Beyond Death and Liberation: Holding Consciousness Between Worlds

A Personal Reflection on Trishanku, Vishvamitra, Kundalini, and the Inner Guru

How Compassion, Ritual, and Inner Prayer Hold Consciousness Until Liberation Ripens

The Classical Story of Trishanku: The King Suspended Between Heaven and Earth

In the ancient tradition, King Trishanku of the Ikshvāku lineage desired to ascend to heaven in his physical body. When the royal priests refused to perform the rite, he approached the sage Viśvāmitra, whose tapas was unmatched. Through his austere power, Viśvāmitra attempted to send Trishanku to the celestial realms, provoking resistance from the gods. When the ascent was obstructed, Trishanku was left suspended between heaven and earth, neither accepted by the devas nor returned to the mortal world. Refusing to let him fall, Viśvāmitra established him in a unique state—neither fully liberated nor condemned—where he remained held by the force of the sage’s tapas.

Rethinking the Trishanku Story: Blessing, Not Punishment

I have often felt that the story of Vishvamitra and King Trishanku is misunderstood. Most readings stop at ego, rivalry, or defiance of the gods. But to me, it feels very different. It feels like a blessing, not a punishment. Vishvamitra did not abandon Trishanku halfway. He held him.

I feel Vishvamitra created an abode for Trishanku not out of anger, but out of compassion. However, it may be understood as a spiritual anger directed toward the devas for denying liberation to Trishanku. It was pure and positive—aimed at growth, and getting inspiration to do a great job, not rivalry. Trishanku was not ready for full liberation, yet he should not have fallen back. So Vishvamitra, through tapas, prayer, and sheer inner power, held him in between—high enough to be safe, steady enough to ripen. This suspension itself feels like grace. Liberation is not always immediate. Sometimes it is protection from regression.

Rituals for the Departed: Collective Tapas in Everyday Life

When I look at society today, I see the same intention expressed differently. People perform Bhagavatam kathas, shraddhas, yagyas, pindas, and tarpanas, prayers, rest in peace or RIP for their departed loved ones. These are not empty rituals. They are collective efforts to hold consciousness high enough so that it does not collapse back into unconscious karmic drift. Vishvamitra did this alone. Ordinary people do it together, repeatedly, across time.

Seen this way, Trishanku becomes an archetype. Not damned. Not liberated. But protected. Suspended with care.

When the Myth Became Personal: My Own Experience

This is not just philosophy for me. It touched my life directly.

Dream Visitations and the Call for Assistance

After the death of a close acquaintance, I experienced her presence repeatedly in dream visitations. These were not frightening. They were not dramatic. They felt like a seeking—an unspoken request for assistance in liberation. I did not try to command anything. I did not panic. I prayed.

Prayer, Kundalini, and the Meaning of Urging God

I prayed strongly. I urged kundalini for her peace, for her liberation, for forgiveness of acts that might be preventing liberation, for release from unresolved weight. For me, kundalini is representative of God—not as a personality, but as the deepest intelligence of integration. Urging kundalini is urging God. It is aligning intention with the highest coherence of consciousness. We may even call it a personified dhyāna-supporting chitra that often lingers during savikalpa dhyāna and, as it converges toward nirvikalpa dhyāna, enables a smooth and rapid transition.

I also urge liberation for all beings, twice daily, in my dhyana. I do this because liberation is not a limited resource. It is not like physical matter that gets exhausted by giving. It is like light. It can be wished for all, together, without loss. This understanding feels very clear to me.

Signs of Resolution: Clarity, Softening, and Residual Sadness

Over time, I noticed something important. The appearances in dreams became clearer. Calmer. More refined. Each interaction carried less confusion. There was a subtle sadness present—not fear, not agitation—but a gentle sorrow. It felt connected to not being perfectly cared for during illness and the dying phase. I did not try to fix this sadness. I simply allowed it. I know it will resolve one day on its own.

This clarity felt like confirmation—not in a grand mystical sense, but in a quiet, settling way. Something was integrating. Something was being completed.

Kundalini as Dhyana Chitra: The Inner Guru Clarified

I want to be clear about one thing. When I speak of kundalini here, I mean dhyana chitra. The inner meditative image. The inner guru. Not a voice. Not an external command. Not an authority that tells me what to do. It is orientation, not instruction. It does not demand action. It dissolves naturally in meditation.

Where Resolution Truly Happens

On careful observation, I see that nothing was resolved outside me. The resolution happened within. A tense relational field completed itself, which is why clarity increased and interactions became softer instead of more intense.

This reflects the true purpose of ancient rituals. They were meant as acts of love, not fear—support rather than rescue, holding rather than pulling. Their role was to stabilize awareness, reduce downward pull, and allow natural ripening to occur. It means these practices certainly work in this world, and they may also have effects beyond it, in the afterworld as well.

Yogic Understanding: Death as Pratyahara and Suspension

From a yogic perspective, death itself is forced pratyahara. The danger is regression into old samskaras. Holding practices—whether tapas, prayer, ritual, or remembrance—keep awareness above that collapse point or above throat chakra. Trishanku’s suspension mirrors this exactly.

Psychological Grounding: Grief, Holding, and Completion

From a psychological perspective, this is also healthy grief. Remembering without clinging. Caring without binding. Letting go without denial. Societies that abandon ritual often carry unresolved trauma because transitions are left unheld.

Responsibility Without Burden

One crucial truth remains central to me. I am not responsible for liberating anyone. I am responsible for not obstructing liberation with fear, guilt, or attachment. My prayers are permission, not intervention. Opening, not pushing.

Why Experiences Fade When Resolution Occurs

That is why these experiences naturally fade. Fewer visitations. Less emotional charge. More neutrality. Eventual quiet disappearance. Resolution softens. It does not escalate.

This is the role of the inner guru. Not to act. Not to control. But to allow completion to happen without force.

Returning to Trishanku: The Archetype of Compassionate Suspension

When I look back at Vishvamitra and Trishanku now, the story feels intimate, not mythic. One consciousness holding another until gravity loosens. One being refusing to let another fall, without pretending readiness that is not yet there.

Different methods. Same compassion.

Not a Conclusion, But a Resting Place

This blog is not a conclusion. It is a resting place. A suspension that does not need to hurry. Just as liberation itself does not hurry.

Why Kundalini and Saṁskāras Do Not Operate in Animals the Way They Do in Humans

Saṁskāras can be understood as symbolic markings impressed upon a human being through consciously designed spiritual ceremonies. These are not casual social events; they are grand, emotionally charged occasions in which relatives, friends, elders, and the wider community gather with a single individual as the focal point. The person receiving the saṁskāra becomes the center of collective attention, intention, and emotion. This focused convergence is not accidental—it is deliberately structured to imprint deep emotional and psychological tendencies that shape the individual for life.

Such ceremonies generate powerful emotions within the recipient because humans are uniquely responsive to meaning, symbolism, and shared attention. When hundreds of minds momentarily align around one person with reverence, expectation, and intention, the effect is far stronger than ordinary cooperation or social interaction. Worldly cooperation is usually task-oriented and fragmented; saṁskāras, by contrast, are designed exclusively for emotional and inner imprinting. One individual becomes the sole beneficiary of the collective emotional field, making the imprint unusually strong and persistent.

Metaphorically, this process resembles quantum entanglement—not as a literal physical mechanism, but as a structural analogy. In quantum systems, particles that interact within a coherent environment exhibit correlated behavior even after separation. Similarly, during a saṁskāra, many minds temporarily converge within a highly focused symbolic space. The emotions, values, and intentions do not merely add up linearly; they become coherent. Once imprinted, these emotional correlations persist long after the ceremony ends, influencing the individual’s inner responses independent of physical proximity. This comparison does not claim scientific equivalence; it simply highlights a parallel principle: intense interaction under conditions of focus, coherence, and meaning creates unusually stable imprints.

Across a human lifetime, there are traditionally sixteen saṁskāras, each corresponding to key transitions—birth, learning, maturity, responsibility, and death. Together, they refine emotional depth, psychological structure, and spiritual receptivity. These imprints form a subtle emotional architecture within which higher processes, including Kundalini awakening, can later unfold. Saṁskāras are not merely cultural customs; they are intentional emotional technologies.

Not every individual absorbs these imprints equally. Certain emotionally receptive people resonate more deeply than others. Their sensitivity allows emotions to adhere more strongly, creating bonds that often appear as love or devotion. This love is not merely relational or outward-facing; when it matures and turns inward, it becomes transformative. In yogic and tantric understanding, this inward-turning love can later express itself as Kundalini movement. What begins as emotional bonding gradually converts into inner energy. In this way, bhāva (emotion) evolves into bhakti (love or devotion), and bhakti further condenses into śakti (inner power).

This progression is logical within its own framework. Focused collective attention produces strong emotional imprinting; individual sensitivity determines depth of absorption; deep emotional imprinting gives rise to love; and inward-directed love becomes spiritual energy. Psychology explains the imprinting, neuroplasticity explains the durability, and spiritual traditions describe the energetic flowering.

Animals, however, do not participate in this process in the same way. They do not receive saṁskāras—not because life or awareness is absent in them, but because the necessary emotional and neurological infrastructure is undeveloped. Animals do have emotions, but these are largely immediate, survival-oriented, and unlayered. They lack the capacity to absorb, integrate, and symbolize the collective emotions of many minds simultaneously. Their brains are not designed to hold complex symbolic meaning, long-term emotional imprinting, or ritualized identity formation.

Moreover, animals are not placed at the center of intentional emotional convergence. No ceremony is designed to imprint values, identity, or transcendental orientation upon them. Without repeated, structured emotional imprinting across life stages, there is no stable inner architecture for love to refine itself inwardly and no latent reservoir from which Kundalini can later rise.

Thus, Kundalini and saṁskāras are not absent in animals due to inferiority, but due to difference in design. Human life is uniquely structured for emotional accumulation, symbolic meaning, and inward transformation. Saṁskāras provide the emotional soil, love becomes the living current, and Kundalini is the flowering that appears when conditions mature. Animals live in harmony with nature, but humans alone are given the tools to consciously transcend it.

Chapter 31: lobha third basic emotion in quantum world

In Tantra, the impulses of desire, anger, and greed are not treated as moral weaknesses. They are understood as natural forces through which energy moves in every individual and in the universe. Kāma becomes the drive to create, Krodha becomes the power to correct or change, and Lobha becomes the tendency to collect and protect what has been gained. Among these, Lobha (greed) is seen as the urge to expand and preserve energy. It is similar to how the universe gathers energy before releasing it. Therefore, instead of being condemned immediately, Lobha is first understood as an energetic movement of accumulation, which can later be refined into awareness, contentment, and responsible preservation.

LOBHA (Greed) — The Urge to Accumulate, Expand, and Hold Energy

Quantum Energy Quantization

In quantum physics, even an electron displays a tendency to accumulate energy. It usually remains in a stable, low-energy orbit, but when it absorbs additional energy, it holds that extra energy for a period of time before releasing it as light. This temporary hoarding is comparable to the human mind’s habit of collecting and holding on to experiences, belongings, status, or recognition, often out of a fear of losing them. In this sense, Lobha is understood as the inertia of energy, a natural force that attempts to retain what has been gained. In an atom, such retention causes temporary instability; in human life, it manifests as anxiety, possessiveness, or the inability to let go. Greed, therefore, is not only a moral challenge but an energetic stage in which accumulation waits for maturity before it can release and transform.

If we have hoarded a lot, it is not easy to let it go at once, because those hoardings occupy space in our mental well. That space cannot be vacated immediately due to the fear that their removal will create a dark void inside. Over time, however, our experiences mature and our knowledge grows. This growing awareness begins to take their place and gradually pushes the old hoardings to the sides. When the pressure of knowledge and awareness becomes strong enough, it naturally replaces those hoardings in the mental well. Then, we become capable of letting them go physically as well.

Another option is to start hoarding better-quality material, which automatically displaces the old and outdated hoardings. However, this is only a temporary, makeshift solution. Permanent de-hoarding is possible only through minimalism supported by knowledge and awareness.

Gravitational Accretion (Star Formation)

In astrophysics, stars are born out of a gradual process of accumulation. Vast clouds of dust and gas pull surrounding matter toward themselves through gravity. As this mass grows, internal pressure and heat increase, and when the accumulation reaches a critical point, the cloud ignites to form a star. This natural process reflects the working of Lobha in human life. Greed begins by collecting wealth, power, information, or recognition, drawing more and more into the orbit of personal desire. With time, the pressure of what we possess often becomes unbearable, forcing either a collapse through dissatisfaction or a transformation into something creative and radiant. In this way, Lobha can be understood as the gravitational pull of the ego, which gathers energy around the idea of “me.” If the accumulated energy becomes refined rather than suffocating, it can ignite into insight and wisdom, just as a star is born from the intense accumulation of matter.

Quantum Vacuum Energy (Zero-Point Energy)

According to quantum physics, space is never truly empty. Even when matter and radiation are removed, the vacuum continues to hold an immense sea of fluctuating energy known as zero-point energy. This energy is never fully released and remains as a constant background activity of the universe. In human experience, the silent mind also contains subtle impulses and unexpressed desires. These latent tendencies, or vāsanās, continue to vibrate beneath the surface even when no visible craving is present. In this sense, Lobha can be understood as the quiet restlessness of existence itself—the tendency to hold potential, to preserve possibility before it becomes action. It is a kind of cosmic “memory,” a subtle stickiness by which consciousness continues to sustain creation, even in stillness.

Magnetic Saturation and Hysteresis

In physics, a magnetized material continues to hold magnetism even after the external magnetic field that created that alignment is removed. This phenomenon, known as magnetic hysteresis, shows how matter can retain a memory of its past orientation. A similar pattern can be seen in human behavior. Once greed has trained the mind to seek gain, the desire continues even when the actual need for acquisition has disappeared. The mind keeps pulling, not because something is necessary, but because it has been conditioned to accumulate. In spiritual terms, this clinging tendency, called āsakti, is like the residual magnetism of past impressions that continue to influence perception and action. Only deep awareness—developed through meditation and inner clarity—can dissolve this stored conditioning, similar to how demagnetization restores a material to a neutral, balanced state.

How Demagnetizing Memory Works: Love, Attachment, and the Science of Letting Go

The above Magnetic Saturation and Hysteresis can be understood through the analogy of a love relationship. When two people become deeply intimate, one partner is often emotionally stronger and more influential, while the other is more receptive. The weaker partner is like an iron rod, and the stronger partner is like a magnet. Even after separation, the iron continues to carry the magnetic alignment produced by the magnet. In the same way, the weaker partner continues to hold the impressions and memories of the stronger one long after the relationship ends.

To remove this magnetized memory from iron, we do not throw away the magnet itself. Instead, the same magnet is used in a different way—moved in zigzag motions, reversed in direction, assisted by heating, or by striking the iron. These methods disrupt the alignment and gradually demagnetize the iron. This offers a profound insight into human psychology as well.

When the mental image of a departed lover remains in someone’s mind and keeps them emotionally aligned with that person, the same image can be used to dissolve the attachment—but only if approached differently. We do not remember the person with the same emotional immersion as before. Instead, the memory is allowed to fade by keeping less attention on it and more attention on worldly activities. This gradually breaks its alignment.

“Heating” the magnet-form image corresponds to energizing the mind through yoga or spiritual practice, which weakens emotional fixation. “Hammering” iron represents being engaged in demanding work, stress, responsibility, and worldly struggles, which shake up the mind enough to loosen attachments.

Yoga and samadhi go a step further. In deep meditation, the mental image is brightened to its fullest expression, but without clinging to its physical counterpart. The body of the lover is itself recognized as temporary and unreal with it; only the inner image is seen as its real projection in the mind. This dissolves the magnetism of emotional memory. In the highest samadhi, merging completely with the inner image leads to merging with the entire cosmos or God. Once the mind expands into the whole, no individual memory has the power to bind it anymore.

Interestingly, this is similar to the best demagnetization technique for iron: the same magnet is moved rapidly over it in constantly changing directions, without touching it, and slowly withdrawn from a distance. The mental image of the lover is also not physically touched; it is expressed fully within consciousness as savikalp samadhi and then released gradually towards nirvikalp samadhi of complete removal to avoid emotional shock or a sudden return of attachment.

Some replace the lover’s image with a guru’s image. This works even more effectively. A guru is like a stronger magnet that can remove previous emotional imprints from the disciple more quickly and clearly, when approached correctly through samadhi and awareness.

Black Holes — Ultimate Accumulators

In astrophysics, a black hole is a region of space where matter collapses inward under such intense gravity that it begins to consume everything around it. Nothing escapes its pull—not matter, not light, not even time. With every fragment of energy it absorbs, it becomes denser, darker, and more inwardly contracted. The same pattern appears in human consciousness when greed grows without wisdom. Instead of expanding life, greed becomes a collapse of awareness into a narrow sense of self, where nothing satisfies and everything is consumed without bringing fulfillment. At its extreme, Lobha does not create growth; it turns creation into contraction. Only when awareness penetrates this inward pull, like crossing an event horizon, does it recognize that what it was trying to acquire and defend was never separate—it was attempting to hoard its own self without knowing it.

Summary

Across different sciences, Lobha or greed appears as a natural tendency of accumulation. At the atomic level, an electron holds extra energy for some time before releasing it, just as the human mind clings to emotions or possessions out of insecurity. In the formation of stars, gravity gathers dust and gas into a growing mass, and this resembles the way people collect wealth, status, or power in an attempt to feel stronger. Even in the so-called empty vacuum of space, an underlying sea of energy remains, mirroring the subtle cravings and latent desires (vāsanās) that continue to exist even in a silent mind. Magnetic materials retain a memory of past alignment, just as the mind remains attached to earlier gains and continues to seek more, even when the need has passed. At the extreme, greed becomes like a black hole that keeps consuming without satisfaction, pulling everything into itself and losing its true nature in the process. Thus, whether subtle or intense, Lobha behaves like an energy that gathers, stores, and clings—until awareness transforms it.

Uncontrolled Lobha (greed) is like a black hole. It sees no limits and makes no distinction between good or bad, legitimate or illegitimate, rightful or wrongful, hoardable or non-hoardable. It simply hoards everything. It does not even spare light, believing that light too will serve its purpose someday. Such extreme attachment to hoarding turns it into a black demon. Its own being becomes clouded and darkened with impurities, entering a state of bondage from which liberation becomes extremely difficult.

It may take form again and again—like the unending cycle of birth and death of a bound soul. This is why ancient wisdom says: unawareful hoarding leads to bondage of the soul and repeated return to the world through countless cycles of rebirth.

On the other hand, a star hoards only as much as is necessary—just enough to shine and illuminate others. Most stars avoid excessive hoarding out of the inherent fear of becoming black holes. So, they remain alert, slim, and disciplined, using limited resources in their fullest service to humanity. Many even adopt a kind of cosmic minimalism, becoming small stars so that they never turn into the bound, trapped soul of a black hole.

At the time of their death, such stars return all their constituents to space with gratitude, so that other stars may grow. In this way, they become free and liberated.

The same pattern is seen in human beings. The very light that was meant to nurture creation, to uplift life with growth, harmony, and development, is today being mercilessly seized by exploiters. Instead of illuminating the world, it is hoarded and weaponized against the very beings it was meant to serve. How can someone call themselves happy while stealing the glow and innocence from other faces? How can anyone hope to discover the light of liberation while pushing others into the depths of poverty, ignorance, and darkness?

True spirituality can never flourish in a heart that takes pleasure in making people addicted, dependent, resourceless, poor, unemployed, or stripped of dignity. Those who thrive by weakening others only nurture the shadows within themselves. Their success is not achievement—it is a burden of injustice. No meditation, no ritual, no worship can grant awakening to a mind that knowingly destroys the dreams, health, and opportunities of others.

Real spiritual growth comes only through uplifting lives, not exploiting them. Light expands when shared—and liberation becomes real only when it frees others, not when it traps them. To walk toward enlightenment is to become a source of light, strength, knowledge, compassion, and self-sufficiency for the world. The more we empower others, the brighter our own inner light becomes. Inner light increases only by sharing it with others, like stars do. That is why, for achievements, stars are given. Snatching light from others does not raise one’s own light; it turns the heart into a ghostly, dark black hole instead.

Philosophical Synthesis

From a spiritual and cosmic perspective, the three primary impulses of human emotion are seen as movements of energy with universal functions. Kāma, or desire, directs energy outward toward connection and union, and this outward movement becomes the basis for creation itself, symbolically represented by Brahma and Shakti. Krodha, or anger, is an explosive surge of energy that seeks to correct, break, or remove what obstructs balance; this power of destruction and transformation is associated with the force of Rudra. Lobha, or greed, turns energy inward, gathering and preserving what has been acquired. This inward pull becomes the principle of preservation in the cosmos, represented by Vishnu. Thus, these three emotions are not merely personal weaknesses but three fundamental currents of energy—creating, destroying, and preserving—through which the universe maintains its balance.

Spiritual Transmutation of Lobha

Lobha, or the urge to accumulate, evolves through different stages as a person grows in awareness. In its most ignorant form, it expresses itself as the hoarding of wealth, objects, and power. This type of greed leads to stagnation, because the energy that should flow becomes trapped in possession. With awareness, Lobha becomes more refined. The urge to gather turns toward collecting knowledge, strength, and inner energy rather than external objects. This stage creates stability, because what is gathered nourishes growth instead of suffocating it. At its highest level, Lobha becomes a force that preserves truth, compassion, and wisdom. Instead of clinging to possessions, one protects values that sustain life. Here, accumulation transforms into responsibility: one gathers not for oneself, but for the well-being of all. In this enlightened state, Lobha acts as dharmic protection, preserving what is good for the world rather than what merely benefits the ego.

Thus Lobha is not merely vice — it’s Vishnu’s sustaining principle when purified.
At its lower form, it hoards;
At its higher form, it nurtures, protects, and sustains what is sacred.

Quantum Nonduality: How Hoarding Turned Into Spiritual Growth

The quantum facts above perfectly reflect my life story. Quantum science is unburdening me in the form of quantum darshan. It is showing me a mirror of the past, present, and future. By exposing the past, it dissolves it peacefully. By revealing the present, it makes me nondual and detached, like a quantum particle. By indicating the future, it assures me of liberation, provided I follow its path.

I remember a time when I had become excessively possessive—thinking only about money. I even began demanding money, of course legitimately and rightfully. But whenever money comes in between, whether legitimate or illegitimate, it creates a rift in relationships—sometimes large, sometimes subtle, externally or internally. When I saw how futile this race for possession was, I stopped.

The habit of willful hoarding found no outer direction, so it turned inward. It began expressing itself as a hoarding of yoga, meditation, writing, blogging, and the pursuit of knowledge. Thus, a harsh physical habit eventually cleared the inner path for my growth.

Perhaps it happened so easily and quickly because I already had a nondual attitude during these hoardings, mainly supported by ancestral sanskaras and assisted by Sharirvigyan Darshan. In this state, everything felt equal to me. I saw hoarding knowledge as equal to hoarding material things.

Quantum science also says the same: everything is vibration and essentially equal, whether it appears hard and external or soft and internal within the mind. Quantum darshan shapes this understanding into a spiritual form of nonduality.

Had I not adopted a nondual attitude during this hoarding phase, I would have later considered knowledge to be inferior to material possessions, and the hoarding tendency would never have received a chance to express itself inwardly. In that case, it would have remained suffocated within me—either causing inner suffocation or eventually turning back towards material hoarding in another form.

So, in short, we can say that a nondual attitude, like the behavior of quantum particles, supports every aspect of life at every step.

Chapter 29: Quantum Darśan — When the Restless Vacuum Becomes the Universe and the Mind

1. Nothingness Is Never Truly Empty

We often imagine the universe beginning from absolute nothingness. But in science, “nothing” is never truly nothing. Even when space seems blank and silent, it silently vibrates with subtle energy, just like a quiet room that still contains faint echoes, hums, and air movement if we listen closely.

In physics, this restless background is called the vacuum. It is not dead space but a dynamic field filled with tiny fluctuations. Nature does not allow perfect stillness.

Just like a calm ocean that always hides currents beneath its surface, the cosmic vacuum is a sea of invisible ripples. This restlessness is the root of creation.

2. The Vacuum as a Restless Ocean of Possibilities

Even when the ocean looks calm, beneath it are vibrations, pressures, and flows. Similarly, empty space is never truly empty—it is saturated with quantum fluctuations, gentle energetic waves that appear and disappear.

Nature forbids absolute zero movement. Just as the ocean can never freeze completely still, the vacuum cannot reach zero energy. This impossibility is not a flaw; it is the creative power of existence.

These vibrations are the seeds of galaxies, just as subtle thoughts are seeds of personality.

3. How Energy Hides Inside the Vacuum

Now imagine pushing a beach ball underwater. The harder you try to hold it still, the more energy it stores. The moment you release it, it explodes upward. Trying to force perfect stillness creates hidden energy.

The same happens in the vacuum. When space is pushed toward perfect equilibrium, it stores tension inside itself. This hidden tension is called vacuum energy.

Sometimes the vacuum holds so much suppressed energy that it becomes unstable. This unstable condition is called a false vacuum, similar to supercooled water that remains liquid below freezing temperature but holds immense latent energy, waiting to release the moment it is disturbed.

This false vacuum is the root of cosmic inflation.

4. The Sudden Birth of Inflation

When the false vacuum could no longer sustain its unstable stillness, it snapped into a more natural and stable state—just as supercooled water instantly freezes when triggered.

This cosmic “snap” released the stored tension in an explosive expansion of space itself. Like a balloon that suddenly finds a weak spot and expands violently in one direction, the universe expanded unimaginably fast.

This era is known as cosmic inflation.

5. When Tiny Ripples Become the Architecture of Creation

Before inflation, the vacuum contained tiny quantum ripples, quiet and harmless like small waves on a still lake. But the hurricane of inflation stretched those ripples into giant waves. These waves carried different energies in different regions, becoming the blueprint of the universe.

Just as waves crashing on a shoreline sculpt beaches and carve patterns in sand, the stretched fluctuations shaped the large-scale structure of the cosmos. When inflation ended and space cooled, these amplified ripples condensed into matter, stars, galaxies, and clusters. Galaxies are, therefore, frozen echoes of the universe’s earliest vibrations.

6. The Vacuum as the Womb of Matter and Mind

If the universe can create everything from a restless vacuum, then nothing about us—neither the body nor the mind—is separate from the cosmos.

Just as galaxies existed as hidden ripples inside the dark vacuum of the early universe, our thoughts, emotions, and personality patterns exist as subtle vibrations in consciousness before they take visible form.

The “empty” vacuum is a womb, not a void. Likewise, the silent mind in yoga is not dead space but pregnant with awareness. The potential for life, thought, identity, and creativity rests in an unseen background, just as the galaxy rests in the vacuum before appearing.

7. Yogic Analogy: The Mind as a False Vacuum

In human life, our mind is never truly empty, just like the cosmic vacuum is never still. It is quantum reality. Even when we sit silently, there are subtle thoughts and impressions (saṁskāras) vibrating beneath awareness like tiny ripples.

When we force absolute thoughtlessness, we create more inner resistance—just as forcing vacuum stillness stores energy. A meditator who tries too hard to be “calm” builds hidden stress, like the universe storing energy in its false vacuum. Just as the false vacuum of the early universe suddenly released its trapped energy and burst into cosmic inflation, the human mind can also explode into giant waves of disturbance when one enters deep meditation incorrectly or forcefully. If subtle inner impressions are suppressed rather than gently observed, they accumulate tension the way vacuum energy builds up in an unstable state, and when this tension finally releases, it may erupt as emotional breakdown, hallucination, confusion, ego-inflation, or even madness. Proper dhyāna does not push the mind into silence by force; it allows the mind to settle naturally into stillness. This is why Yogic texts emphasize correct practice, clear awareness, and the guidance of a knowledgeable teacher, so that suppressed thoughts do not become cosmic-scale “mental inflation” inside the practitioner. True meditation is a relaxed descent into natural clarity, not a violent attempt to shut down the mind.

A person who suppresses emotions may appear peaceful but is inwardly packed with unprocessed impulses, just like supercooled water that looks quiet but holds explosive potential. When the mind can no longer sustain this artificial silence, it either breaks down or breaks through—snapping into deeper relaxation, tears, creativity, or insight. This moment mirrors the false vacuum collapsing into the true vacuum, triggering cosmic inflation.

However, this inner “inflation” of the mind can become controlled, creative, and deeply transformative when it unfolds correctly through proper guidance and authentic practice. Just as cosmic inflation did not destroy the universe but shaped galaxies when its energy settled naturally, meditation can expand our inner impressions into wisdom, clarity, and creativity when the mind is not forced into silence but gently allowed to open. When thoughts are released consciously instead of being suppressed, they do not explode as madness; they blossom into insight. Proper dhyāna amplifies the mind’s subtle currents in a harmonious way, turning unconscious material into awareness, confusion into understanding, and latent potential into higher intelligence. In this way, deep meditation becomes not a breakdown, but a breakthrough—an orderly expansion of consciousness that reshapes one’s inner world just as the universe evolved through cosmic inflation into magnificent structure.

This natural control of the mind arises through non-dual darśanas such as Śarīra-Vijñāna Darśan and Quantum Darśan, where the mind is not treated as a personal burden but recognized as a universal activity present in every quantum expression of existence. When our thoughts are accepted as part of the same fluctuation that exists everywhere in the cosmos, they are no longer suppressed or resisted; they gently release themselves into the inner “true vacuum” of awareness, little by little, without shock or force. In such non-dual vision, mental energy settles gradually, just as the universe relaxed out of inflation into stable structure. But when many thoughts are continuously suppressed through forced meditation or rigid control, their load keeps increasing like a building false vacuum, storing more and more tension until it bursts unpredictably as emotional breakdown, fear, ego-madness, or psychological collapse. This is the fundamental danger of suppression—its energy does not disappear; it accumulates. It is just like controlled energy release from aviation fuel that allows an airplane to fly steadily, whereas sudden, uncontrolled release of the same fuel causes explosion, fire, and destruction. In the same way, a mind guided by non-dual understanding evolves creatively, while a suppressed mind can erupt destructively.

Thus, just as the cosmic vacuum released its energy gradually to form stars and worlds, our emotional and psychological energy can also transform into clarity, awareness, and wisdom when it is allowed to release naturally instead of being forced down. When thoughts are accepted and observed without judgment, they dissolve into understanding the way cosmic tension dissolved into creation. But when the same inner energy is violently suppressed in the name of silence or control, it does not disappear—it becomes unstable, storing pressure like a false vacuum that can collapse without warning. Forced suppression may look peaceful on the surface, yet it hides dangerous intensity underneath, waiting to erupt as breakdown, confusion, fear, or madness. In the same way that gentle energy release builds galaxies while an uncontrolled explosion destroys, a relaxed, non-dual approach to the mind creates inner evolution, while forceful suppression risks psychological disaster. True meditation does not choke the mind; it liberates it.

8. The Subconscious and the Cosmic Blueprint

The tiny subconscious ripples within us, magnified during intense yoga, meditation, or life experiences, later shape our personality—similar to how quantum ripples stretched by inflation shaped galaxies.

Just as deep yoga expands old impressions and stabilizes them into clarity, the universe stretched fluctuations into cosmic structure and stabilized them into matter. Galaxies are the frozen patterns of primordial fluctuations; our personality and behavior are the frozen results of our subconscious vibrations.

Both journeys—the cosmic and the psychological—begin from restless “nothingness” that must release itself through creative expansion rather than forced silence.

9. Quantum Darśan — Consciousness as the Ground of All

The vacuum that generates the cosmos is not a dead backdrop; it is the field within which all possibilities exist, waiting to manifest. Yoga calls this ground Brahman, the silent witness behind all movement.

Quantum physics and yogic wisdom meet on the same foundation: everything in existence is a single reality expressing itself in different forms. What we call the universe is consciousness first becoming energy, that energy condensing into matter, and matter eventually organizing itself into life, brain, and mind. As awareness grows, the mind begins to recognize its source, and experience returns back into consciousness again. In this way, the same fundamental stillness expresses as vacuum, becomes the universe, evolves into living beings, and finally reflects back as thought and awareness. All forms are simply different stages of one reality unfolding and returning to itself.

Final Realization

Real stillness is not forced emptiness but natural settling.
The universe expanded to relieve its tension; awareness expands in meditation to relieve psychological tension. Creation—cosmic or personal—arises not from dead emptiness but from a fertile depth of subtle vibrations.

One-Line Essence

The cosmos and the mind both emerge from a restless emptiness that naturally transforms into creative expansion.

Chapter 25: A Simple Understanding of How We Create Our Inner World

Modern physics and Vedanta both tell us that the world we experience is not exactly the world that exists outside. Quantum physics says things exist in many possible states until interaction selects one. Vedanta says the universe created by Ishvara is one, but the world each person lives in is different. This difference comes from how our own mind and energy process the same situation.

Every moment, our mind goes through three steps. First, the subconscious picks one emotional possibility out of many. A single scene can hold fear, love, disgust, calmness, or joy. Which one we feel depends on our past experiences, tendencies, guna balance, energy flow, and the dominant chakra. This selection happens instantly and quietly. Next, the mind turns that selected possibility into an actual emotion—fear becomes anxiety, anger becomes heat, love becomes warmth, and peace becomes stillness. Finally, our intellect interprets that emotion and forms meaning, stories, and opinions. This is how our personal world is created.

Chakras play a big role in this process. Lower chakras make us collapse experiences into fear, desire, or anger. Middle chakras make us collapse experiences into love, empathy, and understanding. Higher chakras make the collapse lighter, calmer, and more detached. When the energy reaches Ajna or Sahasrara, emotional reactions become very subtle, and the person begins to witness thoughts and feelings without getting pulled into them.

Kundalini movement changes the collapse even more. When energy is low, the collapse is emotional and reactive. When energy rises to the heart and throat, collapse becomes meaningful and refined. When energy reaches the higher centers, collapse becomes quiet and almost neutral. In deep meditation or samadhi, collapse becomes extremely weak or stops completely. There is no emotional or mental coloring—only pure awareness remains.

Quantum physics supports this kind of idea at a physical level. A particle stays in many possible forms until interaction fixes it. But this does not mean we create the entire universe by observing it. Ishvara creates the physical universe. We only create our personal experience of it. Things happen outside, but our inner world forms through emotional and mental collapse inside us.

As we grow spiritually or through meditation, this collapse becomes less noisy and more peaceful. The mind reacts less. Interpretation becomes minimal. Awareness becomes clearer. In the highest state, there is no collapse at all—no emotion, no story, no reaction—only pure consciousness aware of itself.

In simple words:
We do not create the outer universe, but we continuously create the inner universe we live in.
The more balanced our energy and mind become, the more peaceful and clear this inner universe becomes, until finally it dissolves into pure awareness in samadhi.

How Balanced Chakra Energy Stops Emotional Overreaction and Leads Toward Samadhi

In everyday life, we react emotionally because one part of our inner system becomes stronger than the others. If lower chakras become active, we react with fear, anger, or hurt. If middle chakras dominate, we respond with empathy or emotional softness. If upper chakras dominate, we remain calm, clear, and unaffected. But through practices like chakra meditation, pranayama, and other yogic methods, our energy gradually spreads evenly across all chakras. When this balance happens, something very interesting occurs: no single emotional pattern becomes dominant. All emotional possibilities arise together, and because they appear at the same time, they naturally cancel each other out.

When chakra energy becomes balanced, cancellation does not mean we stop feeling emotions. In fact, we feel all emotional responses more clearly, but none of them overpower us. The emotions rise naturally, but because opposite tendencies appear together, they quickly neutralize each other. This creates a healthy inner balance where we remain aware of every emotion without getting trapped in any one of them. Yoga does not make us dull or detached from life; instead, it expands our capacity to experience. We sense fear, love, anger, compassion, clarity, and calmness all at once, but they do not disturb our inner state. This expanded emotional umbrella allows us to enjoy the world more deeply while staying free from entanglement. In this sense, yoga helps us live fully, feel everything, respond intelligently, and yet remain centered and unaffected. This natural neutrality is what gradually leads toward inner peace and eventually toward samadhi.

This means the mind does not fall into one fixed reaction. It doesn’t collapse into only fear, only anger, only love, or only logic. Instead, all these tendencies stay balanced. This creates an inner state where emotional reactions lose their force, and the mind remains steady and neutral. In this balanced condition, awareness becomes spacious and calm because nothing inside pulls the mind strongly in any direction. This is why the experience begins to feel like samadhi—quiet, open, and free from emotional disturbance.

For example, if someone insults us, an unbalanced system reacts from whichever chakra is strongest at that moment. Lower chakras produce hurt or anger. Middle chakras produce understanding or softness. Upper chakras produce calm detachment. But if all chakras are balanced, the lower and middle reactions rise together and neutralize each other. What remains is the clarity and calmness of the higher centers. The result is that the person does not feel shaken, and the mind stays peaceful.

In simple terms, balanced chakra energy prevents the mind from collapsing into one emotional pattern, and when no single collapse is favored, the mind naturally becomes still. This stillness is the doorway to samadhi. When the mind does not cling to any specific reaction or outcome, inner freedom appears on its own. This is the essence of why balanced energy leads to calmness, clarity, and eventually glimpses of real samadhi.

Chapter 24: When the Atom Dissolves the Ego

The exploration that began with matter and moved towards the self now reaches another doorway. Matter has been seen not as something separate but as a reflection of the self. The body has been observed not as a lifeless machine but as a field of consciousness woven through atoms, molecules, tissues, and energies. Now comes the most delicate and mysterious turn in this journey, where the very atom itself reveals the illusion of doership and quietly melts the ego away.

Every atom is endlessly active. Within it, protons and neutrons are bound in ceaseless dance, while electrons whirl around with unimaginable speed. Yet in all this activity, never does an atom declare, “I am the doer.” There is no self-assertion in its functioning. It simply acts because action is woven into its nature. The atom never claims ownership of creation, and yet without it, nothing can move. In this silent humility of the atom lies a mirror for the human being. The body, built of countless atoms, also functions in the same way. Breath rises and falls, blood circulates, thoughts appear and fade, but nowhere within does the body say, “I am the thinker.” Thoughts are not manufactured by the body; they are ripples in the vast lake of mind.

Ancient wisdom had already noticed this truth. In the Gita it is said that the gunas act upon the gunas. Forces of nature act upon forces of nature. Fire burns because it is the nature of fire to burn, wind blows because it is the nature of wind to move. Likewise, actions emerge from the body and mind because it is their nature to act. The witnessing consciousness remains untouched. The illusion of ego is nothing but the mind’s mistaken identification with this flow of actions. Ego believes, “I am doing,” whereas in truth action is happening through the gunas, just as rain falls or a flower blossoms.

Science, too, has begun to echo the same insight in its own language. Physics shows that before any particle is observed, it exists in superposition, holding many possibilities together. Only in the moment of observation does one outcome collapse into being. In the same way, before a thought arises, the mind is filled with infinite possibilities. Each thought is like a quantum collapse, a crystallization from the field of potential into the world of form. Prior to thought, there is only a vast dark stillness, a zero point where every possibility cancels itself by its opposite, leaving nothing but unexpressed energy. This state of unmanifest mind is experienced in meditation as a deep darkness, an ocean without ripples.

When one emerges from samadhi, there is often no immediate storm of thoughts. First, the still energy is felt, like a dark silence holding everything within it. Only afterwards does the chain of thoughts begin to rise, one by one, each collapse giving birth to the next. Ancient yogic language called this process vyutthana, the return of the mind from samadhi. The modern physicist calls it the movement from superposition to collapse. The meaning is the same: from pure potential arises form, from silence arises sound, from stillness arises motion.

During meditation, scattered traces of thoughts may appear like clouds on a clear sky. The seeker need not fight them. Simply allowing them to pass keeps the mind open to the vast akarnava, the boundless ocean beyond. Sometimes a gentle mental chanting of akarnava itself helps link the mind with this endlessness. And when thoughts grow heavy, the ancient method of neti neti offers a simple key. Neti means “not this.” At intervals, when a thought appears, it is quietly dissolved by remembering, “not this, not this.” The thought fades back into the void. Yet even this practice must remain subtle, for if repeated without pause, it turns mechanical and loses its power. Used occasionally, it creates sudden dips into stillness, where breath slows and relaxation deepens.

In deeper meditation, when the awareness is extended to the entire sitting body, something extraordinary is noticed. The body itself becomes a gateway to the cosmos. Every chakra within the body is a hidden archive of universal patterns. Within the heart lie echoes of cosmic emotions, within the throat the seeds of all expression, within the brow the visions of countless worlds. When the whole body is kept in gentle notice, the entire cosmos hidden within begins to open. Thoughts connected with the universe itself may arise, only to dissolve in the same silence.

Yet sometimes meditation feels blocked. Energy stuck at certain chakras creates a sensation of suffocation or heaviness. Breath automatically begins to focus on that region as if the body is trying to heal itself. This is not for oxygen but for prana, the subtle energy required by that chakra. Until these blockages are released, meditation remains shallow. Breathlessness is the sign of release. When, after working through the chakras, breath is naturally held at the end of inhalation or exhalation, a depth opens where suffocation disappears. The once-blocked chakra now feels free, or at least so subtle in its lack that it cannot stop the energy from rising. From this breathless stillness, meditation enters its deepest flow.

Actually, after mastering prāṇa through repeated yoga practice, one can hold the breath at will and focus on an energy-deficient chakra. That chakra then feels “hungry” for breath, producing a sharp, suffocating sensation. In reality, it is not hunger for air; it is hunger for prāṇa. When attention is placed on that sensation, the energy in the suṣumṇā naturally floods that chakra and satisfies it, even while the breath remains stopped or nearly absent. When all the chakras become fully nourished with prāṇa, a breathless and deeply satisfied state appears, which is wonderful and naturally leads to a mindless dhyāna-like stillness.

Seen in this light, the discoveries of Sanatan Dharma appear less as religious imagination and more as profound quantum insights in disguise. The sages saw that everything in existence is conscious in its own way, and thus they worshipped every element as divine. Stones, rivers, trees, animals, all were held as manifestations of the same conscious field. Idols and mandalas were not superstitions but symbolic mirrors to the cosmic order hidden within the atom and within the self. Today, quantum scientists too are beginning to wonder if consciousness itself plays a role in the collapse of possibilities into one outcome. The ancient and the modern are slowly meeting on the same ground.

Science shows the structure. Biology reveals the process. Matter, in its endless forms, presents the illusion of separation. But Sharirvigyan Darshan, the direct seeing of the body as a field of consciousness, dissolves ego through pure vision. In this vision, it becomes clear that the self is not an atom, not a cell, not a body. The self is the field in which all these arise and into which they dissolve. Ego may pretend to be the doer, but the atom has no such illusion. Ego may take ownership of thought, but thought itself is only a quantum ripple arising from silence.

The final freedom is nothing dramatic. It is the melting of ego, the end of false ownership. When this happens, silence itself shines forth, not as something achieved but as something that was always there. The self remains, untouched, unbroken, ever luminous. The journey through atoms, body, mind, and cosmos ends where it began, in the pure witnessing that needs no name.

Thus the story comes full circle. The human being entered the investigation thinking of himself as a separate doer and knower. He examined matter, cells, energies, and mind. He discovered that the atom does not claim doership, the body does not think, the mind does not own thoughts. The gunas act upon the gunas, and he is only the witness. In that recognition, the atom dissolved the ego. The silence behind all action became visible. That silence is the self, radiant and free.

And here ends the adventure of Sharirvigyan Darshan as Quantum Darshan, not in noise but in a quiet flowering. When the atom is seen as innocent of doership, the ego cannot survive. When the body is seen as a field of energies, the mind cannot cling. When thought is seen as a ripple in the quantum ocean, the self shines as the boundless sky. This is the final realization, simple and astonishing: the self was never hidden, only the illusion of doership covered it. With its melting, the journey finds its destination, and the seeker finds himself where he always was—free, silent, eternal.

Awareness at the Anahata Chakra – Healing Through the Goddess Within

I began my yoga practice at 5 a.m. today. The air was still, mind silent, and body ready. After spinal breathing, I moved through guru-given yoga and my own selected set, including chakra meditation from top to bottom — without holding breath. These days I avoid breath-holding to prevent excess head pressure. Yet I’ve realized there’s no real need to fear it; the head has an incredible capacity to bear and balance the force of prana.

Once, during a dream-state gastric uprising, I experienced immense head pressure, momentary choking, and a transient rise in blood pressure — but the body adjusted beautifully. It reminded me that a well-practiced body knows how to balance itself. So, my preparatory yogic routine continued for about an hour and a half — enough to create the internal yogic pressure required for launching into dhyana.

I know this yogic pressure is temporary. It gradually dissolves into the luminosity of dhyana, just like gas slowly burning out from an LPG cylinder. And when that inner fuel finishes, the practitioner naturally returns from dhyana — first through strong internal contractions from lower to upper area of body backside as to facilitate the movement of energy in the three main spinal channels, followed by the gradual deepening of breath. When the breath returns to normal, the eyes open by themselves. The same happened today.

During dhyana, Vajrasana again gave an excellent starting response. Subtle breathing began automatically at the Ajna Chakra and continued for quite long. Yet all along, I felt a kind of sexually blissful senation at the Anahata Chakra. I was including this bliss within my Ajna-to-Muladhara meditation line, so both centers — Ajna and Anahata — were simultaneously satisfied. No other centres seemed power hungry. Later, I shifted my dhyana solely to Anahata. The awareness deepened there, but the main purpose of dhyana — the realization of Shunya (void) — was not completely fulfilled there. So, I again combined both Ajna and Anahata awareness together.

I recall a Kriya Yoga expert once said that “spinal meditation alone can’t grant liberation.” He emphasized that Ajna Chakra meditation includes the whole spinal system. Today, I understood his point deeply — indeed, every chakra of the backbone is reflected within Ajna. Yet, even knowing this, my sensational awareness remained localized at the rear Anahata Chakra, unwilling to move elsewhere, although breathing awareness was on agya chakra.

Yesterday my focus was at Vishuddhi Chakra, where I had a throat infection. That infection cleared today, but the infection and along with it the energy had descended to the chest. This shows how sensitively these inner sensations mirror physical conditions — a subtle diagnostic test and often a healing mechanism. Still, medicines nowadays help more directly, supporting this inner process. In ancient times, diagnosis and healing through awareness given the form of the Goddess held prime importance, as there were not so many worldly facilities available.

As I visualized the Goddess at the Anahata, the rising sexual bliss from the Muladhara seemed to empower Her presence. I could faintly see Her fighting demons — symbolic of microorganisms — within my chest. It felt as if the Anahata Chakra itself had become a Lingam, the real blissful lingam now manifesting only there.

After about thirty minutes, when my legs cramped, I slowly shifted to Sukhasana, minimizing body movement while keeping awareness rooted at Ajna to avoid breaking dhyana. I then sat for another hour, not breaking earlier feeling that Shakti was healing my heart center and its connected tissues.

Towards the end, a magnificent experience unfolded — a clear perception of Shunya, more radiant than yesterday. It felt as though I was seeing the infinite sky directly above, though my head was hardly tilted upward.

Reflections:
The heart center feels open today — calm, luminous, and healing. The Shakti there is gentle yet profound. Awareness no longer seems confined to a point but spread like the sky itself. Every breath now feels like a hymn in the temple of the heart. Moreover, I was quite busy intellectually yesterday, so it seems that heavy intellectual work facilitates dhyana; however, it can also take a toll on the body’s health.

Diwali Week: A Yogi’s Practical Insights Through Temple Experiences

This Diwali week, after a long journey, I visited my ancestral home and stayed there for several days. It was a joyful time — being again with family, relatives, and friends, celebrating the festival of lights in full enthusiasm. Yet along with the outer joy, many new practical yogic experiences unfolded naturally.

I was so involved in the living flow of the festival — meeting people, travelling, helping family, and feeling the spirit of Diwali — that I could not write them down then. But within those days, in between the busy movements, I received sharp insights that no book or teaching could give. These experiences came in the most natural settings — especially when I got moments of solitude inside the city temples while my family was shopping nearby.

Day 1 – Durga–Bhairav Temple: The Dual Anchor of Meditation

On the first day, after dropping my family at a city shopping complex, I went straight to a Durga temple.
There, in front of the large and powerful idol of Maa Durga, I sat in padmāsana. The moment I closed my eyes, deep stillness descended. Soon, the breath became effortless — almost absent — and I entered Kevala Kumbhak, the natural breathless dhyāna.

At intervals, I opened my eyes and looked at the idol. Every single glance into the serene face of Durga instantly deepened the state again, as if the outer image was helping the inner form stabilize. The image remained alive even after closing the eyes, glowing vividly in the mental screen — not as imagination, but as a living vibration.

In front of Durga’s idol was a smaller statue of Bhairav. When the attention slightly tired or mind became neutral, I gazed at Bhairav’s image instead. Strangely, his gaze and energy acted as another anchor, rekindling the stillness from a different polarity — sharp, grounding, and stabilizing.

Thus, I discovered a beautiful rhythm: when Durga’s compassionate presence began to feel saturated, I turned to Bhairav’s fierce calmness; when that too reached a plateau, I returned to Durga.
It was like alternating currents of Shakti and Shiva, feminine and masculine energy, balancing and sustaining each other — a living demonstration of Ardhanārīśvara tattva.

Perhaps this is the deeper reason why Durga and Bhairav idols are placed together in many temples. For ordinary devotees, it represents protection and blessing. But for a yogi, it becomes a direct energetic mechanism — allowing both polarities of consciousness to support dhyāna.
The ordinary mind may see the idol as an object, but the yogic mind perceives it as a mirror of consciousness.

I realized that idols (pratimā) are not merely symbolic or devotional aids — they are scientific instruments of meditation. For a sincere meditator, the benefit is immediate and measurable: the mind falls into stillness the very moment one connects with the living image. That is direct proof, not belief.

Others, who approach idols only through tradition or emotion, also receive benefits, though subtler and delayed. But to a real yogi, the result is instant — the statue becomes alive, the mind becomes no-mind.

Evening – Shulini Sister Temple: The Silent Pindi and the Deep Breathless Stillness

In the evening of the same day, when my family again went for shopping, I visited Shulini Mata’s sister temple.
The environment was deeply sattvic like earlier temple: gentle movement of people, occasional ringing of the temple bell, mantra chants from distant devotees, the fragrance of burning incense, oil lamps glowing in rows, and from time to time, the conch sound from the priest echoing through the hall.
Each element seemed perfectly tuned to draw the consciousness inward.

The main deity was not a fully personified idol but a stone pindi — a simple mound of stone representing the goddess. Silver eyes were fixed on it, with tiny black dots marking the pupils, and a nose faintly carved in the middle. Despite this simplicity, or perhaps because of it, the image radiated immense power.

As I sat before it, the same Kevala Kumbhak arose again naturally — effortless, spontaneous, and prolonged. The experience was even deeper than in the morning. I remained in vajrāsana for forty-five minutes to an hour. My legs went numb, yet the body felt weightless, pain absent. Awareness remained centered, breath minimal, mind absorbed in the living vibration of the pindi.

That evening, I learned that personification is not necessary for divine connection. Even a symbolic form — if approached in stillness — can become a complete doorway to samādhi.
What matters is the state of mind, not the complexity of the idol.

Day 2 – Shani Temple and Saraswati Painting: The Spontaneous Prāṇāyāma Emerges

The next day, while on the way to relatives’ home, my family again stopped for shopping. I dropped them out of the car, parked it safely, and started searching for a new temple — a change that could help me enter deeper dhyāna again without feeling bored. It made me realize that the more temples there are, the better it is for a seeker; one can keep visiting different temples daily and repeat the cycle once all have been covered. This means it is good, both socially and economically, to build as many temples as possible. That is exactly why we see countless temples in pilgrimage towns. Some people may ask, “Why so many? Why not just one?” But human likings differ — just as there are many kinds of sweets, not only one. The same principle applies here. I found a Shani temple nearby and decided to sit there for a while. The main sanctum was closed, but on the outer wall was a small painting of Goddess Saraswati. I sat on the cool marble floor and used that painting as my dhyāna anchor. As concentration deepened, something remarkable happened: effortless rhythmic breaths began — not forced, not practiced, but arising on their own. Each inbreath was imperceptible; each outbreath carried a subtle sound — like a soft, continuous “gharr” vibration, resembling bhrāmarī prāṇāyāma but much subtler and self-born.

The awareness stayed steady, and the breath pattern continued automatically — a clear reminder that real prāṇāyāma is spontaneous, not mechanical.

Scriptures mention countless types of prāṇāyāma and their benefits, but the essence is often misunderstood. The yogi who practices Kundalinī Yoga eventually discovers that these classical prāṇāyāmas are natural by-products of inner awakening — not techniques to be imitated but symptoms of true meditative absorption.

When energy begins to move naturally through the channels (nāḍīs), prāṇa itself reshapes the breathing pattern according to the need of inner transformation. Trying to imitate these states from scriptures — without the foundation of dhyāna — may give some outer sensations, but they are superficial.
Such imitation can even give illusion of attainment — a feeling that one has mastered all prāṇāyāma — while in truth, the deeper awakening remains untouched.

Therefore, one must understand that the real prāṇāyāma of the scriptures refers to the spontaneous phenomenon arising during deep kundalinī sādhanā, not the deliberate breathing exercises often mistaken for it. I don’t know, but perhaps these superficial forms of prāṇāyāma gradually lead to deeper dhyāna, either in a worldly or spiritual way. One may also become accustomed to them, so that when spontaneous prāṇāyāma arises naturally, it doesn’t come as a shock. Therefore, even these external practices should be taken positively.

Summary Insight

Across all these temple experiences, one truth became clearer:

  • Idols, images, and symbols are not only external aids but also living focal points for consciousness.
  • The feminine and masculine energies (Durga–Bhairav) act alternately to balance the mind.
  • The form of deity — whether human-like or abstract — is secondary; the stillness it invokes is the real prāṇa.
  • True prāṇāyāma, like true samādhi, happens naturally in the state of inner silence.

These few days of Diwali brought me both family joy and spiritual refinement. I returned back with a deep gratitude — for the divine presence that works through simple images, through silence, through breathless stillness, and even through the seemingly ordinary circumstances of daily life.

In this way, the festival of light truly became a festival of inner illumination.

Riding Over Sleep

The very next day, my sleep broke at 2:30 a.m. I left the bed and sat on the ground in asana. The breath was agitated but not as rocket-like as the previous day. After trying for an hour, I did yogasana for the next half hour, followed by spinal breathing. Then I again tried dhyana for an hour — no success, though the witnessing of buried thoughts continued with a sense of bliss. But how can the mind be satisfied with that once it has tasted the deep breathless dhyana?

Afterwards, I ate a bowl of khichari, a ripe apple, and some herbal tea. However, the herbal tea, being strong, caused a little acidity, so I decided not to use it in a strong ratio in the future. Then I sat again for half an hour, but there was not much improvement. The morning light has grown outside. After that, I did chakra meditation on each chakra. A blissful yogic pressure arose, and I felt dhyana ripening. There was some throat obstruction, so I did jala neti. At various moments during the entire sitting since beginning, pranic energy was rushing upward.

Then deep dhyana launched — the breath became very shallow, and there was a partial entry into pure awareness. For a moment or two, the breath stopped completely, with total merging into pure awareness, but it was too transient. Suddenly, the face of a man seemingly practicing distorted tantra appeared with a strange, cursing expression—though silent, it felt as if he were speaking ill behind my back. This vision dislodged me from that dhyana despite my attempt to remain unaffected.

A new understanding emerged — Dictatorial control, even if positive in intent, should not be held in mind toward such selfstyle people. The amazing thing is that it becomes little bit difficult to reopen the pranic channels and flow energy inside them even after just a few days of yogic inactivity or worldly involvement, or both. Moreover, sexual energy had also been drained away to clean and freshly refill the reservoir. This, too, had slightly slowed the upward movement of energy. Truly, successful yoga depends on many positive contributing factors, not just one. Each factor adds gradually, culminating in a unified whole. Like bricks coming together to build a sturdy home, all these elements combine to create the full structure of yoga practice. Let us now pick up the formal yoga blog next.

Riding Over Sleep

There’s something I keep noticing — sleep and yoga feel almost the same sometimes. When I sit quietly, some people around me say I’m not meditating, just sitting and pretending while actually dozing off. They don’t know how thin that line really is.

In a jagrata, during an all-night bhajan or kirtan for Mata or Shiva, something similar happens. You ride on the wave of sleep instead of letting it swallow you. The body is tired, but you don’t collapse. You stay alert through music, rhythm, and devotion. Slowly the boundary between waking and sleep melts. If you manage to stay aware at that edge, you touch a state that feels like Nirvikalpa — awareness without thought, just stillness watching itself. However if one is highly tired, he may sleep too while sitting in meditation pose. Moreover, it is better to meditate at a sufficient distance from such kirtans; otherwise, the loudspeaker’s sound can be disturbing. However, it should still be faintly audible so that its sattvic vibrations can have an uplifting and purifying influence.

Spiritually it makes sense. The repetition of divine names and surrender quiets the usual noise of the mind. Consciousness stays bright though the body is dull. You hover right between wake and sleep — the thin doorway the scriptures call Turiya, the state behind waking, dream, and deep sleep.

Even physiologically it fits. Chanting soothes the nerves, slows the breath, and keeps you relaxed but awake. Sleep pressure builds, yet rhythm and emotion don’t let you slip into full sleep. The brain rests while awareness stands guard — a soft, glowing balance that scientists call a hypnagogic state, and yogis call bliss.

So yes, jagrata can really open that doorway if the inner condition is right. Not everyone reaches Nirvikalpa through it, but the path runs that way.

The Mandukya Upanishad describes this beautifully. It speaks of four states — waking (jagrat), dream (svapna), deep sleep (sushupti), and the fourth one, Turiya. The first three come and go, but Turiya stays untouched. When you are at that sleepy edge during bhajan yet remain aware, you are already brushing Turiya.

Yoga Vasistha echoes the same truth. Sage Vasistha tells Rama that a wise person “sleeps even while awake and is awake even while asleep.” It means a yogi’s awareness doesn’t blink, no matter what the body does. What ordinary people call rest becomes conscious rest for the yogi. The body may be half asleep, yet awareness shines quietly. This is Yoga Nidra or Jagrat Sushupti — wakeful deep sleep, the art of riding over sleep instead of sinking into it.

Now, look at it through the Kundalini–Tantra eye. The state between waking and sleep — jagrat sushupti sandhi — is where prana turns inward. Usually energy flows outward through senses. In sleep it withdraws, but awareness also fades. If, by mantra or kirtan or still meditation, awareness stays awake while energy turns inward, you catch the serpent of sleep consciously — that’s Kundalini entering Sushumna, the central channel. This edge is the real turiya-dwara, the doorway to the fourth state.

During long chanting or meditation, breath evens out, emotions settle, Ida and Pingala — the left and right flows — come into balance, and Sushumna opens. Energy that once fed thoughts now rises upward. When awareness is pure and surrendered, it merges into silent consciousness — Nirvikalpa-like stillness. When awareness wavers, it still brings a wave of bliss or devotion, though not full samadhi.

Tantra says nothing is to be rejected, not even sleep. “Whatever binds you can liberate you, when seen rightly.” Even sleepiness can help if you meet it consciously. At that edge, Muladhara energy melts upward, the Ajna and Sahasrara light up. A tired body with wakeful awareness is fertile ground for spontaneous samadhi. That’s why many saints reached awakening through music, love, and surrender rather than severe austerity — their prana rose gently, effortlessly.

If you learn to watch yourself at the point where waking becomes sleep and stay aware with devotion or mantra, that small passage turns royal — it takes you straight toward Turiya. Nothing to force, nothing to do, just don’t fall unconscious.

The same energy that pulls you into sleep can, when met with awareness, lift you into samadhi.

It all began from a simple feeling that yoga and sleep seem alike. Yet behind that simple resemblance hides a deep secret — both touch the same doorway. In jagrata or devotional wakefulness, sleep stops being an enemy. It becomes a wave to ride — one that can carry you beyond waking and dream into that luminous stillness where only awareness itself remains.

When Sleepiness Became Dhyana

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoga Nidra, Breathless Dhyana, and Turiya—One Thread

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

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

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

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

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

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

When Turiya Is Seen

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Understanding Now

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

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

And that awareness, once seen, never completely leaves.