reveal itself as that “other,” the silent awareness from which thoughts can subsequently be witnessed rather than merely lived as oneself. One begins to notice desire, attraction, bodily sensation, thought, pleasure, and release rather than being completely absorbed in them. This witnessing can produce greater mental purification, and with greater purification there can be greater clarity and bliss. Thus, the same powerful impulse that initially pulls consciousness outward can become a doorway through which consciousness learns to turn inward. What nature uses to encourage reproduction may, under conscious observation, become material for spiritual transformation.

The energy stirred up from Muladhara through sexual attraction can also act as powerful fuel for bringing more and more hidden thoughts out of the caves of the subconscious. In this way, it can serve two purposes together: it can provide a glimpse of the silent Self while simultaneously bringing hidden mental patterns to the surface for witnessing and purification. Both functions can be further enhanced through yogic practices, since one cannot depend continually on the energy-draining sexual act for spiritual growth. It can instead be understood as an occasional boost, while yogic practices provide a more sustainable way to cultivate and direct the same force toward spiritual development. However, the individual preference may vary and may depend on one’s stamina, capability, health, work load and time available to him.

Why the Goddess Is Called Powerful

From this perspective, the traditional power attributed to the Goddess becomes easier to understand without reducing the Goddess to merely a religious symbol. The Goddess can represent the fundamental Shakti of embodied life itself, rooted in Muladhara and expressed through survival, reproduction, attraction and the continuity of life. Saying that the Goddess is in Muladhara can therefore be understood as saying that this powerful latent life-force is rooted at the foundation of embodied existence. When that force becomes activated and harmonized, spiritual progress may become possible because the practitioner is working with one of the deepest and strongest movements of human nature rather than with a weak or artificial stimulus.

The expression that the Goddess becomes “happy” can also be understood symbolically. It need not mean merely pleasing a supernatural figure. It can mean that the fundamental Shakti is awakened, activated and brought into conscious alignment instead of remaining confined to unconscious instinctive expression. In that sense, “the Goddess activates Muladhara” becomes a meaningful interpretation of the traditional imagery: the latent power at the root of embodied life becomes active and available for transformation.

Kundalini Yoga as Redirection Rather Than Rejection

This leads to what may be one of the most interesting ways of understanding Kundalini Yoga. It can be seen as a clever natural strategy in which the powerful mechanism associated with procreation is not simply suppressed but redirected toward faster awakening and ultimately liberation. Nature ordinarily directs reproductive energy toward attraction, pleasure and procreation so that life can continue and the world can grow. Yoga investigates whether the same powerful life-force can instead be consciously redirected toward witnessing, purification, stillness and expanded awareness.

Kundalini Yoga may therefore use conceptual, symbolic and religious methods to approach a process that Tantra sometimes approaches more directly through the raw force of sexuality and relationship. There is no need to divide the two into completely unrelated phenomena. They may represent different ways of activating and directing the same underlying life principle. One begins with the natural force itself; the other deliberately trains consciousness to recognize, contain, transform and redirect it.

From Reproductive Impulse to Spiritual Awareness

Seen this way, the movement can be expressed very simply: natural attraction activates a powerful life impulse; the intensity of that impulse gathers attention; intense attention can temporarily quiet ordinary thought; that moment of thoughtlessness can reveal relaxing bliss and a sense of closeness to the Self; conscious witnessing can then transform an instinctive experience into an opportunity for mental purification; and continued purification can support deeper meditation and spiritual awakening. The biological and spiritual dimensions are therefore not necessarily enemies. They can be understood as different expressions or directions of one fundamental life-force.

This does not establish scientifically that Kundalini is a literal energy rising from Muladhara, nor does every sexual experience constitute Samadhi. These are experiential and philosophical interpretations. But they provide a way of looking at the ancient language of Shakti, Goddess, Muladhara, Tantra and Kundalini without separating them artificially from ordinary human life. The central insight is that the very force nature uses to pull consciousness toward procreation may also, when consciously witnessed and transformed, become a doorway through which consciousness discovers stillness, bliss, the witnessing state and eventually the possibility of liberation.

Lastly, the Goddess depicted with many hands, carrying weapons and killing demons, need not be understood as a literal fierce human-like figure. It can be understood as Shakti purifying hidden impurities and ultimately merging them into the Self. This is also how I understand the scriptural imagery in which demons are not necessarily “killed” in the ordinary sense suggested by the stories, but are absorbed or merged by the gods or goddesses into themselves. The apparent destruction of the demons can therefore represent the dissolution and transformation of the inner impurities they symbolize.

Upward Movement, Infinite Sky, Sushumna and Kundalini Awakening

This is an experiential inquiry into a striking observation from my own practice: the same signs that arise through yoga, pranayama and shirshasana—head pressure, an upward movement, freer sushumna flow, subtler breathing and deeper dhyana—can also arise through contemplation alone, by experiencing the Self as Ekarnava, the infinite sky-ocean. What makes this observation particularly interesting is that one route works through the body and breath, while the other works through consciousness and identification. The possibility that both may lead to the same underlying movement of energy is the central discovery explored in this post.

Upward Movement and Spiritual Awakening

Flying, rising, ascending, or moving upward is commonly associated with awakening, Samadhi, Self-realisation, enlightenment, and transcendence. Across spiritual traditions, upward movement often represents a movement beyond ordinary, earth-bound consciousness toward something higher, freer, wider, or divine. This does not mean that every experience of flying or rising proves enlightenment or Samadhi, but the symbolism is remarkably consistent. The direction itself seems to carry a deep spiritual meaning: from limitation toward expansion, from contraction toward freedom, and from ordinary identification toward transcendence.

The same pattern can be noticed in very different traditions. In the caduceus, the ascending serpents culminate in wings, which naturally invites an esoteric interpretation of rising consciousness, although historically the caduceus is associated with Hermes and cannot simply be declared to be a Kundalini symbol. The Emerald Tablet also speaks of ascending from earth to heaven and descending again, with the transforming movement associated with the wind. From a yogic perspective, this can be compared symbolically with prana, although that identification is a comparative interpretation rather than the original historical meaning of the text. Yogic traditions themselves contain much more direct imagery of Kundalini rising, prana moving upward, passage through the chakras and sushumna, and yogis flying or becoming capable of moving through the sky. These different images need not have a single historical origin to reveal a common symbolic pattern of vertical ascent and transcendence.

Why the Divine Is Called the One Above

This also makes expressions such as “Upar Wala,” the One Above, understandable as spiritual symbolism. If upwardness is repeatedly associated with heaven, higher consciousness, transcendence, awakening, and liberation, then “the One Above” can be seen as a simple expression of that ancient metaphor. “Above” need not mean a literal physical location. It can mean beyond ordinary consciousness, beyond ego, beyond limitation, or transcendent to the usual sense of self. At the same time, many mystical traditions ultimately say that the Divine is not merely above but also within. Thus the movement toward what seems higher may finally become a recognition of something that was never truly separate from the deepest Self.

My Experience of the Infinite Sky

My own experience has made this symbolism much more meaningful. I have noticed that when I contemplate the Self as infinite sky often with gaze at Agya chakra, instead of imagining myself as a small individual confined to a particular body and local identity, something changes in meditation. The mind seems less bound to this local identification. There is a feeling of becoming open, vast, and unbounded, as though the sense of self is no longer limited to one point in space. After this contemplation, the sushumna seems to flow more freely upward, accompanied by greater bliss, deeper dhyana, and a more effortless and subtle breath, sometimes approaching a naturally breathless condition. I also experience genuine pressure in the head, but it is not uncomfortable.

What interests me is that the upward movement does not feel like something I am forcing. It seems to become easier when the contraction of local identification is reduced. This suggests to me that the real obstruction may not simply be an energetic obstruction but the mind’s identification with a limited body-mind structure. When the mind is tightly identified with the local self, the flow through the sushumna seems less free. When identification becomes more spacious and unobstructed, the chakras also seem to become less obstructed and the energy flow becomes more natural.

Mind, Chakras, Prana and Sushumna

Within the yogic and tantric model, mind, attention, prana, chakras, and sushumna are closely connected rather than completely separate. My experience leads me to consider whether the state of the mind directly influences how the subtle system is experienced. Local identification seems to contract attention; that contraction may be experienced as restriction in subtle flow; when identification relaxes into an unbounded sense of being, the flow through the central channel seems to become clearer. In this sense, the mind may be directly connected with the chakras, not necessarily because the physical brain is mechanically opening or closing them, but because consciousness, attention, pranic movement, and subtle experience appear to interact within the yogic framework.

This is an interpretation of experience rather than a claim that a physically measurable tube inside the body is literally blocked. “Obstruction” may refer to psychological identification, habitual tendencies, energetic contraction, or a combination of these. What matters to me is the repeatable experiential relationship: greater inner openness seems to coincide with freer upward flow, greater bliss, subtler breathing, and deeper meditation.

Flying, Samadhi and Self-realisation

This also gives a more careful meaning to experiences of flying or upward movement in relation to Savikalpa Samadhi, Nirvikalpa Samadhi, Self-realisation, and enlightenment. Experiences of ascent, expansion, lightness, bliss, inner movement, or flying may accompany deep states of meditation and may be interpreted within a yogic framework as signs of transcendence. But the experience itself does not prove enlightenment, Self-realisation, or even Samadhi. In Savikalpa Samadhi, some subtle distinction between experiencer and experience may remain. In Nirvikalpa Samadhi, ordinary subject-object distinctions are described as falling away, making the language of “I am flying upward” less applicable.

Therefore, there is an important distinction between the experience and its interpretation. “I am flying upward” is an experience within consciousness. The deeper possibility is that even the separate experiencer becomes less distinct. That is much closer to the language traditionally associated with nondual realisation. The upward movement can therefore be understood as a recurring symbol or phenomenological motif of transcendence without making the simplistic equation that flying itself means enlightenment.

From Ascent to Boundlessness

The most interesting part of my experience is that the process does not finally feel like a small self travelling upward into a distant heaven. When I imagine the Self as infinite sky, the local sense of being confined to the body becomes weaker, and the upward movement seems to happen within that very boundlessness. In this way, the old images of wings, rising serpents, flying yogis, Kundalini ascending through the sushumna, heaven above, and the One Above can be understood as different expressions of a broad spiritual language of moving beyond limitation.

My experience does not establish that all these symbols historically mean the same thing, nor that every upward sensation represents enlightenment. But it does suggest a meaningful relationship between expansion of consciousness and the experience of upward flow. When local identification relaxes, the sushumna seems less obstructed, the chakras feel more open, bliss increases, breathing becomes naturally subtler, and dhyana deepens. For me, the important discovery is therefore not simply that “upward” is spiritual, but that when the mind becomes less locally identified and more like infinite sky, the whole inner movement seems to become freer.

A final practical distinction is important: naturally subtle or temporarily imperceptible breathing should not be deliberately forced or held. Likewise, painless head pressure should not automatically be taken as spiritual progress; if it becomes intense, persistent, or accompanied by significant physical or neurological symptoms, it should be treated as a bodily symptom rather than automatically given a spiritual explanation.

The Same Effect from Two Directions: Yoga and the Infinite Sky

A Puzzle About Sushumna, Head Pressure and Deep Dhyana

I think I have finally solved a puzzle that I had been observing in my practice for a long time. Practices such as yoga, pranayama, and even shirshasana can produce a certain pressure in the head, together with a sense of upward movement, freer sushumna flow, subtler breathing, and deeper, sometimes almost breathless, dhyana. What has become especially interesting to me is that a similar effect can arise without these physical practices. When I contemplate Ekarnava, the infinite sky-ocean, and experience the Self as vast and unbounded rather than locally confined to the body, a similar type of head pressure can arise, along with a feeling of upward movement, greater freedom in the sushumna, and deeper dhyana.
This makes me think that whether one holds the ear from one side or the other, the effect may ultimately be the same. In other words, the physical route and the contemplative route may be different means of producing a similar internal result. Yogic body manipulations, pranayama, and inverted postures may influence the system from the bodily side, while deep contemplation may influence it directly through consciousness and attention.

Rajyoga and the Direct Route

This also gives me a possible explanation for why Rajyogis can say that elaborate yogasanas and pranayama are not absolutely necessary for entering deep dhyana. If the essential process is not the physical manipulation itself but the gathering and upward movement of subtle energy, then it may be possible to reach the same state through contemplation alone. The Rajyogi may not need to manipulate the body extensively if the mind can itself become sufficiently concentrated, expanded, and detached from local identification to allow the upward movement through the sushumna.
This direct route may, however, be more difficult. The body can provide a kind of support or preparation, whereas contemplation requires the mind itself to become capable of producing the necessary inward concentration and expansion. Therefore, it seems to me that the two approaches need not be opposed. The physical practices can prepare and organize the system, while contemplation can take the process further without depending entirely on physical manipulation.

Energy Rather Than Pressure Is the Main Thing

This also changes how I understand the head pressure itself. The pressure may not be the actual goal or the essential phenomenon. It may simply be a symptom or indication accompanying the gathering or upward movement of energy. Yogic practices may bring this experience about through physical and respiratory means, while contemplation of the infinite sky-ocean may produce it through a direct change in consciousness and identification.

Therefore, I would not say that head pressure itself is the evidence of progress. The important thing is the underlying process that the pressure may accompany. If there is pressure without the corresponding sense of vitality, clarity, inwardness, or energetic movement, it may simply be a physical ailment and should not automatically be interpreted as spiritual activity. The pressure is secondary; what I call energy is primary in the yogic interpretation.

Energy Everywhere

From this perspective, the idea that energy is present everywhere also becomes important. If the same underlying life-energy can support the functioning of the digestive organs in the gut, it is reasonable within the yogic model to consider that it can also support the functioning of the brain and the processes involved in contemplation. Each organ has its own natural work, and the same underlying energy is involved in sustaining those functions. The difference is in the particular work being performed, not necessarily in the existence of completely separate energies.

This gives a broader meaning to the experience. The energy that supports digestion does not have to be considered fundamentally different from the energy involved in breathing, movement, concentration, or contemplation. It may be understood as one life-energy expressing itself through different organs and functions according to their natural or destined work.

Two Routes, One Inner Movement

My present understanding, therefore, is that yoga, pranayama, shirshasana, and other bodily practices can help gather or redirect the system toward the head and central axis, sometimes producing head pressure and supporting deeper dhyana. But contemplation of Ekarnava, the infinite sky-ocean, can apparently produce a similar movement without the same physical manipulation. By expanding the sense of Self beyond local identification, contemplation itself seems capable of drawing the attention and subtle energy upward, with the same accompanying pressure and deepening of meditation.

This may explain why different yogic paths can arrive at similar states through very different methods. One begins more from the body and breath and moves toward consciousness; another begins directly with consciousness and allows the body and energy to follow. The first may make the process easier for some practitioners, while the second may be more direct but more difficult. For me, the most natural conclusion is not to choose one and reject the other, but to combine them: use yogic practices to prepare and balance the system, and use contemplation to directly expand consciousness and deepen dhyana.

The real discovery for me is that the same inner phenomenon can apparently be approached from two directions. The body can influence the movement of energy toward the head, and consciousness can influence the same movement through contemplation. The head pressure may appear in both cases, but the pressure itself is only a symptom. What matters is the deeper movement of energy, the freeing of the sushumna, the loosening of local identification, and the resulting deepening of dhyana.

Within the yogic framework, this makes the distinction between Hathyoga physical practice and Rajyoga less absolute than it first appears. They may simply be different ways of working with the same underlying relationship between body, breath, mind, prana, energy, and consciousness.

Spiritual Awakening and Self-Realisation: Mental Chaos, Nondual Meditation and Worldly Life

When Inner Calm Suddenly Meets Mental Rush

I have often wondered whether spiritual awakening and self-realisation can ever be accompanied by suicidal thoughts or deep depression. My own understanding became clearer when I looked back at something I experienced during my university days. I had become extremely calm and contained, and I was able to dissolve mental chaos quite easily. The inward movement was becoming natural to me. I was accustomed to silence, observation and the gradual disappearance of disturbing mental movements. Yet, near the end of that period, something unexpected happened. A sudden rush of recognition arose. Profession and family, which appeared to be ordinary parts of life, suddenly seemed to be creating chaos and opposing one another at the same time. It was not simply one particular problem; the whole structure of ordinary life seemed to reveal its contradictions together.
There were actually no clear-cut self-inflicting at that time. Rather, I had become somewhat reluctant about worldly growth. Perhaps this was partly an effect of my nondual philosophy and the way I was working with it. Desires were still there, but they were no longer experienced as cravings. Yet, as I could see in practical life, ordinary desires can be difficult to fulfil unless they become strong cravings in today’s materialistic world. People driven by intense cravings can easily move ahead of those whose desires remain moderate and intellectually restrained. From the outside, therefore, my condition could sometimes look like depression or a lack of ambition. From within, however, it did not necessarily feel like depression. I could feel that, in my own understanding, all was well.
There were also occasions when I realised how easily such a state could be misunderstood by others. Even a casual or playful remark about self-infliction, made perhaps as a kind of warning or expression of frustration, could backfire because people might understand it in a completely different sense from what was intended. That taught me an important practical lesson: never speak casually in such language, because others may attach a meaning to it that is entirely different from one’s own inner meaning. It is also possible that such a condition might have helped me in another way, by bringing more care or attention from people around me. Much depends on the society and the people one lives among. Some societies or individuals may treat a person who appears withdrawn, unsuccessful or vulnerable even more harshly, while others may recognise the difficulty and extend a helping hand. The same outward condition can therefore produce very different consequences depending on how people respond to it.
The experience nevertheless showed me something important. Even a person who has developed considerable inner calm, and perhaps has reached a profound state of awakening or self-realisation, can become temporarily destabilised when an unusually large movement of recognition and mental activity suddenly arises. Inner calm does not automatically mean that one has already learned how to integrate every possible contradiction of ordinary life. That integration may require another kind of training: learning to carry inner freedom into the full complexity of family, profession, desire, responsibility and the material world. Once a person has genuinely experienced and learned to navigate such complexity, it may leave a lasting resilience—perhaps even lifelong—so that the person can remain much less vulnerable to similar disturbances later, even if he eventually steps away from a demanding or struggle-filled life.

In a nutshell, self-inflictive, depressed, frustrated or hopeless moods may arise from unresolved emotions. Awakening and spirituality can help greatly in recognising, processing and resolving these emotions, but they also have their limits. When unresolved emotions accumulate faster than one’s capacity to clear them, the mind can become increasingly burdened and depression may arise. These unresolved emotions leave imprints, or what may be experienced as a kind of darkness over the self, creating a feeling of inner heaviness and even suffocation. In this sense, spiritual practice can help clear the darkness, but when the emotional load becomes greater than the person’s present capacity to process it, even a spiritually inclined person may become temporarily overwhelmed.

I have also observed another tendency in worldly life: a person who carries less mental or emotional baggage may sometimes appear more capable of carrying additional burdens. Others may therefore unconsciously shift some of their own burden onto him, seeking relief for themselves and creating an apparent balance of burdens. But in this process of taking and giving, the extra burden may sometimes become concentrated on the person who was already relatively free. What appears to distribute the burden equally can therefore have the opposite effect, leaving the awakened or inwardly developed person with a load that becomes unexpectedly difficult to lift.

Awakening Does Not Mean That Mental Turbulence Will Never Return

This also changed the way I look at what is sometimes called spiritual purification. Daily cleaning of the mind does not necessarily mean that the mind will become progressively quiet without interruption. Sometimes suppressed thoughts, emotions, memories and contradictions may come into awareness together, often triggered by external conditions. After several calm days, a person may suddenly experience a great rush of thoughts and wonder why everything has become chaotic again. The contrast itself can produce exhaustion, hopelessness, anxiety or even depression-like feelings. But such a phase does not automatically mean that spiritual practice has failed. It can mean that the person has encountered more psychological material than he is presently able to process comfortably.

There is also an important difference between seeing thoughts and being overwhelmed by them. In a stable contemplative process, thoughts may arise without having the same authority over the person. During an overwhelming phase, however, thoughts can become repetitive, emotionally charged and convincing. In such a situation, trying to meditate harder or forcing the mind to become empty may not always help. A Sometimes the better direction is to reduce the intensity of inward practice, return to ordinary activity, maintain sleep and food, walk, remain connected with other people and allow the nervous system to settle. Spiritual practice should not becoms another form of struggle against the mind. For me, a nondual practice such as Sharirvigyan Darshan or Quantum Darshan, applied in practical life, may be one of the easiest and least stressful forms of meditation during such periods. Instead of demanding prolonged inward concentration or withdrawal from ordinary activity, it allows awareness to continue while one is living, working, dealing with family, fulfilling responsibilities and facing the ordinary chaos of life. In this way, meditation becomes less a separate exercise and more a natural way of living.

The Difference Between Spiritual Crisis and Self-Realisation

I do not think suicidal thinking should be regarded as a necessary stage of awakening. A profound spiritual experience can coincide with suicidal thoughts, but that does not make those thoughts a higher spiritual attainment. A person may be undergoing what is sometimes described as a spiritual emergency, where identity, meaning and perception change so rapidly that the psychological system becomes overwhelmed. At the same time, similar experiences can occur with depression, dissociation, mania, psychosis, sleep deprivation or other psychological conditions. Therefore, an extraordinary inner experience should not automatically be interpreted as purely spiritual.

For me, an important point is that realising that the ego is not the ultimate reality does not mean that the body or life should be neglected. Self-realisation is not about destroying ordinary life; it is about changing the way we identify with it. In fact, spirituality can make life more meaningful and stable by giving a person hope, connection and a deeper reason to live. But if spiritual struggle makes a person feel that life has lost all meaning, or that he cannot reconcile his inner experience with ordinary life, it can have the opposite effect. It is also practically clear that spiritual life cannot easily advance without some worldly support. The body needs food, shelter, health, rest and social security, while the mind also needs a reasonably stable environment. Spiritual practice therefore does not exist completely apart from worldly life. Some basic worldly support gives a person the foundation from which deeper spiritual work can continue.

Why an Inward Life Can Become Vulnerable to Sudden Chaos

Looking back, I think there is another important reason why such destabilisation can happen. A person who has become habitual of a very inward and calm life may become highly trained in dealing with mental movements that arise within that controlled environment, but may not be equally trained in living amid external chaos. He may know how to sit quietly, observe thoughts and dissolve inner disturbances, yet have comparatively little experience of simultaneously handling family demands, professional responsibility, friendly chaos, interpersonal conflict, uncertainty and other pressures of ordinary life.

Then, when an extraordinary amount of chaos suddenly arises, the person may be disturbed not because his inner practice was false, but because he had not yet developed enough experience of carrying that inner stability into difficult circumstances. Calmness in the absence of disturbance and stability in the presence of disturbance are related, but they are not exactly the same accomplishment.

Sharirvigyan Darshan as a Bridge Between Inner Life and Ordinary Life

This is where my experience with Sharirvigyan Darshan became important. Instead of trying to escape profession, family, body and ordinary responsibilities, I began living and working according to the principles of Sharirvigyan Darshan. For me, this worked wonderfully. It stabilised me and, surprisingly, did not slow spiritual progress. I felt that the pace of spiritual development became even faster than before, but I also realised that this way of living has its limits. As long as the body has enough energy, one can deploy that energy in both the worldly and spiritual realms together. With advancing age, however, a person naturally has to move more in one direction or the other. Therefore, the spiritual way may gradually become more suitable, although some worldly engagement is still necessary for life. Even then, whatever worldly activity remains can be combined with nondual contemplation, so that the two do not become completely separate.

I think the reason was that ordinary life itself became part of the training. Family, profession, relationships, bodily experiences, desires, responsibilities and social situations were no longer separate from spiritual work. They became the actual environment in which awareness had to function. Instead of learning only how to dissolve mental chaos in a quiet inward state, I was repeatedly exposed to the chaos of life and could use the same understanding to process it.

This creates a kind of training through repeated experience. A person first learns calmness in a quiet environment. Then he learns to retain that calmness while ordinary disturbances occur. With continued experience, he develops confidence that even when something extraordinary happens, mental chaos can arise without necessarily controlling or destroying him. The disturbance becomes familiar rather than frightening.

From Escaping Chaos to Learning How to Dissolve It

This, to me, is perhaps the deeper lesson. The goal is not to create a life in which chaos never appears. Such a life may provide calmness, but it does not necessarily prepare one for the unpredictable intensity of existence. The stronger stability comes when one can remain inwardly centred while life continues to move around him.

Sharirvigyan Darshan, as I experienced it, provided precisely this integration. Instead of separating spiritual life from worldly life, it allowed the two to operate together. I have seen many people leave the material realm in order to become more spiritual, but my approach was almost the opposite: I continued to engage with the material realm while carrying the spiritual realm along with it. I did not see family, profession and worldly responsibilities as obstacles that had to be abandoned. Rather, I tried to bring spiritual understanding into them.

I have seen, for example, a doctor leave his job to become a writer, filmmaker and director around a spiritual figure. My own path was different. I continued with my job while becoming a writer and even got awakening like a spiritual figure. I did not have to leave my professional life for spirituality instead it further grew with this unique nondual philosophy. To me, these things did not appear contradictory. I am not presenting this as an exaggeration or as an achievement to be compared with others; it is simply how I experienced what happened in my own life through this practical philosophy. It may also be that my profession did not carry the same level of responsibility as that of a doctor, whose decisions can sometimes directly affect whether a person lives or dies. Human life is more precious than animal life, and the emotional and moral weight of such responsibility can therefore be much greater. However, I feel that spirituality properly integrated into a physician’s profession should not itself do any harm. If anything, it can strengthen the value placed on human life and make the work more meaningful than when it is approached through purely worldly considerations. If difficulties still arise, they may be due to other factors working together rather than spirituality itself.

Of course, no philosophy or spiritual discipline can make a person completely incapable of being disturbed. Even a highly experienced practitioner can become overwhelmed by sufficiently extreme circumstances. The real achievement is different: disturbance becomes less frightening, less sticky and less capable of reorganising the whole personality around itself.

Thus my earlier experience and my later understanding fit together. I once learned to dissolve mental chaos mainly through inward calmness. Later, by living fully in ordinary life through Sharirvigyan Darshan, I learned something broader: one does not become truly stable by escaping chaos; one becomes stable by becoming experienced in remaining oneself while chaos moves through oneself. Later on, I again shifted from the struggle of active worldly life toward calmer meditation, but now with much better understanding and control. I had already experienced worldly life and its chaos closely, so the inward movement was no longer the same as before. It became a more informed and balanced return to calmness. This may be an important part of the two-way movement between mental purification and worldly engagement, where each strengthens the other and gradually leads toward genuine integration and self-realisation.

A New Insight During Deep Dhyana

The Three-Dimensional Pyramid and the Human Body

The Movement of Prana Between Ida and Pingala

Temples and Pyramids as Symbols of Transcendence

The Temple Bell, Tantric Union and Kundalini Energy

The Ganga, Egyptian Mummies and Liberation After Death

One Geometry, Many Spiritual Symbols

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Introduction: The Hidden Value of Changing Environments

Worldly Activity and Spiritual Detachment Can Exist Together

How Contrasting Environments May Complement Each Other

How People Carry Different Environments Into a Home

The Temple Pujari: From Repeated Movement to Conscious Integration

The Tribal-Area Minister: Frequent Movement and a Broader Outlook

Mobility, Nonattachment and the All-Round Personality

Wandering Ascetics and the Traditional Search for Freedom

Cyclicity as a Principle of Human Development

Conclusion: Different Places, One Continuous Journey

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Yoga Is Simply Union with Paramatman

Simple Does Not Mean Effortless

See Yourself in Everything

The Quantum Verse and a Larger Pattern

From Quantum Activity to Conscious Self-Recognition

A Philosophical Insight, Not a Claim That Physics Has Proved Spirituality

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The Sun as a Realm of Extreme Interaction

From Chaotic Karmayoga to Stabilization

Pure Awareness and the Return to Ordered Action

The Universe as a Cycle or Chakra

Sun Worship, Karmayoga and the Living Body

One Pattern Appearing at Different Levels

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Atmavat Sarvabhuteshu and the Mystery of One Consciousness in Many Beings

From Kundalini Experience to a Quantum-Like Vision

The Core of Quantum Darshan

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The Many Layers of a Puranic Story

Ganga as Nature Worship and Spiritual Practice

The Same Ganga as a Yogic Symbol

The Social and Behavioral Education Hidden in the Story

From Childhood Imagination to Yoga

Why the Layers May Be Practically Endless

The Outer River and the Inner River

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Deep Dhyana as an Experience of Flight

Breathlessness as Inner Lift

The Tug of War Between Downward and Upward Pulls

The Hum of the Engine and the Sound of Prana

Emerging from Dhyana Feels Like Landing

Why Ancient Yogic Imagery of Flight Is Interesting

From Grounded Awareness to Inner Space

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Muladhara, Reproductive Energy and the Purpose of Nature

Sexual Attraction as a Powerful Activation of Muladhara

Nature’s Bait and the Moment of Thoughtless Bliss

From Thoughtlessness to Witnessing and Purification

Why the Goddess Is Called Powerful

Kundalini Yoga as Redirection Rather Than Rejection

From Reproductive Impulse to Spiritual Awareness

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Upward Movement and Spiritual Awakening

Why the Divine Is Called the One Above

My Experience of the Infinite Sky

Mind, Chakras, Prana and Sushumna

Flying, Samadhi and Self-realisation

From Ascent to Boundlessness

The Same Effect from Two Directions: Yoga and the Infinite Sky

A Puzzle About Sushumna, Head Pressure and Deep Dhyana

Rajyoga and the Direct Route

Energy Rather Than Pressure Is the Main Thing

Energy Everywhere

Two Routes, One Inner Movement

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When Inner Calm Suddenly Meets Mental Rush

Awakening Does Not Mean That Mental Turbulence Will Never Return

The Difference Between Spiritual Crisis and Self-Realisation

Why an Inward Life Can Become Vulnerable to Sudden Chaos

Sharirvigyan Darshan as a Bridge Between Inner Life and Ordinary Life

From Escaping Chaos to Learning How to Dissolve It