Tag: mindfulness

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Another option is to start hoarding better-quality material, which automatically displaces the old and outdated hoardings.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 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.

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.

My Inner Dussehra

✨🙏 Happy Dussehra 🙏✨
May this day remind us that just as Lord Rama conquered Ravana, we too can conquer the Ravanas within—ego, doubt, and restlessness—and let them merge into the light of awareness. Wishing you and your family joy, strength, and the victory of truth over all that holds us back. 🌸🔥🌿

Today, on Dussehra, I woke up early around 4 am and sat for dhyāna. The breath was fast, the mind restless, but I chose not to interfere. I just allowed it to flow and kept watching like a witness. After some time, when the sitting felt uneventful, I stood up for water and herbal tea. Once refreshed, I sat again but still no stability came. Then I turned to cleansing practices—jal neti and gajkarni. The water that had slipped into the throat, I drew back up through the nose to clear it. A few sneezes followed, and then with kapalbhati and anulom vilom I dried the remaining water passages. Gentle neck tilts and shoulder rotations released the stiffness.

After this preparation, I again sat for meditation. This time, the mind settled quickly. Breathlessness deepened and I found myself resting in pure awareness, like Narayana in the vast ocean of ekarnava. For half an hour, there was a depth filled with bliss. Later, when family called me to get ready for a visit to the city, I moved from that deepness back into a witnessing state. Breath became minimal, almost absent, while thoughts arose and merged one by one into pure awareness—just like Ravana’s heads burning and dissolving into Rama’s light.

It felt as if my Dussehra had been celebrated inwardly before the outer festival. The inner Ravana—restless thoughts and subtle ego—was burned and offered into the inner Rama—pure awareness and bliss. Standing up, I felt fresh and ready for worldly duties, yet carried within the fragrance of this inner victory.

Festivals hold meanings much deeper than rituals and celebrations. When seen inwardly, they become reminders of our own inner journey, of the battles we fight silently, and of the joy of transformation that blesses not only us but also those around us.

Enhancing Dhyana through Yogic Cleansing Techniques

Recently, I noticed that after performing rubber neti, a distinct sensation persisted along my left nostril passage. When I sat down for dhyana and focused on this sensation, my breath felt partially suspended, and I could observe subtle internal responses. I had also done vastra dhauti, and together these practices led me into a wonderful state of kevala kumbhaka during dhyana. This shows that such cleansing techniques truly support meditation. This heightened sensitivity is likely connected to the internal awareness cultivated through yoga and pranayama practices.

Later, during Vastra Dhauti, I ingested a full-length gauze bandage of about one and a half feet, though I captured its end carefully with my hand to ensure safety. Unlike earlier experiences where I felt resistance from the lower esophageal sphincter, this time it came out easily when I pulled it. I reflected on why the sphincter’s grip was different this time. Physiologically, sphincter tone naturally varies due to factors like relaxation, digestion, hydration, and nervous system state. From a yogic perspective, classical texts describe the resistance as the body’s natural “gate” holding impurities, which can reduce as the body becomes cleansed and the channels more open.

I also considered recent influences on my internal state. About fifteen hours earlier, I had consumed a beverage containing a small percentage of green tea along with herbal components. That night, I experienced strong GERD with momentary suffocation during sleep. The combination of caffeine, catechins, and acidic foods like sour lassi and curry likely contributed to LES relaxation, increased stomach acid, and heightened sensitivity to reflux. Even sleeping with my head elevated 20–25% did not fully prevent the episode, highlighting that LES tone, residual acid, and heightened internal awareness can overpower positional benefits.

This experience reinforced my observation that prana-raising yoga can heighten sensitivity to GERD. Pranayama, Kundalini, and other prana-focused practices modulate the autonomic nervous system — often increasing vagal tone and at times sympathetic activity. These shifts can contribute to transient relaxations of the lower esophageal sphincter and, combined with heightened interoceptive awareness from yoga, may make sensations such as reflux more noticeable. Even a standard wait period of three to three and a half hours after meals does not always prevent reflux for someone with heightened sensitivity. That is why, in Yoga, cleansing techniques such as Vaman and Dhauti are prescribed — they help purify the digestive tract and may indirectly support functions like those of the LES.

I have clearly found that Keval Kumbhak Dhyana helps reduce GERD and gastritis. When I lie down to sleep in a bad mood, feeling bored or stressfully tired, acid often rises, burning my esophagus and throat, and even eroding my teeth. But when I sit for Keval Kumbhak Dhyana, I become cool and refreshed. After such practice, I notice that during subsequent evening or night sleep, acid reflux does not occur. This clearly proves that deep dhyana reduces stress and promotes healthy forward gut motility. I also feel an increase in appetite after dhyana. It means that easy and calm yoga, without strenuous or rapid energy shifts, is better in this condition.

GERD is primarily caused by transient lower esophageal sphincter relaxations (TLESRs), which are neurogenic reflexes mediated through the vagus nerve in the parasympathetic system. Excess vagal activation, often triggered by gastric distension or autonomic shifts, is what induces these relaxations. Constant sympathetic dominance by itself does not usually cause GERD, but it can impair esophageal clearance, slow digestion, and heighten stress-related sensitivity to symptoms, making reflux episodes feel worse. Thus, it is the dynamic shifts and imbalances between parasympathetic and sympathetic activity—rather than a single constant state—that underlie both the occurrence of reflux and the way it is perceived. So, it’s really over-activation or imbalance (too much of either, or rapid shifts between the two) that creates the problem — not their normal physiological levels. In yoga, however, the deliberate play of the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems may often cause surges in either and rapid shifts between both states, which explains why heightened awareness of reflux can occur during intense prana-raising practices. However in yoga, both mechanisms can play a role — sometimes it’s just heightened awareness of normal reflux, and sometimes the practice itself can physiologically trigger reflux through vagal reflexes, abdominal pressure, or autonomic shifts.

I also explored alternatives to reduce such effects while retaining benefits. Non-caffeinated or decaffeinated green tea provides the antioxidants and catechins of green tea without stimulating the nervous system or relaxing the sphincter excessively. Choosing decaf blends or herbal infusions allows for the health benefits without aggravating GERD, making them more compatible with yogic cleansing practices.

Finally, I considered a safety protocol for Vastra Dhauti after reflux-prone days: waiting 24 hours after acidic or caffeinated foods, checking stomach comfort, ensuring well-lubricated gauze, maintaining upright posture, breathing calmly, observing LES response, and monitoring for soreness or burning afterward. This cautious approach, combined with attention to diet, posture, and timing of prana-raising practices, helps sustain the benefits of yogic cleansing while minimizing discomfort or risk.

My Journey Through Sharirvigyan Darshan, Tantric Kundalini, and Self-Realization

Friends, this is one of my favorite posts, deeply experiential in nature and reflective of my lifetime spiritual journey. Ever since I began exploring meditation, I noticed a subtle yet profound distinction between thought-based contemplation and the deeper, formless stillness of awareness. Raman Maharshi often said it is better to engage in neti-neti or non-dual contemplation, yet I realized that these experiences — as blissful as they were — were still transient. Nirvikalpa samadhi, on the other hand, creates chidakash or ekarnava, a stillness that abides for longer periods, whereas contemplation alone only gives fleeting glimpses.

Eventually, I understood that to sustain even the transient experiences of ekarnava, one has to embrace breathlessness. Before I experienced keval kumbhak, even after Kundalini awakening, self-realization, and non-dual awareness through sharirvigyan darshan, I could not fully comprehend thoughtless awareness. Yet I had immense bliss, rest, satisfaction, and a feeling of completeness — all connected to subtle thought. I realized that bliss and non-duality connected with thought could not reach the final state of fully thoughtlessness.

This led me to a subtle but important insight: after self-realization and Kundalini awakening, and even sharirvigyan darshan, one can attempt to reach breath stillness more quickly, because the ego is already weakened and the body-prana system more prepared. In the same way, Ramana Maharshi had cautioned against forceful breath control without inner maturity. He emphasized that natural keval kumbhak arises only when the mind and ego are ready. Forceful suppression might temporarily quiet thoughts, but it does not destroy the ego and can create strain or attachment.

In my observation, thought stillness slows the breath but does not stop it sufficiently or for long periods, whereas breath stillness immediately calms the mind and lasts longer. This is because thought is like waves on the lake’s surface — you can quiet them, but the lake still moves underneath. Breath, however, is like the spring feeding the lake: if the source of movement stops, the surface cannot ripple. This shows why prana stillness (keval kumbhak) is far more decisive for sustained thoughtless awareness.

Ramana Maharshi often said, “Mind and breath arise from the same source. To still one is to still the other.” Ego is the hidden source of both. When the ego weakens, prana settles naturally; when prana is still, the mind has no fuel for thought. In deep states, breath is the shadow of the ego. This simply means that in ordinary, laborious worldly activities, breath reflects not only the ego but also the need for oxygen. During deep meditation without ego, the breath itself fades, and awareness abides in pure stillness — the chidakash or ekarnava.

I noticed subtle variations in breath depending on ego orientation. Unequal inspiration and expiration reveal ego tendencies:

  • Longer inspiration reflects inward, self-centered attention.
  • Longer expiration reflects outward, world-centered attention.

This aligns with the ida–pingala–sushumna play in yogic physiology:

  • Ida (left, inward) → longer inhalation → self-absorption.
  • Pingala (right, outward) → longer exhalation → outer engagement.
  • Balance in breath → equilibrium between ida and pingala → sushumna activation → mind quiets → doorway to sustained stillness. That is why it is said that when breath flows equally through the left and right nostrils, dhyana becomes fixed quickly. This is because equal inhalation and exhalation balance each other, leading to a natural stillness of breath.
  • The up-and-down movements of the breath reflect both the vertical and left-right movements of Ida and Pingala: up for the left, down for the right. Actually, Ida Nadi feels more inclined toward inhalation or upward breath movement, while Pingala feels more inclined toward exhalation or downward breath movement.It is amazing. The left nostril activating Ida does create a subtle left-side dominance in energy, and right nostril activating Pingala creates right-side dominance.

Even a single complete breath moves awareness up and down: inhalation lifts consciousness inward or upward, exhalation spreads it outward or downward. Prolonged breathing keeps awareness oscillating. Only when prana rests in sushumna, in natural breathlessness, does awareness remain steady. Sushumna means that the breath is neither moving up nor down, but stays in the center; it is neither in the left nor the right, but centrally aligned—this corresponds to the breathless state, or Kevala Kumbhaka. Breathing through the left nostril brings the sensation of the breath moving through the left side of the body and more upward, and breathing through the right nostril brings the sensation of the breath passing through the right side and more downward. When there is no breathing, it is self understood that the breath is flowing neither through the left nor the right nostril, neither upward nor downward. When there is no left-right sensation, it is self-evident that the breath is central, along the midline of the body or through the backbone. The sensation also confirms this. Along with it, when there is no up-down movement in the breathless state, the breath is understood to be in the central line, precisely at the midpoint of that line. “No up-down movement” does not imply prana is physically fixed at the midpoint; it means prana is static along the central channel. Feeling it at the midpoint is a perceptual focus, not a literal physical location. It is amazing psychology and terminology, sometimes confusing too. At first, I used to think of Sushumna as a special type of heavenly breath, never imagining a breathless state for a living being, but my experience now shows otherwise. This is why destroying ego, reducing breath oscillations, and balancing breath are crucial. Ego is notorious in producing duality. Yet, with sharirvigyan darshan, the ego feels hurt — the body is revealed as a non-dual, ego-less and detached living system, not as “me,” and that hurt is purification, loosening the ego’s grip.

In a nutshell, Keval Kumbhak (breath stillness) and Sushumna breathing are synonymous. Both are highly praised in the scriptures and regarded as the direct doorway to liberation as well as the source of supernatural powers. Yet, liberation itself is the supreme power — beyond all others. Strictly speaking, Sushumna breathing (when ida and pingla flows are equal) prepares the ground and naturally matures into Keval Kumbhak, so the two are inseparably linked stages rather than exactly the same.

When breath flows equally through both nostrils, it shows that Idā and Piṅgalā are balanced and prāṇa is entering the Sushumnā, creating the right state for meditation; when this deepens, the breath may stop on its own without effort—this is Keval Kumbhak, the natural peak of Sushumnā flow where prāṇa is fully absorbed and the yogi rests in stillness.

The insight of sharirvigyan darshan was a turning point for me. I realized why I was drawn toward Tantric Kundalini Yoga after practising it consistently: in Tantra, contemplation or thinking, beautification, care, respect, and love toward the body are of prime importance—just as in Sharirvigyan Darshan—thus both complementing each other at both the physical and spiritual levels, leading to progressive development. It is another amazement. The cells of the body live without claiming doership of work or enjoyment, so why should I? This shook the ego profoundly, and freed prana or energy for meditation. Sharirvigyan darshan gave me a contemplative base — a rational, embodied insight — while Tantric Kundalini Yoga liberated my world-entangled energy, allowing me to offer it to the meditation image. This image, nourished by freed prana, awakened and became alive before me, not just a mental visualization. That living image led to glimpse of self-realization.

The sequence of my journey — Darshan → Energy Release → Image Awakening → Realization — mirrors the Tantric map of jñāna-śakti (knowledge), icchā-śakti (will), kriyā-śakti (action), and śakti (energy/awakening):

  1. Sharirvigyan darshan gave me knowledge.
  2. My choice to pursue Tantric Kundalini Yoga provided will. Although it originated itself through practice of sharirvigyan darshan. It is the most amazing part. In majority of scriptures, will is forced that seldom succeeds.
  3. The practice itself — offering energy to the meditation image — was action.
  4. The awakened image and glimpse of Self-realization was the manifested energy, śakti.

This phenomenon is interpreted differently in various traditions:

  • Tantra sees the image awakening as divine Shakti appearing in form, a sacred manifestation.
  • Advaita Vedānta regards it as a transitional phenomenon; the image is only a springboard — awareness turning inward leads to direct realization.
  • Yoga Sutras classify this as savitarka samadhi, where meditation on form (image) is energized and luminous, leading toward nirvitarka (formless stillness).

Had I pursued Tantric Kundalini Yoga alone, without sharirvigyan darshan, I could still have achieved realization with great difficulty and after prolonged practice, even getting none because favourable conditions do not sustain for long. Even after getting plainly, I would have missed the extraordinary bliss, creativity, and worldly play that arose naturally when freed energy flowed into the meditation image during normal worldly activities. This illustrates the difference between the nivṛtti-mārga (ascetic vertical path) and pravṛtti-mārga (world-affirming spiral path) of Tantra:

  • Nivṛtti: rapid, inward ascent, ego dissolves quickly, but world’s richness may feel muted. But failing it, one may feel astrayed forever.
  • Pravṛtti: spiral, celebratory ascent, energy sanctifies worldly life while also piercing into realization — what I experienced.

In my path, Sharirvigyan Darshan provided a non-dual type of insight, while Tantric Kundalini Yoga freed the energy bound to latent thoughts and impressions. This happened through two processes: carrying the non-duality of Sharirvigyan Darshan to its peak, and knocking out hidden mental activities. In this way, the last drop of available energy was extracted, with which the meditation image became alive by itself—just like drinking that very energy, similar to Goddess Kali drinking the bowl of blood—leading to glimpse of Self-realization. The world itself became part of the practice, joyous and meaningful, not something to escape. My experience beautifully combined both liberation and enjoyment, embodying the Tantric principle of bhoga-apavarga-samyoga — the union of divine enjoyment and liberation.

This journey shows that self-realization, energy mastery, and meditation image awakening can converge naturally when knowledge, will, and action align, and when the ego loosens its grip. Breath stillness (keval kumbhak) and mind stillness become inevitable outcomes, leading to sustained awareness, ekarnava, and chidakash, where thought, duality, and oscillation finally dissolve.

In essence:

  • Sharirvigyan darshan shook the ego and freed energy.
  • Tantric Kundalini Yoga harnessed that energy for inward ascent.
  • Meditation image became alive, serving as the doorway to realization.
  • Breath and ego gradually stabilized, leading toward sustained stillness.
  • The world became a stage for bliss, not a distraction.

My journey exemplifies a harmonious path where insight, energy, and practice converge, showing that the Self can be realized not only in withdrawal but also in full-bodied, joyful engagement with life.

Harnessing Inner Silence: A Yogic Approach to Stress

I often feel that the best way to understand the working of the mind is to compare it with something everyone has seen in daily life—a television set. A TV screen looks simple: you switch it on, and pictures appear, but behind those pictures is a dance of invisible electromagnetic signals. Science tells us that these signals are nothing but waves of energy, and the TV has the ability to catch them and convert them into clear images. In the same way, our mind also catches signals. These signals are not coming from a satellite or broadcasting tower but from inside us—from our own emotions, thoughts, desires, and karmic tendencies. When these mental electromagnetic waves strike the inner screen of our awareness, pictures of experience appear. It could be joy, anger, worry, love, or fear, but the process is similar. Consciousness plays the role of the TV screen, and the mind keeps throwing waves of energy onto it.

The more emotionally charged we are, the stronger these waves become. A small irritation in the mind produces a faint image, but a burning anger or deep desire produces a very sharp and lasting picture. Just as a powerful broadcast fills the whole TV screen with brightness and color, a strong mental wave engraves itself on our inner screen with force. These impressions do not go away easily; they leave behind stains that we call samskaras or karmic seeds. Over time, the mind keeps collecting these charges, like a capacitor storing electricity. If the charge remains unprocessed, the same patterns keep repeating—old memories replay, reactions arise automatically, and inner conflicts become stronger. The result is a restless, noisy screen where one hardly sees clearly.

Yet, there is a miracle hidden in this very mechanism. Through yogic insight and practice, these waves can be stilled and transformed. Instead of becoming deeply emotional, amplifying the waves, and then either burying them in the subconscious or scattering them outward through speech and restless action, the energy of thought can be quietly conserved through sharirvigyan darshan contemplation. It no longer surges as an uncontrolled wave on the surface, nor does it sink irretrievably into the subconscious; rather, it settles as a silent charge a little deeper within. Energy at this depth remains accessible—ready to be uncovered and transformed through yoga—whereas energy buried too deeply by strong, uncontrolled, and painful emotions becomes difficult to reach or work with in ordinary life. This is like electricity stored in a battery—not being wasted in a running fan or bulb, nor going too too deep to be retrieved, but waiting silently, full of potential. In my own practice of Sharirvigyan Darshan-based Karma Yoga, I witnessed this transformation. Normally, thoughts rise and immediately push us into speaking, moving, or reacting. But when I practiced awareness-in-action, I did not allow them to flare out. I did not suppress them either; I simply let them reduce into a silent potential. This potential felt like an electric field—not noisy or oscillating, but alive and calm. When it accumulated sufficiently, it produced a strange kind of pressure in the mind—calm, blissful, yet sometimes accompanied by occasional headaches that could even last for a long time. At times, this excess silent energy would suddenly release itself, giving me a glimpse of samadhi or awakening, whatever one may call it. What made it remarkable was that it did not happen through withdrawal from the world but right in the midst of karma, simply by shifting my attitude toward action through Sharirvigyan Darshan. That made it even more precious for me, because it happened without leaving ordinary life behind.

The challenge is that this potential charge cannot remain suspended forever; life keeps pulling us back. If it is not consciously dissolved through sitting meditation, dhyana, tantra, or self-inquiry, it reactivates into waves as soon as ignorance-filled worldly activity begins without the guidance of Sharirvigyan Darshan. Yet one cannot keep contemplating Sharirvigyan Darshan endlessly, because with prolonged practice the mental pressure can grow uncontrollable, forcing one to abandon it. To be safeguarded from this, the excess pressure needs to be discharged through sitting yoga—primarily through tantra yoga—by channeling all the stored charge into a single meditation image. This awakens the image swiftly and can grant a glimpse of self-realization.

In savikalpa dhyana, the energy smoothens into deep absorption through a meditation image, while in nirvikalpa dhyana, it merges even more directly—through keval kumbhak—into pure awareness. Without such conscious dissolution, the stored charge eventually finds unconscious routes of discharge, appearing as impatience, ego, or restlessness. If this is true over the long term—after decades of Sharirvigyan Darshan-based Karma Yoga—it is equally true in the short term, during a single sitting of energy work. That is why I found it important to sit silently after daily practice, without rushing back into activity. An hour or two of stillness after yoga allowed the inner field to settle and release naturally in silence, rather than spilling into unconscious reactions. Otherwise, failing to channel the stored energy is like collecting rainwater carefully only to let it leak away through a broken vessel, or seep so deep underground that it becomes irretrievable.

The difference between yogic charge and ordinary worldly charge is subtle but crucial. Worldly charge is like stuffing garbage into a cupboard—on the surface, things may look organized, but inside, toxins are building up. These repressed charges eventually cause psychological confusion or even physical illness. Yogic charge, on the other hand, is like distilling water until it becomes pure and transparent. In fact, it is not fresh charge but the resurfacing and purification of buried charge. It doesn’t add a new burden; it slowly releases what is already there, refining it into silence.

Charge generated through Sharirvigyan Darshan-based Karma Yoga works in a similar way. Although it does create fresh charge, it first purifies it through non-dual awareness and detachment. Unlike impure worldly charge, which seeps deep into the subconscious, karmayogic pure charge remains on the surface and can be easily channeled. It also never feels heavy like ordinary worldly charge.

When I practiced with bodily awareness in a calm environment, I saw this clearly. My emotions would rise, but instead of identifying with them, I stayed aware. Outwardly, I was as active and expressive as before, yet inwardly there was silence—as if the waves had transformed into pure charge. No one could have guessed that I was containing so much energy within. It was entirely mental; physically, I was fully engaged in worldly life. That inner quietude was powerful, luminous, and gave me an intuitive understanding that no book could ever teach.

Even brief moments of such inner silence left a permanent mark, like a cascading effect that continued to unfold long after the sitting meditation or a Karma Yoga–based dynamic meditation, both in their own way equally. Silence grows upon silence, each pause deepening into the next, because it is both blissful and strangely addictive in its purity. Once, for about ten seconds, all the inner waves dissolved into the field of pure awareness. In that moment, there was no difference between the waves and the ocean, no division of experiencer and experienced — everything was non-dual. That short glimpse proved more valuable to me than years of ordinary experience, for it carried a weight and certainty that no external proof could provide. It revealed that even a fleeting contact with silence plants a seed that begins to grow of its own accord, quietly shaping the inner landscape. It also clarified that the real purpose of sadhana is not to chase after visions, energies, or sensations, but to refine one’s accumulated charge into a state of quiet potential that naturally opens into samadhi. Over time, as the brain becomes accustomed to holding this subtle current, the potential no longer feels heavy or overwhelming but grows fluid and light. This refinement allows life to be lived with a freedom and clarity untouched by restlessness, as if silence itself has become the ground upon which every experience moves.

This helped me understand viveka and vairagya in a practical way. Viveka is simply the ability to discern which impressions are beneficial and which are harmful, because in silence the mind becomes transparent and a better judge. The Sāṅkhya-based puruṣa–prakṛti viveka is this same practical viveka: the world with attachment (prakṛti) is denied, while the world without attachment (puruṣa) is accepted. Vairagya is not about running away from life, but about engaging without clinging — since the inner charge is no longer restless, it does not grasp at anything for relief.

Slowly, I began to see that the yogic path is not mechanical at all. It is not about forcing bliss or controlling every thought, but about a deep sensitivity to how one’s inner charge is forming and expressing. When the mind is charged in the yogic way, even a small stimulus is enough to enter dhyāna. This happened to me: I was deeply charged with my meditation image, and when my kin spoke about it, that small stimulus instantly awakened me into self-realization. Just as a charged particle produces a wave instantly with a slight movement, a charged mind can sink into meditation with minimal effort. In contrast, an uncharged mind must struggle first to build that energy before it can focus. Conversely, if the mind is charged in a worldly way, even a small stimulus can push it into blind worldliness.

I also noticed that the same applies in worldly life. An officer who has been given charge of an office can act immediately, while a stranger in the same chair will spend weeks just figuring things out. In the same way, a stretched canvas can take paint beautifully, while a loose canvas must first be stretched. A charged brain is quick to respond with thoughts, while an uncharged brain — like that of a nirvikalpa yogi absorbed in silence — takes much longer to respond. To the outside world, that silence may appear dull or even boring, but within it is blissful. The paradox is striking: first one builds the charge to attain self-realization and nirvikalpa samadhi, and then one lets go of all charge in renunciation. Yet even after self-realization and nirvikalpa samadhi, karmayogis continue to cultivate yogic charge in moderation, using it as needed to remain engaged in worldly life without drifting away from it entirely.

For me, the most important realization was that stress itself is a form of charge. The difference is only in its quality. Worldly stress is heavy and destructive, while yogic stress—or yogic charge—is light and releasing. Both are stretches in the fabric of inner space, but one binds and the other frees. My personal journey showed me that the same mind that suffers under chaotic charge can also shine when that charge is refined into stillness. What matters is not to let the waves scatter outward or bury them in deeper layers but to reduce them gently into potential. That potential becomes the gateway to silence, to freedom, and ultimately to samadhi.

Journey of Nada, Keval Kumbhak, and Deep Dhyana

I noticed that during deep meditation, when I enter keval kumbhak — spontaneous breath suspension — even ordinary external sounds like people talking, mantras, or conch blowing affect my meditation profoundly. The stillness of the mind in keval kumbhak makes these external sounds feel amplified, not terribly but blissfully and calming down breath to enter deeper dhyana, almost like they are resonating inside me. Within these sounds, mind dissolves and these sounds even dissolve into nirvikalpa quickly. At first, I wondered if this was the same as Nada, the inner sound described in Nada Yoga.

After reflecting, I realized there’s a subtle difference. Nada is internal, independent of the outside world, and arises naturally from the flow of prana and consciousness. What I was experiencing with external sounds was similar in effect, but not true nada. The external sounds were acting as triggers or anchors, deepening dhyana, but they are not generated from within.

Interestingly, I once had a glimpse of true internal sound — an extraordinary OM-like vibration that was blissful, deep, and sober, like so called voice of God. That experience felt completely different: it was independent of external stimuli, and I could feel consciousness itself vibrating in resonance. That is what Nada truly is, and it shows the mind is capable of perceiving the subtle inner universe.

Many practitioners wonder if keval kumbhak alone, with its associated void, is enough for final liberation. I found that the void from keval kumbhak is indeed sufficient. The stillness, non-dual awareness, and temporary dissolution of the sense of “I” create a direct doorway to nirvikalp samadhi. Nada is helpful, as it deepens and stabilizes meditation, but it is not essential for liberation.

I also noticed that in my practice, my strong meditation image of Dada Guru already acts as a powerful anchor. The image generates concentration, subtle energy, and devotion, which naturally lead to deep absorption. In this case, keval kumbhak arises spontaneously, the mind enters void, and bliss is already accessible. Nada may appear, but the image alone is sufficient to stabilize meditation.

Here’s how I conceptualize the stages of my meditation experience:

  1. Meditation Image as Anchor:
    My Dada Guru image keeps the mind absorbed and generates subtle energy. External sounds or nada are optional at this stage.
  2. Keval Kumbhak:
    Spontaneous breath suspension creates extreme mental stillness. The void arises naturally, and subtle mental vibrations may appear.
  3. Void:
    The mind experiences non-dual awareness. Mental fluctuations stop, bliss arises, and the mind is ready for advanced stages.
  4. Nada:
    Internal sound may arise spontaneously, guiding deeper absorption. It enhances meditation but is not mandatory for liberation.
  5. Integration:
    Meditation image, void, keval kumbhak, and nada work in harmony. The mind achieves stable absorption, preparing for continuous nirvikalp samadhi.

Practical Insights from My Experience:

  • External sounds can deepen meditation, but true Nada is internal and independent.
  • Keval kumbhak is a powerful catalyst, but Nada does not require it to arise.
  • A strong meditation image can serve as a complete anchor, making external Nada, even internal nada optional.
  • Liberation ultimately depends on stable void and absorption, not phenomena like sound.

Daily Practice Direction:

  • Let your meditation image anchor your mind effortlessly.
  • Allow keval kumbhak to arise spontaneously; do not force it. However, in yoga, both views about keval kumbhak are valid. Patanjali-type Raja-yoga teachings emphasize that kumbhak should arise naturally as the mind becomes still, while Haṭha Yoga texts say that by learning uniting prāṇa and apāna through practice, one can also enter it willfully. In practice, a middle way works best: slight, gentle regulation of breath helps balance prāṇa and apāna, after which kumbhak may either happen spontaneously or be entered at will. Forcing is harmful, but skillful tweaks to breath, as hinted in the old texts, can make keval kumbhak accessible immediately.
  • Observe any inner sound that appears, without grasping or expectation.
  • Bliss and absorption will deepen naturally; Nada will appear when awareness is refined.

Through this journey, I learned that meditation is a play of subtle energies, awareness, and devotion. External triggers help, inner phenomena inspire, but ultimately, it is the mind’s stillness and refined awareness that open the doors to the ultimate experience — nirvikalp samadhi.