I began reflecting on a very personal and experiential question: If deep sleep is experienced with self-awareness, can it be called Kaivalya or Turiya? What is the nature of this awareness — not just philosophically, but from within my own being? I felt that watching the sleep state unfold — not as a dream, but as awareness of the sleep itself — seemed to hint at something beyond ordinary waking or dreaming states.
But then the paradox arose: in deep sleep, there are no thoughts. So how could there be any “witnessing” if the instrument of thought was absent? I kept asking myself: How is it even possible to say one witnessed deep sleep without a trace of mental activity?
And then a deeper question emerged: If this witnessing without thought in deep sleep is already so subtle and mysterious, how can Kaivalya be ahead of it? Shouldn’t this be the final frontier?
A vivid image arose in me — like the sky watching the weather. And I wondered, does the weather represent thought? Then what is sky? It is just being. The sky remains unchanged, whether storms or silence pass through. In the same way, awareness remains, whether thoughts arise or fall silent.
Witnessed Deep Sleep (Conscious Sushupti): No ego, no mind, but awareness remains. This is Turīya.
Kaivalya: Even the notion of “I am witnessing” dissolves — there is just the Self, no relation to states. By going deeper within, even Turiya dissolves into Kaivalya — the ultimate and final state.
But another question surfaced — in this context, is this self-awareness in Turiya or Kaivalya depicted as light? And if so, why? After all, there is no physical light, nor even the shimmer of thought. Yet, something in that awareness feels radiant — not bright like a bulb, but self-luminous — a knowing that knows itself.
It felt as if ordinary deep sleep is darkness, but when deep sleep is entered with awareness — it becomes light. Not in terms of visual brilliance, but as pure self-awareness. A very subtle, unshakable presence.
The soul is often likened to light — not because it is something visible itself, but because, like light, it makes everything else perceivable. Light, by its nature, remains unseen unless it reflects off an object. When it touches matter, matter becomes visible. Similarly, the soul or pure consciousness is not an object of experience — it cannot be seen, touched, or grasped — yet it is that by which all experiences are made known. Just as light reveals forms without itself having form, the soul illumines thoughts, emotions, dreams, and even silence, without being any of them. When consciousness touches the mind, the contents of the mind become known. When it withdraws, only itself remains — luminous, still, and self-aware.
Most people tend to misunderstand the soul. They imagine it as a kind of shimmering, radiant substance — something glittering to be chased in the outer world. This misconception fuels an endless pursuit of worldly experiences, pleasures, achievements, or emotional highs, mistaking these for glimpses of the soul. In doing so, they often fall deeper into illusion. Yet, if approached with clarity and right understanding, even this outward journey doesn’t go to waste. Through this extroverted chase, some eventually reach a peak experience — a moment of dazzling inner light often referred to as Savikalpa Samadhi or awakening. This moment satisfies a deep craving. And after this satisfaction, a quiet turning happens — they begin to seek not the shimmering reflections, but the pure, thoughtless source of that light. This marks the inward journey, toward the still and self-aware silence of the true Self — beyond shimmer, beyond form.
Then another analogy struck me: if deep drunken states also contain long intervals of no-thought, and sometimes one feels that they are aware without thought and even blissful — is that like Turiya? Isn’t that awareness still there, despite the body being non-functional? In fact, I observed that in drunken states, sometimes self-awareness feels more prominent than in deep sleep, even though both are devoid of thought.
In such intervals during drunkenness, there can be full cessation of thought, accompanied by a sense of being present, sometimes even with bliss. And yet, we don’t usually equate that with higher spiritual states. Why? However this state is full of ego offcourse in depressed state and there’s also no surrender in this state but it’s illusory or forced or pseudo surrender.
That led me to the heart of the matter. Why is Keval Kumbhak — the effortless, natural cessation of breath — not given its due credit as perhaps the most direct, reliable, and simple gateway to Turiya and Kaivalya? Why are all the complex techniques and doctrines more popular, despite being less scientific or accessible? I asked this from myself for I prefer Keval Kumbhak as the most direct path to the final result, without getting entangled in unnecessary jargon.
The answer became clear after listening inwardly — and hearing from sources that resonate from experience rather than theory.
Keval Kumbhak is the master key — but it is subtle. It’s not something you do, but something that happens when thought, effort, and breath all come to stillness together. Not forcibly, but through surrender, through inner silence.
Because it is so ego-less and natural, it is often overlooked. You can’t package it, can’t teach it step-by-step like a mechanical breathing practice. It arises when the pranic mind quiets, when even wanting to achieve something has died.
And yet, popular methods are often complex because they give the ego something to cling to — a path, a technique, a sequence. They cater to the mind, not to the silence beyond it. And so, Kriya, chakras, visualizations, and other practices dominate the landscape.
But truth, I realized, is simple. Keval Kumbhak can’t be sold. That’s partly why it remains hidden. Also, because if someone is not inwardly ready, they might try to force it — and that very force keeps them from discovering its real nature.
Interestingly, authentic Kriya Yoga, when practiced deeply and subtly, can lead to Keval Kumbhak naturally. The repeated inner breathing calms the prana so deeply that breath begins to pause on its own. That’s when the magic happens. Not because you made it happen — but because all effort ceased.
Over time, the inhale and exhale become so subtle that you enter the gap. And there, breath stops, thought stops, ego stops. And you remain. That is not sleep, not dreaming — that is the taste of Turiya.
But even in Kriya circles, this is often missed. People get caught up in numbers, techniques, effects, visions — and miss the most sacred: the silent presence that remains when breath and thought are no more. Others expect a dramatic mystical event, not recognizing that breathless awareness is itself the miracle.
That’s what Keval Kumbhak really is — the doorway to yourself. A doorway not with hinges, but with stillness.
And yes, it’s true — I haven’t yet fully entered Nirvikalpa Samadhi. I’ve tasted states of silence, even seen the movement of awareness without thought. I’ve watched my own deep sleep and noticed its transitions. I’ve seen how drunken stillness can sometimes mimic that gap. But I’m still walking this mysterious, beautiful path — open, curious, and more silent than ever before.
And I now know, without doubt, that the real secret was never far. It was simply the breathless silence behind all things, always available when I stop seeking and simply remain.
That is where I now return again and again. Into that breathless cave, where neither dream nor sleep nor ego can follow.
Into that which simply is.
Demystifying Kundalini 