Tag: philosophy

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.

Chapter 11: From Body to Cosmos – The Universal Pattern

The story of existence never stops at the boundary of skin or skeleton. What appears as the human body is not an isolated lump of matter that stands apart from the universe, but a continuing expression of the same laws, the same intelligence, the same hidden pattern that stretches from the deepest atom to the widest galaxy. When the thread of reflection that began in the mystery of memory and death is carried further, it naturally points to a vision even larger: that the body is not separate from the cosmos at all. It is cosmos in miniature, cosmos folded into form, cosmos breathing through flesh, blood, and bone.

Anyone who looks carefully will see the signature of this grand design hidden everywhere. The lungs of a human, for instance, branch out into finer and finer networks of bronchi and alveoli in a structure that is practically indistinguishable from the branching of trees in a forest or the winding course of rivers across a continent. Each time the breath expands into the lungs, it is not different in essence from the way rivers pour into tributaries, or roots split beneath the soil. It is the same branching fractal, endlessly repeating at different scales. And when one gazes at images of galaxies, with their spiraling arms of stars, or the faint lines of electrical discharges flashing in the sky, the resemblance becomes undeniable. A single pattern seems to be playing endlessly on the canvas of life and matter, shaping lungs, shaping trees, shaping rivers, shaping galaxies.

Such patterns are not accidents. They point to a universal mathematics that flows like hidden music through creation. The golden ratio, for example, appears with uncanny consistency in the proportions of the human body (for example, the ratio of the total height to the height of the navel is often close to 1.618), in the spiral shells of mollusks, in the arrangement of seeds in a sunflower, in the double helix of DNA. The golden ratio is about 1.618. If a line is divided into a long part and a short part, then (whole ÷ long part) = (long part ÷ short part) ≈ 1.618. It appears in nature and art—like sunflower seeds, snail shells, human body proportions, and famous paintings—because it looks naturally balanced and beautiful. When sculptors of ancient Greece carved their statues, they sought this ratio instinctively, believing it to be the mark of divine harmony. Today, biologists and physicists confirm the same truth: life builds itself following this mysterious proportion. It is as if creation itself chooses to appear beautiful, to mirror a hidden order, and to reveal that behind apparent randomness lies a secret rhythm of pure awareness.

One does not need complicated theories to sense this. The curve of a leaf, the symmetry of a snowflake, the spread of a peacock’s feather, all whisper the same message. The body is not only a product of nature, it is nature compressed into a form. As in the cell, so in the star. As in the atom, so in the galaxy. The microcosm and the macrocosm mirror each other endlessly, each carrying the holographic imprint of the whole.

This insight has been sung in different ways by sages and scientists alike. The rishis of the Upanishads proclaimed long ago that the self inside is not different from the vast Brahman outside. Modern physics, when it speaks of quantum entanglement, hints at the same truth—that even when particles are separated by unimaginable distances, they remain linked by a hidden unity. The same intelligence that decides the fate of a subatomic particle collapsing into one event out of countless possibilities is present in every pulse of thought and every beat of the heart. Quantum collapses are determining every activity at every moment, whether inside or outside the body. That intelligence is what ancient seekers personified as Brahma, the creative deity sitting on a lotus, from whom all forms arise and into whom they dissolve.

Yet in the ordinary flow of life this reality becomes veiled. It is said that mental waves, like restless ripples on the surface of a pond, cover the calm depth of awareness that lies behind. But this is not to be mistaken for any physical light or material radiance. It is the nature of awareness itself, self-experiencing, silent, without second. The trouble begins when indulgence in the world makes one forget this background awareness. Then what remains is a fall into a kind of slumber, an absence. That absence is like a blank comma in the book of life, or the gap of deep sleep. It is not the same as the zero of pure awareness.

The difference between these two zeros is profound. The zero of ignorance, as in deep unconscious sleep, is the absence of everything—even the sense of one’s own being. Nothing is present, not even background self-awareness; it is a void of non-experience. Yet, I perceived the departed soul of a close acquaintance as a wave-less sky, a zero-like vastness, yet still feeling localized and compressed or subtly suffocated due to the subtle impressions of encodings in it, but fully self-aware. Through that subtly encoded vastness, she expressed that she was not different from her living state—her consciousness remained continuous and alive, with all her past lives encoded in her wave-less space form. I also perceived her as part of the same continuity of livingness, without any interruptions—full of even more freshness and vastness. It seemed as if she had never died at all.

This suggests that the apparent loss of awareness immediately during and after death can be temporary, a rebound effect after intense worldly experience, like deep sleep following a long journey. In bound souls, awareness returns soon in an encoded form within the sky of their being, while in liberated souls, pure awareness shines unbound, free of all encoding and form. The zero of pure awareness is exactly the opposite of encoded awareness: it is fullness hidden as emptiness, presence without form, a self-experiencing reality that needs no object to prove itself. One is absence, the other is essence. One is loss, the other is liberation. Encoded awareness, however, is neither truly empty nor truly fulfilled—it is like a half-filled pot, partially filled with water and air, whereas pure awareness is like an empty pot naturally full of air, completely full in its own way. Encodings can never fully occupy the endless pure awareness, because the physical world that generates subtle encodings is limited. That is why fulfilledness is never achieved by the bound soul. In contrast, the absence of all encodings in a liberated soul allows pure awareness to be immediately full of zero-space making it fully fulfilled and empty together. It is just a blank philosophical idea, not meant to be explored deeply, but to encourage yoga practice to directly experience the fact.

The patterns of body and cosmos invite the seeker to recognize the distinction between appearance and reality: what seems separate is in truth inseparable. A river’s flow is not separate from the cloud that gave it birth or the ocean that waits at its end. Similarly, thought, memory, breath, and bone are not separate from the universal energy that sustains them. To mistake the body for an isolated lump is to forget the river’s connection to the ocean. To realize the body as cosmos in miniature is to rediscover the background ocean of awareness that never vanishes, even when forms dissolve. When the physical connection of body with cosmos is contemplated, the non-physical connection of bound awareness with pure awareness also reveals itself—for wherever the container goes, the content goes with it. This is the secret mantra of moving to the non-physical with the help of the physical.

There are always two ways of life that appear in society. Some individuals walk fully into the world, immersed in duty, family, business, responsibility, karma. Others retreat, renounce, and dedicate themselves wholly to inner search. Both paths look opposite in the eyes of people, but both can arrive at the same awakening. If such a karmayogi or such a renunciate touches the state of nirvikalpa, they know from within its worth, a worth that cannot be explained to those outside. To the ordinary crowd such a person may even appear foolish type, a laggard type who has lost interest in the games of the world. Yet, society often sees a difference: the karmayogi who turns into a dhyana yogi is respected as genuine, for he has tasted the world fully and then transcended it on finding a higher treasure. But the one who remains a dhyana yogi from the beginning may appear strange or lifeless to the public, even though he may be equally genuine, for people think he has never known the taste of the world and therefore avoids it like a timid creature. Such is the misunderstanding of those who cannot see the inner flame that burns quietly beyond the world’s games.

At the heart of all this lies the same universal intelligence, deciding moment by moment which possibility will collapse into actuality. In quantum language, it is the wave function collapsing into one outcome while others remain unrealized. In ancient language, it is Brahma choosing to manifest a world out of countless latent potentials. The wonder is that this intelligence does not operate only in the farthest galaxies or deepest atoms. It is pulsing right now in the thoughts passing through the mind, in the choice to breathe deeply or shallowly, in the gentle branching of a nerve fiber inside the brain. To awaken to this is to see that one’s own life is not apart from the cosmos but is cosmos in motion. That is why the Vedic people saw conscious gods in every part of nature—air, water, sun, planets, fire, and all that exists. They were not worshiping lifeless objects nor they were experts in quantum science but recognizing the play of intelligence shimmering through every element. They were recognizing the deep essence of the quantum wave of superposition collapsing into a single outcome experientially, not merely through the physical experimentation that science is reaching today after so much hue and cry. To them, every force of nature was a living expression of the same cosmic awareness, worthy of reverence, for nothing in creation was outside that one intelligence.

When the patterns are followed deeper, the thrill grows. A child looking at a snail’s shell sees only a pretty curve. But if eyes are sharpened, that curve is the golden spiral, the same that governs hurricanes, galaxies, and the unfolding of a pinecone. The pattern repeats endlessly, whispering that nothing is random, everything is woven in rhythm. And when these patterns are mirrored inside, when the mind sees itself as fractal extension of universal mind, then wonder turns into reverence. Means, When the mind realizes that the same intelligence—collapsing quantum possibilities into form and shaping galaxies—also shapes its own thoughts, amazement naturally deepens into reverence.

The journey from body to cosmos is not merely a scientific curiosity. It is an emotional discovery. To realize that the veins inside the hand flow like rivers across the earth, that the alveoli in the lungs mirror the blossoms of trees, that the pulse of DNA carries the same spiral as galaxies, awakens a sense of belonging that no philosophy class can teach. The body ceases to be just “mine” and becomes a sacred bridge to the universal. Each breath, each heartbeat, each step, becomes part of a cosmic dance that began before time and will outlast death.

This adventure does not demand withdrawal from life. It demands only a shift of vision. A trader at his stall, a mother at her kitchen, a student bent over a notebook, a monk in meditation—all are participants in the same universal pattern. To see the body as cosmos in form is to remove the artificial boundary between sacred and ordinary. Everything becomes sacred when seen as expression of the same intelligence.

Yet the suspense of this vision lies in its simplicity. The closer one looks, the more it becomes clear that there is no separate ‘inside’ and ‘outside.’ The cell is already a star, the star already a cell—intelligent quantum collapses happening everywhere, every moment. The body is cosmos condensed, the cosmos body expanded. What remains is only to awaken to this recognition, to let the restless waves of mind grow quiet so that the background ocean of awareness shines forth again. As the body mirrors the cosmos, so the mind mirrors the cosmic mind—pure awareness itself. There is no real separation. Then absence turns into essence of pure awareness, and foolishness turns into wisdom.

In this recognition the journey that began with death and memory flowers into cosmic belonging. The body is not a prison but a portal. The patterns in the lungs, the golden spirals in DNA, the fractals in rivers and galaxies are not coincidences but signatures left by the same intelligence, reminding every seeker that the self within and the universe without are not two. They are one song, sung endlessly through countless forms, waiting to be heard in the silence of pure awareness. Simply put, The self and the universe are not two but one reality, expressing itself through endless forms. When the mind is restless, its noise fragments reality into separate pieces, like ripples breaking the reflection of a clear lake. But when it grows silent, those distortions fall away, and awareness shines by itself. In that stillness, it becomes evident that the self within and the universe without are not two, but one seamless whole. Only then does Sharirvigyan Darshan find true contemplation, for contemplating it reveals pure awareness—and pure awareness, in turn, deepens that contemplation.

Chapter 10: Death, Memory, and the Holographic Field

Life has a mysterious way of continuing itself. What looks like an end is often only a rearrangement. The tree that falls becomes soil, the flame that dies leaves behind smoke and warmth, and the body that breathes its last turns into earth again. Nothing in existence truly disappears. Matter never dies, atoms never lose their being; they simply change places, alter their bonds, and take on new forms. Death, therefore, is not the destruction of reality but the reshuffling of patterns. The body that is cremated is only a temporary arrangement of atoms and molecules. Fire loosens those arrangements and hands them back to air, earth, and water. The wave collapses from one expression only to rise again in another.

From this understanding, memory itself begins to look different. It no longer seems locked inside the gray folds of the brain alone. There are countless mysterious events where heart transplant recipients reported memories, tastes, or fears belonging to the donors. Science finds it hard to explain how such impressions travel with organs, but the idea of memory being held in fields makes it less strange. It is the electromagnetic field of the heart. The heart creates the strongest field in the body, even more powerful than the brain’s, and it carries patterns that can hold impressions of memory and emotion. When a heart is transplanted, this field may transfer subtle imprints from the donor to the recipient, which explains why some people suddenly feel the donor’s tastes, fears, or memories as their own. Water itself is known to hold patterns, rearranging its structure according to subtle vibrations. If even water, a simple arrangement of hydrogen and oxygen, can keep impressions, then what of the human heart that pulses with electrical rhythm every moment of life? Scientific studies suggest water’s structural “memory” lasts only for seconds to minutes under normal conditions, though some experiments in homeopathy and quantum coherence claim it can persist hours to days if stabilized by external fields or freezing. In simple terms: without preservation, water’s impressions are short-lived, not permanent as those patterns are dynamic and can dissolve or change with new influences. The possibility that memory is a field, not just a circuit in neurons, opens a vast new horizon.

One morning, during a nirvikalp-like dhyana immediately after rising from bed, my attention first concentrated on the Ajna and Sahasrar chakras. Subtle breathing seemed to arise from these centers as the mind waves dissolved into the background of space, leaving a still, expansive awareness. After about an hour, the meditation naturally shifted downward to the heart area. There, a dense darkness was felt, as if heavy emotions had been deeply encoded in that space. Gradually, as these emotions and the associated thoughts emerged into awareness, the dark weight began to ease, and the space in the heart felt lighter. This revealed how even subtle residues of memory and feeling can exist as energetic imprints in the body, quietly influencing awareness until brought gently into consciousness.

Death, in this light, is not erasure but continuity. The ancient thought of rebirth carries the same intuition. The traces of one life do not vanish but remain as subtle vibrational residues. Just as a fragrance lingers in an empty room long after the flower is removed, karmic impressions linger in the field even after the body dissolves. When circumstances ripen, when conditions align, those vibrations may find new soil to sprout again as another life. What is called “self” may not be a solid entity at all but a recurring pattern, rising whenever the field resonates with the right conditions. Means the self is not a fixed solid thing but a shifting pattern that reappears according to thoughts, karmas, and conditions—like a wave that takes different shapes yet belongs to the same field—and that field itself is the Supreme Soul, the unchanging reality from which all selves arise and into which they return. A candle flame passed from one wick to another does not carry the same molecules, but the pattern of fire continues. The one who says “I” may be only a wave-form that can appear again and again.

In a dream visitation, I once met a freshly departed close acquaintance. What appeared was not a body but a presence—waveless darkness, infinite like space yet strangely compressed and localized. It carried a sense that all its lives were recorded there, not as visible waves but as the finest ripples in conscious space, too subtle to be recognized as movement. This gave me the unmistakable feeling that what I encountered was more real and complete than even its time in the living body. Such an encounter reflects how memory and experience may exist as subtle encodings in the very fabric of consciousness itself.

To the ordinary eye, this cycle of arising and vanishing feels dark, frightening, ghostly. Yet in the mystic vision, it is none other than Shiva, the great witness of the cremation ground. The Shmshana Shiva is not merely a deity surrounded by deathly silence; it is the Shiva of Nirvikalpa Samadhi, appearing terrifying only because the ego cannot imagine its own absence. What the layman sees as a fearful god of the funeral pyre is, for the awakened, the supreme stillness beyond form. The cremation ground is nothing but the mind’s final surrender, where the false self is burnt away and only pure awareness remains.

This play of rising and falling is mirrored even in the breath. In the morning, with an empty stomach, prana naturally moves upward, light and clear, ready for meditation. In the evening, after meals, apana dominates, pulling downward in its grounding movement. Breath is not a simple inhaling and exhaling of oxygen but a wave that reflects the entire rhythm of existence. Particles themselves run in a wave-like fashion of probability because they emerged from energy that is wave in nature. God is wave, Om is wave, breath is wave. Rising to a peak, falling to the base, sinking into a negative trough of destruction, then again creation beginning, the cycle of nature follows the same undulation. To contemplate the breath is to contemplate Om, the eternal vibration of God.

Even the human attempt to understand the body at the deepest level follows this wave-like adventure. In early stages, my awakening came through body-based Sharirvigyan Darshan, through direct physical and spiritual experimentation. Yet the same awakening can also be glimpsed through the lens of quantum science. For if whatever is in awareness at any moment is reflected in every cell of the body as per Sharirvigyan Darshan, then naturally the same principle extends to every atom in the cosmos as per Quantum science philosophy, since each atom too carries the imprint of the whole. Every atom of the body is not just matter but a miniature cosmos, thinking as probability distributions and deciding reality as collapses. If every atom carries this mystery, then the human itself is a walking quantum experiment, unfolding wave into particle at each decision, each thought, each action.

Atoms, though appearing silent, perform their roles with precision. In the air, atoms remain mobile, constantly moving, their wave-nature decohering into the simple expression of free motion. Yet hidden within that motion is the entire spectrum of possibilities their quantum nature holds. A stone, on the other hand, seems fixed and unmoving, its atoms bound tightly in a lattice. But even here, at the heart of stillness, the atoms vibrate, whispering with suppressed possibilities. Physics confirms that every atom, whether roaming in air or locked in stone, carries a wave-function of countless options—though only one expression is allowed to shine forth in the visible world, while the rest remain folded in silence. Inside an atom, the probabilities of many quantum particles overlap and interfere, weaving into a far more intricate pattern than any single particle alone. This combined wavefunction is what gives atoms their unique shapes, shells, and behaviors. Humans are no different. Within lies the field of all possibilities, but only one expression appears as practical reality at a given moment, shaped by circumstances and conditions.

Just as a quantum particle has fixed traits like mass or charge that do not change, so a human being carries fixed aspects like the body and general personality. Yet there are also shifting properties—energy, mood, thought, momentum—that remain in a kind of superposition, open to change until collapsed into one choice by the movement of life. The mind itself resembles this quantum dance, hovering in possibilities until crystallized into a single perception or decision.

The breath again reveals the secret of this dance. When the amplitude of its up-down wave merges into a central point at a chakra, the feeling arises of breath cessation—Keval Kumbhak. In that state, there is no mental formation. For a quantum particle too, the probability at zero amplitude is zero. At this still point, mind and world dissolve into nothingness. As amplitude grows again, the world reappears, just as thought and perception bloom back into being after the pause of Samadhi. This very rhythm echoes the Orch-OR theory, which holds that mind itself is the collapse of quantum particles in microtubules of the brain. Yet the collapse never lands on the zero amplitude itself; it always arises at some non-zero state. That is why in Samadhi, there is still existence but no sense of mind—because the probability rests at the silent node of the wave.

The human body is not only made of matter but also of energy, memory, and possibility. Death is not the final end but a doorway. Memories are never fully lost; they remain imprinted in the deeper field of life. The deeper field of life points to something larger: the universal field of consciousness or energy where both personal and cosmic memories are imprinted. The subconscious is like one person’s private notebook, while the deeper field of life is like the universal library where every life, memory, and pattern is recorded. Each life is like a wave that rises again from the hidden movements of earlier waves on the deeper field of life. Just as every piece of a hologram contains the whole picture, every cell in the body reflects the whole person, and every atom carries the song of the universe.

One who understands this does not see death as an ending but as a doorway. Cremation ground or graveyard, morning prana or evening apana, rising wave or falling trough—all are expressions of the same eternal pulse. Existence breathes itself in and out, collapses itself into forms, releases itself into silence, only to start again. The mystery of memory, rebirth, karma, and the holographic field is not a puzzle to be solved but a song to be heard.

Standing at the boundary of life and death, science and spirituality, matter and consciousness, the vision opens. The self is no longer a fixed identity but a pattern woven from waves, rising, collapsing, arising again. Death then becomes less frightening, for it is not erasure but return to the great wave, waiting to be expressed once more. Memory is not just ours but part of a shared field, carried forward and echoed across lives and forms.

The adventure of understanding life does not stop here. If the body holds the whole cosmos inside, then looking within is also seeing beyond. Death, memory, wave, collapse—these are not endings but doorways. And through them, the human spirit continues its journey, shimmering like a wave, never ceasing, always becoming.

Keval Kumbhak, Prana–Apana Balance, and the Quantum Nature of Thoughts

There is a certain moment in deep meditation when the breath simply stops.
It is not forced. It is not held. It just… disappears.

This is keval kumbhak — a natural cessation of breath. For me, this happens when the up–down oscillations of pranic energy at a chakra slowly merge into a central still point. The wave’s amplitude reduces and reduces until it reaches zero.

In that zero point, I notice something striking — the mind is gone.
No thoughts, no images, no mental chatter. Just an absolute stillness.

Zero Amplitude – Zero Thoughts

While sitting in that state, it feels as if all mental activity has stopped. But thinking deeper, I realized: maybe the mind has not truly stopped existing. Maybe it is still active somewhere, just not where my awareness is looking.

When the amplitude of the pranic wave is at zero, my attention is also resting in that zero point. Thoughts may still be forming somewhere in the “mind-field”, but in this zone, they are simply not perceptible.

It’s like looking at a large movie screen but focusing on one tiny, blank center spot — all the action at the edges is still playing, but you don’t see it.

Breath Amplitude as the Thought Gateway

As I slowly come out of that deep point and start observing the breath’s movements again, I notice something:

The moment the breath-wave amplitude increases, thoughts start appearing. Small amplitude → few thoughts. Larger amplitude → more thoughts.

It’s as if the breath’s oscillation opens the gate for more of the mind-field to become visible. The breath amplitude acts like the size of a window — the bigger the opening, the more thoughts can pass into perception.

The Quantum Analogy

This reminded me of quantum wave mechanics.

In quantum theory, a particle’s probability of being found at a certain location depends on the amplitude of its wavefunction. Zero amplitude means zero probability — the particle simply won’t be found there. Means, the probability of finding a wavy quantum particle increases in direct proportion to its wave amplitude, with zero amplitude meaning zero probability.

My experience felt similar:

  • Mind = quantum particle
  • Thoughts = particle detections (collapses)
  • Breath/pranic amplitude = probability amplitude for perceiving thoughts

At zero amplitude (in keval kumbhak), the probability of detecting a thought is effectively zero in the zone of observation. When amplitude rises, the probability rises — thoughts appear.

Orch-OR Connection

Orch-OR (Orchestrated Objective Reduction), proposed by Hameroff and Penrose, suggests consciousness arises from quantum collapses in microtubules inside neurons.

In my case, I don’t think those collapses stop entirely in samadhi. Instead:

  • Collapses (thought formations) still happen in the mind-field.
  • But my awareness in deep meditation is focused on the zero-amplitude center, where no thoughts register.
  • When pranic amplitude grows, awareness spreads over a wider zone, catching more of these collapses as thoughts.

It’s a subtle but important difference:
The mind’s activity might still exist in potential form, but in samadhi, I am tuned into a region where it doesn’t show up.

The Practice-Based Side: Prana–Apana Tactics

In truth, this is not just a passive state that “happens” — it can also be reached deliberately through classical yogic techniques.
It involves balancing prana (upward-moving energy) and apana (downward-moving energy) in specific ways:

  • Making one dominant over the other
  • Reversing them — sending physical breath in one direction, mental breath (visualized energy) in the other
  • Colliding them so they meet at a chosen point in the body
  • Merging them completely into a single unified flow

The “mental breath” here is not literal air but the directed pranic flow in awareness. The “physical breath” is the actual inhalation/exhalation movement. These two can be made to work in opposite or complementary ways.

When they fully merge or balance, their oscillations cancel out, creating the still-point — the zero-amplitude zone I described earlier. That is where keval kumbhak naturally occurs, and thought perception drops to zero.

This is why it is hard to explain literally — without direct practice, the idea of “moving physical breath one way and mental breath the other way” sounds abstract. But in practice, it is as real and mechanical as adjusting two water streams so they meet perfectly.

Why This Feels Unique

I have read yoga texts, studied some Kashmir Shaivism, and explored modern quantum-consciousness theories.
Yoga speaks of chitta vritti nirodha (stilling the mind waves).
Kashmir Shaivism says vibration (spanda) never fully stops, but one can rest in the bindu (center).
Science says breath influences brain rhythms.
Orch-OR says quantum collapse underlies awareness.

But I have not come across anyone directly mapping breath/pranic amplitude to the probability of perceiving thoughts, using both lived yogic experience and quantum analogy.

This feels like my personal discovery — a bridge between keval kumbhak and quantum perception theory.

The Simple Takeaway

In keval kumbhak, the mind does not truly vanish — it simply becomes unobservable when awareness rests in the zero-amplitude point of the pranic wave.
As breath amplitude increases, the observable field expands, and thoughts return in proportion to that amplitude.

It is not about stopping the mind entirely; it is about where the lens of awareness is placed.

In the deepest stillness, the movie of the mind is still running somewhere — but I am looking at a blank spot in the center of the screen.

Chapter 8: How Consciousness Connects the Dots

Sometimes, if you sit quietly and really pay attention, you can feel something deeper—something gentle, like a hidden music playing beneath everything. It’s not sound you hear with your ears, but a kind of rhythm that flows through life, through thoughts, through the world itself. This silent music connects things in a way we don’t usually notice. It’s always there—under your breath, behind your heartbeat, even in stillness. You don’t need to understand it. Just feel it. That quiet presence is what some call consciousness.

Previous insights pointed toward this. The quantum field danced with uncertainty until observed. Atoms floated in a haze of probabilities until measured. Waves collapsed into particles not through force or contact but through the mysterious act of being “seen.” It was tempting to imagine that human observation caused this collapse, as if consciousness touched the world and forced it to decide. But the mystery goes deeper. Your laptop looks solid and real because its particles have already collapsed from quantum waves into fixed states through endless interactions—with light, air, and even your own eyes. But the real mystery lies in how and why that collapse happens at all. In the quantum world, particles exist in many possible states at once—until something, even a soft touch or the mere chance of being observed, makes them “choose” one. No one fully understands what causes this shift from possibility to reality. It’s as if the universe responds to being watched, or simply to the potential for information to be known. That’s the strange part: reality isn’t made of things alone, but of relationships, touches, and the quiet mystery of why anything becomes definite at all.

Just like quantum particles lose their wave-like nature when touched by the environment, we humans also tend to settle into roles through the subtle influence of those around us. Science calls it decoherence—a process where interaction makes a system appear definite, even if, deep down, its possibilities still exist. In daily life, we act similarly: we appear to “become” something in response to relationships, attention, and expectations. Whether it’s a particle or a person, the presence of others seems to shape the outcome—not always by force, but by quiet connection. Yet, just as quantum physics still puzzles over what truly causes a wave to collapse into a solid fact, we too may never fully know what finally makes us become who we are.

In the quantum world, particles like photons act mysteriously — they don’t need to be physically touched to change. Just placing a detector near one slit in the famous double-slit experiment, even without directly interacting with the particle (means if detector is placed on slit A but particle crossed throgh slit B, even then collapse occures as it is assumed if particle did not crossed throgh A it surely would have crossed through B, as if whole system acts as a combined unit), can collapse its wave-like behavior into a definite path. This collapse isn’t caused by force, but by the mere possibility of observation — a kind of ghostly influence where knowing matters more than touching. Unlike regular interactions that cause temporary decoherence, true observation leads to a lasting collapse, changing the outcome completely. It’s as if reality waits to decide — until someone tries to know.

In the quantum eraser experiment, when one of a pair of entangled photons (let’s call it photon A) hits a detector screen, it may appear to behave like a particle, producing no interference pattern. But here’s the strange part: if the which-path information of its entangled partner (photon B) is later erased — even after photon A has already hit the screen — then interference reappears in the coincidence data of photon A. It is as if photon A’s behavior (wave or particle) depends not on what happened to it directly, but on whether information about its entangled partner was ultimately known or not. The outcome is not about real-time causality but about correlations. No actual signal travels backward in time — yet, the observed pattern appears to change depending on whether we “ask” nature which path photon B took. This is like two deeply connected friends. Suppose one of them is accused of stealing a gold biscuit. Even if innocent, the accusation mentally burdens him — he collapses into a narrow mindset of guilt and self-doubt. But when his close friend is later cleared of all suspicion, or when no inquiry is made into that friend at all, then the first one also feels liberated. The burden lifts, and he regains his full range of being — like a wave of infinite potential once more. In the same way, a human being — especially a child — when trapped in an environment full of assumptions, blame, or fixed expectations, collapses into a single identity. Their growth is stunted. But when they enter a free, open environment where no assumptions are made, they flourish. Like quantum particles in a superposition, they explore multiple possibilities and develop naturally in alignment with life’s evolving intelligence. The quantum eraser shows us that knowing — or merely the potential to know — collapses the wave. In human life too, assumptions — even if unspoken — reduce us to labels. This is why we must be careful with judgments. It is better to stay neutral than to impose a limiting belief on someone, especially a child. Neutrality is not indifference; it is the wisdom to allow natural growth — just as nature reveals her beauty best when left unmeasured. That is why a man shifting to new and open environment where no one knows him (so making assumption about him by anyone is not possible) feels freedom to grow his potential to top. This forces us to think, does quantum world behaves like our minds or if quantum world is conscious. I have observed this entangled state with people many times as I’m already a croocked researcher by default. Haha. At many times people being in full cooperative and comfortable environment felt suffocated for their entangled partners were feeling the same. At other times a man being in gruesome environment felt quite comfortable and growing for his entangled partner was probably feeling the same, although they both had no contact with each others.

Just like the quantum world, the gross (physical) world also runs on assumptions. People used to perform yajnas assuming that Indra, the god of rain, would bless them with rainfall — and it used to happen. People invest money in companies assuming they will generate profits, and this collective assumption drives the stock market. When an officer is given a job, it is assumed that he will fulfill his duties publicly, and he does the same.

Decoherence explains how quantum possibilities fade due to environmental noise, while collapse marks the mysterious final selection of one definite outcome when observed. Similarly, worldly interactions reduce a human’s wavering or confused nature—this is like decoherence, gently pushing one toward alignment. But when a guru or guiding force observes and nurtures that potential with clear intent, the person transforms into a definite form—an artist, a yogi, or something greater. This is collapse.

Decoherence explains how quantum possibilities fade amid environmental noise, much like how worldly influences narrow a person’s scattered potential into a specific direction — a student becoming serious, a wanderer finding purpose. But the true mystery lies in the collapse: how, out of countless outcomes, a single destiny is chosen — just as a quantum particle suddenly ‘decides’ on one path when observed, so too does a person, under the subtle influence of a guru or a defining moment, become an artist, a yogi, or something else entirely.

A quantum particle, in its wave-like state, mirrors the wandering nature of the uncontrolled human mind—full of possibilities, undefined and fluid. Decoherence, like a focused environment shaping a person’s thoughts, suppresses this wandering and narrows the mind’s fluctuations, leading it toward clarity. Just as decoherence reduces the quantum superposition into a more definite range of outcomes, a stabilized mind is no longer distracted by countless directions. But the real mystery lies in the final collapse—how a quantum particle, from a sea of probabilities, “chooses” a specific outcome, just as a focused mind settles on one life path out of hundreds. The particle might collapse into a position, momentum, spin, or energy state, depending on the kind of measurement—each equally probable until the moment of interaction. Likewise, a human mind, when undecided, holds many possible outcomes: a career path, a moral choice, an emotional response, or a creative direction. The final decision may be influenced by the laws of physics in the quantum realm and by a blend of personal values, subconscious conditioning, societal needs, and harmony with the world in the human case. This convergence of potential into a single reality remains one of the deepest mysteries shared by both consciousness and quantum nature. I personally believe, the same guiding force of infinity guides both mind and the quantum world to produce a streamlined and progressive world. Moreover, In quantum experiments, repeating the same setup doesn’t give the same outcome every time. A particle may land at different positions with each trial, even though the conditions are identical. This is because quantum mechanics is probabilistic, not predictable in the classical sense. Over many repetitions, a clear pattern forms, but each individual result remains uncertain—just like the human mind may respond differently to the same situation depending on subtle internal shifts, but pattern of these shifts can be predictable just like pattern of position of quantum particle. Though both the quantum world and the human mind appear probabilistic—producing different outcomes under the same conditions—there still seems to be a deeper, unseen intelligence or system that guides the final choice. In quantum physics, this mystery surrounds what actually causes a wavefunction (probability wave of finding the particle) to collapse into one specific result. In the mind, it’s the subtle blend of intuition, conditioning, and perhaps a deeper purpose that decides. Beneath the randomness, both seem to obey a hidden order. We speculate a deciding intelligence not because science proves it, but because randomness without reason feels incomplete. When repeated outcomes form meaningful patterns — in nature, life, or personal growth — it hints at a quiet intelligence choosing not randomly, but purposefully, whether hidden in physics or within consciousness.

It is true that collapse happens even when no conscious being is watching. If a detector is placed in the path of a particle, the wavefunction still collapses. The measuring instrument leaves a mark, and that mark remains even if no eye ever sees it. So does this mean consciousness plays no role? That the universe ticks forward on its own, without awareness?

Not quite. The key lies in understanding what “measurement” really is. In the quantum world, not every interaction counts as measurement. Particles interact all the time—with air, with heat, with stray radiation—and yet those interactions do not cause collapse. Instead, they lead to what is called decoherence. The quantum system becomes entangled with its environment. It loses its delicate superposition. The interference between different possibilities disappears. The system starts to behave as if it has become classical. But there’s a difference—collapse has still not happened. All possibilities still exist, hidden from view, tangled up with the countless details of the environment.

Measurement, in contrast, is not just interaction. It is interaction followed by amplification, stabilization, and irreversibility. A detector doesn’t merely touch the particle—it traps the event. It records it in a way that cannot be undone. A photon hits a screen, triggers electrons, produces a visible dot, or changes a number in a memory cell. From then on, the system is no longer in a state of possibility. It is in a state of fact. But that fact, though physically stored, still hovers in uncertainty until accessed—until it becomes part of some larger knowing, perhaps even conscious knowing.

This opens a strange in-between realm. Is the collapse real and physical, happening at the moment the detector records the event? Or does the final collapse, the true one, occur only when that information becomes part of someone’s conscious experience? Interpretations vary. Some say yes, some say no. But the deeper view, and perhaps the one more aligned with ancient darshan and subtle observation, is that even the detector, the machine, the experiment—all appear within a wider field of awareness.

Whether collapse happens “on its own” or “because of consciousness” is a question that may never find a final answer in equations. But the point remains—Decoherence is like a partial collapse of the quantum wave. It happens when a quantum system interacts with the environment, causing the wave-like behavior to break down. But full collapse — where a specific outcome is chosen — happens when a conscious observer tries to know it directly. This observer doesn’t always have to be a human. In some views, the background omnipresent consciousness — the pure awareness that exists everywhere — also acts as an observer. This means quantum collapse could happen even without human involvement, just by being known in the field of universal consciousness.

In other words, Knowing, or gyana, is an inherent quality of consciousness as per Hindu philosophy. Therefore, the interaction of the environment with a particle can be seen as a feature of knowing, which is inherent to consciousness itself. If that is the case, then such interaction should also lead to collapse. Decoherence can be considered a kind of partial collapse, while full collapse occurs when a conscious human being directly tries to know or observe the system. There can be some environmental interactions, that fully mimic the human observation.

The gross physical world is objectively real — solid, measurable, and consistent, forming a shared stage for all beings. But how each of us experiences it is deeply subjective, shaped by our beliefs, emotions, and level of consciousness. Reality unfolds on two levels: the external world we all see, and the inner world we each uniquely interpret. Both are real — the first supports survival and interaction, the second gives meaning and direction. True understanding lies in recognizing that while the world exists, the way we experience it is our own creation — the final collapse happens through us.

In this light, even the detectors, instruments, and screens are expressions of that same awareness. They act as intermediaries, catching and recording interactions, but their existence, their intelligibility, rests on a foundation that is not mechanical. A camera may record an image, but unless some deeper knowing holds the possibility of meaning, the image is just a flicker of matter. Without awareness, form is blind. Without awareness, even information is meaningless.

And so, the mystery is not solved by saying “measurement causes collapse.” It only deepens. For what defines measurement? Why does one interaction cause collapse and not another? Why does the universe act as if it’s waiting to be known? Is this the same saying by ancient seers that prakriti wants herself to show to purusha? Why do probabilities persist until something final happens, and what is this finality?

The ancient seers may not have used the term “wavefunction collapse,” but they pointed toward the same mystery. They spoke of chidakasha—the space of consciousness—within which all forms arise and disappear. Forms appear in the mind like particles collapsed, at varied spatial locations, with varied intensity or energy, and with contrasting qualities like up or down spin, and so on. Those forms may be rapidly fluctuating like superimposed, a little stable like decohered, or fully stationary as in dhyana, like collapsed to a permanent, fixed meditation image. Sometimes when not deeply observed or only witnessed, those forms disappear into the invisible waves of chidakasha. Seers spoke of the drashta, the witness, who is untouched by action yet whose presence allows action to be known. They observed that the world changes shape in the presence of inner silence. That clarity comes not from thinking harder, but from quieting down. And that when the “I” dissolves, reality becomes strangely luminous—clearer, yet unspeakable.

In quantum physics, it’s important to distinguish between a particle that already exists and a particle that hasn’t yet been created. A single particle, like an electron, travels as a probability wave but always appears as that same one particle when detected — never more or less. In quantum field theory, particles can also be created or destroyed when the right energy and interactions are present. In that case, the “wave” describes a field of possibility from which one, many, or no particles may emerge, much like rain forming from unseen vapor when conditions align.

In Sharirvigyan darshan, the body is not a container but a shape formed inside awareness. Atoms are not solid pieces, but small waves in a deeper field. The body is like a tool, tuned to a certain level of consciousness. It doesn’t stand apart—it comes from the same field. Every feeling, thought, cell, and breath of energy is part of one whole movement. And behind it all is not a person, but a quiet presence—just watching, not doing, yet allowing everything to happen.

In other words, an atom is like a complete human body in itself. The brain is everything in a body, and that brain seems exactly similar inside the atom. Its different electrons orbiting in different orbitals are like its different personalities. Each electron, having countless probable outcomes, is like its countless thoughts. The collapses of these countless probable outcomes into real outcomes are like its countless decisions — and much more. On contemplating — or even barely believing — this similarity, one may not become an accomplished void like the atom, but at least one would loosen the binding grip of ego and personal gratification. This is the essence of Sharirvigyan Darshan on a universal scale.

Consciousness doesn’t come from the brain. The brain comes from consciousness. It’s not outside, watching — it is the space in which everything happens. In physics, the wave becomes a particle not because someone looked at it with eyes, but because reality is already aware at its core. This awareness is not added later — it is the first thing, the source of everything.

As ancient seers said, God wished, “I am one, let me become many.” That wish itself is consciousness observing. And that observation is what creates the world by collapsing probability waves into ineracting particles.

When the mind quiets, this becomes not a theory but an experience. One feels directly that knowing does not require thought. That awareness does not flicker. That even in sleep, even in stillness, even in the space between breaths, there is something present—calm, clear, unbroken. And that this presence is not inside the body. Rather, the body is inside it.

At first glance, this may seem opposite to science. But science too is arriving at the edge of its own language. When electrons behave like waves and collapse like particles, when matter appears as energy and energy as probability, when the very act of knowing affects the known—then science too must bow to the mystery. Not to abandon reason, but to expand it. To see that reason itself arises from a deeper intuition—the intuition of being.

And this is where the paths of darshan and physics converge. Both look at the world and ask—not just what is happening, but how is it happening, and who is it happening for? Both come to the same edge, where logic dissolves into directness. Both stand in awe of a universe that is not built from objects, but from relationships. Not constructed from bricks, but from waves. Not powered by things, but by presence.

So when the measuring instrument causes collapse, it is not contradicting the role of consciousness. It is revealing it more subtly. Even the machine collapses the wave because it is part of the same dream. It is part of the same story told within awareness. And that awareness is not limited to humans, not limited to minds, not limited to any form. It is the infinite container that holds all forms, the screen on which all images move.

In the end, every collapse, every emergence, every ripple of creation points back to the same silent origin. That origin is not seen. It is the seer. Not thought. Not body. Not name. But the unbroken presence in which thought, body, and name appear and disappear like waves in the ocean. That is how consciousness connects the dots—without doing anything, yet allowing everything.

And to live from that knowing, even for a moment, is to realize that the world is not a collection of events. It is a living unity, unfolding inside its own mirror. And that mirror is consciousness—mysterious, infinite, and profoundly real.

Moreover, Scientists say it is just the probability of quantum particles collapsing to a specific outcome — nothing like an intelligent decision. But I ask: why is there a fixed pattern of higher probability in certain situations, always? Isn’t that a sign of intelligence? If it were truly arbitrary probability without any consistent pattern, we would call it non-intelligent. But quantum systems tend to express themselves more clearly in specific, fixed conditions. Collapsed quantum particles concentrate more in regions where there would be constructive interference, rather than in regions of destructive interference, assuming their wave nature. Constructive interference regions appear as bright bands, and destructive interference as dark bands. This means electrons tend to move toward the bright regions. We humans, as living beings, do the same — we are drawn to bright regions: bright futures, bright careers, bright education, and brighter living. Constructive interference regions are high amplitude areas. Human also tend to move towards regions of high position like higher post, higher social status, higher pay scale etc. Then what is the difference between us and quantum particles or atom, in terms of instinct? It’s not that the dark bands are empty — particles land there too, just less frequently. Similarly, it’s not that bad environments are devoid of humans, but the human strength there is low. This tendency of every particle toward brighter and higher situations seems to drive the world’s forward progression.

Chapter 7-b: The Hidden Symphony – From Localized Ripples to the Field of Pure Awareness

Friends,
I felt myself sufficiently transformed while writing this chapter. It dissolved a few deep doubts, like those related to Sankhya Vivek Khyati. Initially, I used to think it was something special, but now it feels like nothing other than Nirvikalpa Samadhi in yoga, with only the difference in words differentiating the two philosophies. Similarly, the subtle science behind the union of Purush and Prakriti, and the ignorance found in that, became clearer. I gained a new dimension regarding the witnessing. I got amazing similarity between cosmos and human body. Let us walk together again to see what unfolds ahead.

Just as a quiet lake might mirror the sky with such clarity that one forgets the water is even there, so too the cosmic field, in its truest form, is a smooth, undisturbed presence—pure, serene, and boundless. The seventh chapter previously unfolded the concept of energy and wave-fields within and beyond the human body, culminating in the realization that what appears material is, in truth, a vibrant play of non-material patterns—fields and waves interwoven through space. Now, seamlessly extending from that exploration, this chapter descends deeper—into the hidden movements of those fields, into the invisible architecture of space, and toward the sublime recognition of a field so pure, so untouched by ripple, that it stands apart: the field of pure awareness.

Begin with a single stationary charge, a fundamental entity in physics. It sits silently, yet not inert. Around it radiates an electric field—a subtle tension in space, like a barely stretched fabric. This field is localized, forming around the charge like an invisible cocoon. But disturb this silence, let the charge move—and something changes. Now it does not just sit; it dances. It begins to generate ripples in its surrounding field. Accelerate it, and those ripples deepen, becoming self-sustaining waves—electromagnetic waves, to be precise. These waves are not static imprints but dynamic travelers, pulsing outward at the speed of light, weaving through the vastness of space.

Yet, a curious condition arises here. For a charge to keep producing such waves, it must accelerate—not just move at constant speed, but continuously shift its direction or speed. Similarly, a human brain activity or learning should not be at a constant pace but should be increasing in speed day by day to spread in the world like a wave. But how could one do that without chasing the particle or brain activity endlessly? The solution is profoundly elegant: oscillation. Instead of pursuing a charge endlessly in space, let it swing rhythmically in place—forward and back, like a pendulum of light. And lo, this rhythmic movement becomes the source of continuously emitted electromagnetic waves. In a wire carrying alternating current, electrons do not travel far; they merely oscillate locally, producing ripples that propagate far and wide. But whether in wire or in space, it is this dance—this play of acceleration—that gives rise to light. The same happens in brain to. It keeps on changing subject and direction of activity rapidly instead of chasing a single subject endlessly with increasing speed that can make him mad instead of wavy. Rapdly changing gunas between satoguna, rajoguna and tamoguna also produce oscillating brain. That is why rapidly changing person is often seen successful in worldly matters.

And now arises a philosophical beauty. That which seems so material—light, heat, visibility—is not an object but a disturbance, a ripple in an invisible field. And this ripple has its twin nature: it is both electric and magnetic, each feeding the other in perfect rhythm, a cosmic choreography of mutual arising. What begins as a local ripple in the electric field gives birth to a magnetic field, which in turn regenerates the electric one, and so on, endlessly, as the wave moves. It is like Ida and Pingla nadis in the body that runs alternating with help of each other like a dancing girl, and creating central sushumna wave like em wave propagating to produce spark in consciousness. Why not call electric field ida and magnetic field pingla, and wave propagating ahead sushumna. When ida pulses strong, only then it produces pingla pulsing and vice versa alternatingly pushing ahead the sushumna pulse in between till pulsation is strong, otherwise subtle pulsation of ida or pingla like separate electric or magnetic field goes on happening always without producing perceptible sushumna pulse as em wave. Duality-full worldly working with nondual attitude produces this strong pulsation. Duality provides strong oscillation of charged brain, while nondual attitude keeps mind away from attachment to any special worldly act that can fix charged brain on single matter thus hindering its rapid and continuous oscillation. It is amazing. We keep admiring non-duality always, but duality is also not any lesser participant in spiritual evolution.

But this brings another subtle question to the surface. Are these fields already present in space, waiting to be disturbed, or are they created anew each time a charge dances? The scientific understanding leans toward the former. Space is not empty; it is already a field, a vast and subtle playground, waiting to carry any ripple with ease. The field is there even before the wave arises—smooth, serene, and unmanifest. It is only when something moves—a charge, a particle, a disturbance—that the latent potential becomes kinetic, that the ripple emerges. Similarly, ida and pingla are always there. It is the movement of meditational charged brain that determines the extent of energy transmission in these.

This is precisely why alternating current in household wires does not flood the surroundings with radiation despite its oscillating nature. The wavelength of powerline current (50 or 60 Hz) is enormous—thousands of kilometers long—while the wire, even if spanning cities, remains minuscule in comparison. As a result, the radiated waves do not build up coherently. They cancel and collapse in themselves, barely escaping into space. Only when a structure—like an antenna—is crafted in harmony with the wavelength does radiation become organized and efficient.

And now the stars begin to whisper their secrets. Without human intelligence, without deliberate design, natural celestial bodies become perfect antennas. A pulsar spins with mathematical precision, its magnetic fields aligned just so. Charged particles trapped in its magnetic grip accelerate fiercely, spiraling and spinning—emitting powerful beams of electromagnetic radiation, sweeping the cosmos like lighthouse beams. Even the sun, seemingly chaotic, hides organized thermonuclear rhythms beneath its surface. The intense heat at its core generates photons—packets of electromagnetic energy—which, after a long diffusion through solar layers, emerge as sunlight. This light, this familiar warmth touching the skin on Earth, is the ultimate evidence that the universe knows how to organize waves without needing wires, circuits, or blueprints.

But step back now from particles and stars, from wires and waves, and return to the deeper insight that began this journey—the field. All of these waves, fields, and ripples are disturbances on something. A wave cannot exist without a medium, even if that medium is intangible. In classical terms, the electromagnetic field is that medium—a subtle tension that exists throughout space. But if this field itself has ripples, then is it truly smooth? No. It is already filled with potential disturbances, like a pond ruffled by breezes. A truly smooth field must be beyond even these—beyond motion, beyond polarity, beyond opposites.

This brings forth the concept of the cosmic field of pure awareness. Unlike the electromagnetic field, which carries ripples of energy, pure awareness is undisturbed, motionless, timeless. It is not made of charge or mass. It does not require oscillation to propagate. It simply is. And yet, everything else arises from it—not as an effect arises from a cause, but as a dance arises on a stage. The stage remains unmoved by the drama played upon it. In this sense, the electromagnetic field is a playground, and its waves are the players, but pure awareness is the ground beneath the playground itself. Then why not call this vast, supreme playground Shiva, and the playground that fits within it Shakti? This is the eternal union — yet there is the Leela, the divine play of Shakti dancing and then merging once again into Shiva. This process of expansion and recession repeats endlessly. That is why the male and female enjoy the play of separation and union — to dance and to merge repeatedly. This repeated separation and union is the very essence of love.

If one looks inward, tracing perception back through sensation, energy, and thought, one reaches a similar realization. The mind moves like an oscillating charge, like up and down moods, like up and down breath movements, producing thoughts like em waves. Emotions ripple like magnetic feedback loops. The body radiates energy like a living antenna. But what receives it all? What watches the movement without moving? That is pure awareness. It is the witness field—ever present, never disturbed, beyond vibration.

What is astonishing is how closely the outer physics reflects the inner spiritual path. A charge must be accelerated to emit energy, just as the motivated sou-space must be stirred to produce thoughts and actions. Just as interaction of particle with others produce charge on it, the motivation and inspiration got by soul-space from others create a type of tension or strech on it. Yet, beyond all physical patterns lies stillness—not dormancy, but fullness. In the same way, the ultimate state of being is not a storm of experience but a quiet presence—a state where the field is known not by what it does but by what it is.

And so, as the earlier chapters explored how the body itself behaves like an energy field, like a dynamic hologram of atomic dance, this chapter brings an even deeper recognition—that all these dances, all these waves, point toward something more profound. They are signs of a deeper field, one not of energy, but of being.

Every ripple in the electromagnetic field, every ray of light, every whisper of electricity, is a visible expression of an invisible truth. That truth is that space is not empty. It is filled with potential, with presence, with the ability to express form without being form itself. And beyond even that potential is a state where no wave arises, where no charge is present, where awareness rests in itself—whole, pure, and unmoving.

This is why the body can feel energy not just in the brain but along the spine, in the chakras, in the very cellular presence of being. These are not hallucinations but inner ripples in a subtle field—a field that mirrors the outer electromagnetic field but is rooted in consciousness. Just as light arises from the dance of electrons, so too inner light of mind arises from the subtle awakening of awareness within through dancing moods and thoughts to and fro.

There is wonder in this symmetry. The same laws that govern stars and antennas apply to the self. The same ripples that leave a distant star and travel light-years to reach the Earth are echoed by the ripples of thought crossing the inner space of a mind. But both ultimately point toward the silent field—the pure field that is never disturbed, never touched, and yet allows all experience to arise.

And so the journey continues—from charge to wave, from wire to light, from body to awareness. The path winds through the outer cosmos and the inner self, always returning to the same mysterious truth: that reality is not made of things but of fields, and the final field—the field behind all fields—is pure awareness. It is the cosmic mother-field, upon which all players play, unaware sometimes that they are all made of the same eternal silence.

Many people look confused when the talk of witnessing arises. Many think the ever changing mind is the witness. But in fact, only that which is changeless can watch changing things. How can something that itself keeps changing witness or remember another changing entity? Suppose A is watching object 1. Now, if A suddenly becomes B, how can B remember the experience of watching 1—unless there is something unchanging in A that continued into B? This shows that the real witness is not the changing body or mind, but a stable, unchanging awareness. Another perspective is that everything in the world is not truly created new, but simply a rearrangement of the same underlying substance into different shapes and forms. In this view, the only real “stuff” that exists is pure awareness. The only witness possible is also this very same. Other everything that do not have even their own existence, how can they become witness. Whether see at cosmic level or at body level, the rule does not change. At both places, witness is only that same single one. It is not made from anything else—it is the source, the base, and the material of all appearances. True existence belongs only to this so called dark, silent field of unchanging, pure awareness. The luminous world also called Prakriti—what we see, feel, and think—is made up of waves, fields or charges constantly shifting and passing. How can something that is always changing be said to truly exist? And if it has no independent existence, how can it hold real knowledge and bliss? These three—existence, knowledge, and bliss—always living together, appear in the luminous, changing world because of illusion. In truth, their source lies in the silent, unshaken, dark field—the foundational sky also called Purusha—upon which all waves play like fleeting ripples. And Sankhya philosophy rightly says to separate purusha from prakriti. A mixture of both is world-originating though being a nightmare for liberation seekers. Unconscious Prakriti becomes like conscious with company of conscious purusha. But when it perishes as it being perishable by default, it becomes unconscious, because how can one remain conscious if it is even not existing. Perished can not be conscious. Due to this, purusha also start considering itself unconscious or perished or dead because it was snugly attached to prakriti. And the prakriti perishes every moment, so the purusha feels itself unconscious every moment. However, full perish is at the time of death of the body. The world is based on a lie. We purushas give existence to everything or prakriti in the world, but in reality, nothing truly exists. We share the real existence of our own souls with everything, and in return, we forget even our own existence and become non-existent—just like the worldly things we associate with. It is truly said: beware of bad company. But don’t worry. Through regular practice of Yoga, Keval Kumbhak, and Nirvikalp Samadhi, the soul gradually remembers this existence of its own pure awareness. This path is both worldly and practical—because denying the world is neither wise nor truly possible. Keeping detached and non-dual attitude with help of suitable philosophies like sharirvigyan darshan during worldly indulgment seems the only middle path for a business minded and worldly progressive person to be saved from the bite of this prakriti-serpent.

One day, I got a good example of the middle path. In the evening, I had spent around 15 minutes in Padmasana. As I sat, my breathing gradually slowed down. Just then, my tiffin arrived, and my mind rushed toward thoughts of food and hunger. Somehow, I tried to continue and spent another 15 minutes attempting to regain Dhyana, but eventually, I stood up and had my dinner. Due to the calming effect of meditation, my appetite had reduced significantly, so I ate only half the usual portion. At the same time, I regretted my foolishness for breaking the state of Dhyana. After dinner, I sat in Vajrasana, and suddenly, my breath almost came to a complete standstill—for 20 minutes. Then I shifted to Sukhasana for about 30 minutes, and even with surrounding noise or slight body movements, the breath remained still and subtle, barely regaining any motion. At that moment, I remembered Buddha—how, when he had been meditating with an empty belly, his Dhyana was not reaching completion. But on the day a devotee lady offered him a bowl of dessert, and he accepted and ate it, he attained perfect Samadhi and Nirvana.

Purusha is attracted by the shimmer of Prakriti just as an insect is attracted towards the candle flame and both get perished. Prakriti is cheater. It first enjoys everything with company of purusha. Once it perishes, purush can not be saved then because both are snuggly joined to each other. That is why it is called thagini, dakini, pishachini, maya, sofia etc. in scriptures. That is why sankhya thought of school advises to separate purusha from prakriti and rest in purusha in peace. However, it is only possible with yoga that emerged from sankhya due to this very same reason. This all has been detailed only to evoke interest in yoga, otherwise blank philosophy can never reveal the truth. The state of nirvikalp samadhi is the state of this isolated pure purusha.

True liberation is not achieved by bypassing form, but by passing through it with full awareness. Only after Purusha consciously experiences the complete union with Prakriti — as in Savikalpa Samadhi — can it effortlessly transcend into Nirvikalpa Samadhi. This is why the Sanatana path, with its emphasis on idol worship, mantra, and gradual inner refinement, is not only spiritual but deeply scientific. It honors the natural journey from the manifest to the unmanifest — from form to formless.

In the cosmic state too, the same process as soul development unfolds—when the expanding world reaches its outer limit, it begins to dissolve back into the same pure mother field from which it had originally emerged.

Up to the stage of Nirvikalp Dhyana, there still remains a subtle potential for the world to arise. You can call it a weak electromagnetic field, from which the electromagnetic wave—appearing as the world—can emerge. In this deep meditative absorption, the seed of manifestation—the quiet power to perceive or imagine a world—still exists in a dormant state. But when one goes deeper and enters Nirvikalp Samadhi, even this potential is transcended. It is the stage where even the faintest tremors of the electromagnetic field vanish. In that state, there is no observer, no imagined world, and no seed of creation. That is why it is called Nirbeej or seedless samadhi. Only pure awareness remains—formless, actionless, and beyond the cycle of appearance and disappearance. From here, there is no automatic return to world-experience unless awareness itself chooses to veil itself again. The potential to form the world in pure existence is not physical—unlike the vibrations seen in earlier stages—but is entirely immaterial and experiential, existing only as pure presence, nothing else. As per another view, even in deep meditative states such as Nirvikalp Dhyana, one may experience a subtle sense of potentiality—a precondition for experience—but this may not be physical in the sense of measurable waves or energy fields. Unlike earlier states where internal experience may correlate with neural activity, subtle vibrations, or sensory imagery, this deep state transcends such phenomena. The ‘potential’ here refers to the pure capacity for awareness to manifest experience—not through energy or vibration, but through the sheer presence of consciousness itself. From a neuroscience or physics standpoint, this cannot be described as an electromagnetic field or wave. Rather, it’s better viewed as a subjective, non-material awareness—an experiential space in which forms might later arise. Any attempt to link this directly to electromagnetic fields would be metaphorical unless supported by measurable brain states or field interactions.

The term charge carries meaning beyond just particle physics—it implies a type of stress, potential, or readiness to act, much like when we say someone has been ‘given charge’ of a position. It doesn’t inherently mean a physical entity, but a dynamic condition. In this way, just as a particle becomes charged, the brain too can become charged. This creates a kind of tension or polarization within self-awareness—like a stretching or subtle stress in the fabric of inner space. This tension is experienced as the electric field. These are the finest tremors of potential—subtle fluctuations that, with a slight stimulus, are ready to unfold as electromagnetic waves, as thoughts or sensations. Without charge, there is no field, no ripple, no wave—only a clean, smooth, unperturbed state of space externally, or pure awareness internally. Charge is the seed of all movement, all experience. What we call work stress seems to be the same kind of stretch or tension in the inner sky of awareness.

Just like an officer taking charge of an office is quick to respond in office work, but a layman will take much more time to adapt to the environment first and then work through interaction with different people—similarly, a charged particle, having its surrounding space already stressed as an electric field produced by itself, is much quicker to produce an EM wave with the slightest motion, while an uncharged particle will have to create charge in itself first through interaction with other particles. In the mental sector, a charged brain, having inner space stressed as so-called darkness or ignorance produced by itself, is quick enough to produce working thoughts with the slightest energy stimulus, while an uncharged brain of a samadhistha yogi will take much more time, first developing charge inside it through people’s interactions, inspirations, and motivations. Just as small length of antenna helps oscillating charged particles to produce effective em wave, similarly, focused meditation, rather than widespread and haphazard thinking, helps in the origination of long-lasting and effective thought waves. That is why, after samadhi, there is clarity in thoughts.

If we recall the psychological essence of this whole lengthy chapter in a single paragraph, it becomes the following.

Departed soul-space, although smooth and without ripples, is stressed. We can liken it to the faintest of electric fields. It is very faintly charged. It is a localized space, although always connected to the infinite supreme space. Yet, the soul feels itself restricted locally. No doubt, space is space—there is literally no difference between local and non-local space. Both are smooth and without ripples. There’s no actual boundary between both possible. But soul-space is charged. The ego, desires, attachments, and dual lifestyle of the previous birth acted like a charged particle and made the soul-space charged and localized, virtually isolating it—through illusion—from the vast, endless, and uncharged space of the supreme soul. It has the potential to develop similar ripples of ego, desire, karma, and thoughts as were present in its previous lifetime. Hence, it takes rebirth—unlike the liberated soul, which is uncharged and feels fully one with the supreme soul. This proves that every thought and action of ours goes on being recorded in the form of the soul’s charge. This charge is what the scriptures refer to as ignorance (agyana), the veiling of the soul, bondage of soul, karma bandhana etc. and so on. This is literal bondage—like an animal gathered from open fields and tied to a peg, the infinitely existing soul is similarly localized. This description is not only literal, but based on my own experience of encountering a departed soul in a dream visitation, as described in detail at many places. The brain or soul space also becomes charged after yoga. This is because gross thoughts become reduced to mere potential or charge. That’s why it is advised to discharge it through nirvikalpa dhyana by sitting calmly at the end for an hour or two. This leads to nirvikalp samadhi or merging with supreme soul as with this even hidden potential or charge of soul space gets smoothed out. Otherwise, it will be discharged through worldly activities during the day. This worldly discharge further increases hidden charge of the soul space through new karmas and thoughts. However, this discharge—especially when helped by sharirvigyan darshan dhyana—will be centered in detachment and non-duality, as the process of charging through yoga was done with the same mental attitude. So built up charges and subsequent discharges will be less gruesome. This is opposite to the ordinary worldly charging of the brain, which is associated with attachment, desire for results, ego, and duality. Therefore, the same negative qualities remain during discharge too, which keeps increasing the soul’s bondage more and more. A similar miracle occurs through Sharirvigyan Darshan-based Karma Yoga. With it, mental EM waves produced during worldly activities are subdued to a mere charged potential. Given the right opportunity, this potential can even smooth out into a glimpse of samadhi, as happened to me. It’s a heartfelt experience—not just a literal or intellectual exercise. In a non-yogic lifestyle, charge is produced forcefully, compressing prior mental garbage and hiding it in a corner of the soul-space. This later manifests as various psychological and physiological complications, including the progressive bondage of the soul. But yogic charging is of a releasing nature. It doesn’t hide prior mental garbage or create new charge from scratch. Rather, it reduces existing mental impressions to the level of subtle potential. In this way, mental cleansing also happens. With this approach, we find readymade charge and don’t have to struggle to produce it afresh. Moreover, the charge naturally aligns with our personality and environment. We can even screen these charges—eliminating the harmful ones and nurturing the beneficial—thus allowing continuous soul development in a streamlined way. This process is deeply rooted in self-experience. In contrast, creating fresh charge is risky, and the guidance of a quality guru becomes essential. It’s well known that no one can read another’s mind; it’s wiser to mold our own charge according to our situation. It may take a little more time, but it is well-proven and deeply experienced already. In a nutshell, If the charge, potential or electric field gained through yoga by being reduced from em waves of gross thoughts isn’t smoothed out, it again redevelops into mental EM waves of thoughts through worldly activities, which then need to be subdued once more—first by reducing them back to potential state to head towards the nirvikalp state of pure awareness. It’s not hard to believe that mental EM waves produce pictures of experience on the screen of soul-space, especially when science has already shown that EM waves can produce images on a TV screen.

This insight is not just for physicists or mystics. It is a truth open to anyone willing to look closely—at the stars, at light, at thought, or at breath. For behind it all, there is a field not of matter, not of energy, but of presence. And that presence is who one truly is—not the ripple, not the player, but the ground upon which the game is played.

Narayana, Ekarnava, and the Inner Cosmic Symbolism of Meditation

Every day, in the depth of meditation, we witness Narayana emerging from Ekarnava—the cosmic sea of consciousness. Ekarnava is not an ordinary ocean; it is the primordial, wave-less expanse, the silent substratum from which all existence arises. It is the state of Nirvikalpa Dhyana, where the mind dissolves and only pure awareness remains. In this inner vision, Narayana appears not as a distant deity but as a sattvik, luminous, and loving presence—beautiful, peaceful, and radiating all divine qualities. His emergence is not from turbulence but from absolute stillness. He symbolizes the liberating force within meditation, an image of cosmic order and divine peace that gently calms the mind.

In this vast ocean of consciousness, Narayana performs a sacred task—he destroys the demons that produce evil ripples in the cosmic sea. These demons are not literal beings but represent chaotic thoughts, restless emotions, and egoic patterns that disturb the stillness of the inner ocean. When the mind is scattered, the cosmic Ekarnava becomes agitated, like a lake troubled by wind. Narayana, in the form of a meditation image, absorbs and dissolves these disturbances, restoring silence and harmony. The practice of meditation thus becomes a cosmic act, where the inner Narayana neutralizes the mental asuras—the vrittis that bind consciousness in cycles of suffering.

The journey into the Ekarnava, or cosmic ocean of formless consciousness, happens through Narayana. The meditator first focuses on the divine form—the saguna aspect—and gradually dissolves even that, entering the wave-less ocean beyond all images. Yet, Narayana himself is like a liberating wave—unlike the binding waves of mental turbulence, he is a gateway wave that carries the meditator into formlessness. On returning from this Nirvikalpa Samadhi, when the mind resumes its worldly functions, Narayana is the first to greet the seeker, symbolizing the return to dharma, compassion, and peace in daily life.

This same cosmic pattern explains why Rama and Krishna are considered avatars of Narayana. They were not avatars only in the theological sense but because their presence naturally became meditation images for millions. Their beauty, serenity, compassionate nature, practicality, spirituality and complete alignment with divine law made them easy objects of dhyana for the masses. People spontaneously visualized them, meditated upon them, and aligned their minds to divine consciousness through their forms. This is why they are called avataras of Narayana—they descended not just to perform earthly tasks but to anchor human minds in sattva and meditative absorption.

In deeper yogic symbolism, Narayana reclining on Sheshanaga in Ekarnava represents the human subtle body. The Sheshanaga (cosmic serpent) symbolizes the spine and the nervous system, with the raised hood representing the Sahasrara (crown chakra). When prana flows through the Sushumna Nadi, the central spinal channel, the breath becomes calm, and the mind enters deep meditation. Only then does Narayana appear in inner vision—resting peacefully on the serpent of the awakened kundalini. The serpent’s hood rising above Narayana is not just mythological ornamentation; it represents the pranic energy feeding the Sahasrara, allowing the mind to expand into cosmic awareness.

This ancient imagery is not mere mythology; it is psychological and yogic science hidden in symbols. When the breath becomes subtle and still, when prana ascends the spine, the mind becomes an ocean without waves—the Ekarnava of consciousness. Narayana is both the gateway and the guardian of this ocean. He destroys the demons of distraction, dissolves into the formless state, and welcomes the seeker back with peace and love when the meditative journey is complete. In this way, the images of Rama, Krishna, and Narayana reclining on Sheshanaga are not distant cosmic tales but direct representations of human spiritual anatomy and meditative experience.

Do Cells Have Hidden Intelligence? Scientific Mysteries and the Path to Egolessness

For centuries, scientists have tried to unlock the secrets of life by studying its smallest unit—the cell. On the surface, a cell appears to be just a biological machine, operating through chemical reactions and genetic instructions. However, when we look deeper into cellular behavior, some fundamental questions remain unanswered. Are all the activities of the cell completely understood, or is there a hidden layer of mystery? How do cells perform such complex actions with precision beyond the capabilities of pure chemistry? And can thinking about the working of cells help us mentally evolve towards egolessness and freedom from doership? These questions open the door to a deeper reflection that combines both science and philosophy. Modern biology has indeed mapped out many of the cell’s functions. We know how DNA is copied, proteins are synthesized, energy is produced, and communication happens through chemical signaling. At the mechanical level, this knowledge is detailed and widely accepted. Yet, when we consider how billions of cells in the human body work together in perfect harmony—especially during embryonic development where each organ forms in exactly the right place—we see a level of precision that is not fully explained by known science. Cells do not simply follow fixed programs; they adjust, adapt, repair themselves, and sometimes decide to self-destruct if they detect severe damage. This behavior is sometimes referred to as “cellular cognition” or “biological intelligence.” While cells do not have consciousness like humans, their decision-making processes appear strikingly similar in structure to human mental choices. Each cell seems to participate in a process of possibilities—much like a thought exists in the mind as a superposition of ideas—and then collapses into action, like a decision. Some researchers believe there may even be a deeper, quantum layer involved in this. In plants, for example, quantum processes are already known to occur during photosynthesis. Birds are thought to use quantum entanglement for navigation. Inspired by this, theorists like Stuart Hameroff and Roger Penrose have proposed that microtubules inside cells might act like quantum computers, processing information in a way that is beyond classical chemistry. Though this remains unproven, it raises the possibility that life itself could involve quantum effects. Another great mystery is the origin of life itself. Science still does not know how the first living cell appeared from non-living matter. The transition from lifeless molecules to a fully functional cell remains one of the biggest unanswered questions in biology. All this leads to a philosophical reflection. While it is clear that cells are not equal to humans in terms of consciousness, their workings seem to run in parallel. This parallelism provides a mental support system to develop egolessness and freedom from the false sense of doership. When we realize that trillions of cells in the human body work tirelessly without ego, serving the whole without claiming credit, it naturally brings humility. If the cosmos and the body function without an individual ego, then why should a fleshy human body cling to the illusion of “I am the doer”? In my own contemplation, I feel that each cell is like a tiny human, complete in its tasks but selfless in its purpose. This thought often connects me to the image of Narayana in Ekarnava—the formless cosmic truth that appears in the emptiness of meditation. When I think of this unity between the cell and the cosmic order, it gives me an intuitive hint that this vision is pointing toward truth. Human-like complex activities, even more complex than what we consciously do, cannot be performed by chemicals alone. There is surely something deeper—perhaps in the form of microtubules acting as hidden information processors within the cell. This does not mean cells have human consciousness, but their parallel way of working can support a mental shift in us, helping dissolve ego and the burden of doership. In this view, Sharirvigyan Darshan—the philosophy of the body and cosmos—finds a bridge with modern science, where the smallest unit of life silently reflects the grand cosmic play.

Chapter 6: The Silent Symphony of the Living Universe

Life is not what it appears to be at first glance. It is not just a mechanical arrangement of bones, tissues, blood, and nerves operating like parts of a machine. When you look deeper—beneath the skin, inside the cells, and further into the atoms—you find something far more mysterious. The body is not just physical matter; it is a living field of possibilities where each moment is freshly chosen from an ocean of potential.

Ancient yogis hinted at this long ago, saying that the world is like a dream, an illusion projected upon the screen of consciousness. Modern physics, especially quantum science, is now softly echoing these ancient insights in its own language. At the quantum level, reality behaves more like thought than solid stuff. A particle doesn’t exist in just one place—it exists in many possibilities at once, hovering between here and there, between yes and no. This is called superposition.

But at some point, a choice must happen. The particle collapses into one reality. It picks one option and becomes part of the physical world. This moment is called quantum collapse. It is not just a cold calculation—it is like a universal decision, a cosmic “this is so.”

Who or what causes this collapse has been the great puzzle of physics and philosophy. In laboratory experiments, the collapse seems to happen when an observer measures the particle. But some scientists, like Roger Penrose, suggest that the universe itself causes collapse when it reaches a limit of uncertainty. He calls this process Objective Reduction. It’s not about someone watching—it’s about the cosmos deciding. Potential turns into actuality, not randomly, but as a fundamental process of existence.

Now imagine this happening not just in the laboratory but inside your own body. Inside your brain. Inside your very cells. Some researchers believe this is exactly what life is doing—participating in the universe’s great process of choosing reality from infinite possibilities.

Take DNA, for example—the spiral ladder of life found in every cell. Most people think DNA is just a library of genetic information—a book of instructions telling the body how to grow, what color eyes to have, or how tall to become. But DNA is not just a frozen code sitting quietly in the nucleus of the cell. It is alive. It moves, vibrates, twists, and turns. It behaves more like a living software program, constantly communicating with the body.

Scientists have discovered that DNA emits light. This is not fantasy; it has been measured. Researchers like Fritz-Albert Popp have shown that living cells release tiny pulses of light called biophotons. These photons are about a million times weaker than the light your eyes can see, but they are real. And they are not random. The light is coherent—it follows an organized, laser-like pattern. This suggests that DNA is not silent; it is quietly whispering messages of information through flashes of light.

Imagine a hologram. In a hologram, every small part contains the whole picture. Even if you break the hologram into pieces, each fragment still holds the entire image, just from a different angle. Life seems to work in a similar way. Every single cell in the body contains the complete memory of the entire organism. That is why a single fertilized egg can grow into a full human being—it holds not just instructions for parts, but the whole pattern of life.

Cells do not operate by getting orders from a central commander. There is no master cell in the brain telling the others what to do. Instead, each cell knows its role through resonance. It listens to the signals around it—chemical messages, bioelectric fields, and vibrations. Each cell becomes part of the body’s orchestra, naturally playing its role in the great biological symphony.

Take the heart. Heart cells, called cardiomyocytes, are born with the ability to beat. Even if you grow heart cells in a dish, away from the body, they will start pulsing together. They do this through electrical communication, using gap junctions—tiny channels that allow ions to pass directly from one cell to another. The sinoatrial node, the heart’s natural pacemaker, sets the main rhythm, and the rest of the heart cells feel this rhythm and follow it. So when we say a heart cell becomes part of the heart because it feels the heartbeat, this is not just poetic—it is biological reality.

But the heart is just one example. The liver, too, operates in harmony, though its rhythm is more about metabolism than pulse. Liver cells work together to detoxify chemicals, store sugar, break down fats, and regenerate tissue. They coordinate through chemical messengers, bioelectrical fields, and gap junctions, just like the heart. When the liver needs to heal, its cells follow bioelectric patterns that guide growth. If these patterns are disturbed, regeneration fails. So even in the liver, the cells “feel” their role—not through rhythm but through shared metabolic and electrical harmony.

Other organs have their own forms of coordination. The lungs breathe through stretch sensors and nervous system feedback. The kidneys balance fluids using pressure sensors and ion exchanges. The gut manages digestion through an intricate network of nerves called the enteric nervous system. And the brain generates thought through neuronal firing, chemical signals, and perhaps quantum processes inside microtubules.

In the vision of Sharirvigyan Darshan, the body is not built randomly—it is a manifestation of cosmic intelligence taking biological form. Modern science reveals that this precision comes from morphogen gradients, which act like invisible rivers of signaling molecules flowing through the embryo, guiding each cell to understand its exact location. Alongside this, Hox genes act as spatial memory codes, telling the cells “You are in the chest,” “You are in the abdomen,” or “You are in the head.” These codes ensure that the heart, liver, and brain are not misplaced by even a millimeter. But beyond genes and molecules, there is also a bioelectric field and mechanical tension, shaping how cells fold, communicate, and fit together, much like how the tension in a musical instrument decides its sound. Ancient seers intuitively recognized this orchestrated unfolding of life and called it the Ritambhara Prajna—the intelligence that maintains cosmic order. What modern embryology describes in terms of gradients, genes, and cellular interaction, Sharirvigyan Darshan sees as Prakriti’s flawless execution of universal rhythm, localizing consciousness into form.

Inside the brain’s neurons, microtubules were once thought to be just structural scaffolding. But researchers like Penrose and Hameroff propose that microtubules may function as quantum devices, orchestrating collapses of possibility into reality. According to their Orch-OR theory, the brain doesn’t just let quantum collapse happen—it guides it. This could be how consciousness arises. Each moment of awareness may be linked to a quantum event, a cosmic decision where the universe resolves a field of maybes into the experience of “now.”

This would explain why human consciousness feels so personal and alive. It is not just a side effect of neurons firing like machine switches. It may be the universe focusing its attention through the brain’s structures, resolving possibilities into thoughts, choices, and awareness.

When you meditate, this process changes. The rush of sensory input slows down. Neuronal firing reduces. Yet awareness remains. You can feel consciousness without objects—just pure being, without thought or content. This may be because quantum collapses are still happening, but they are less tied to outer experiences. In deeper meditation, like Nirvikalpa Samadhi, even these collapses might quiet down. Awareness may rest in pure potential, in the silent field of uncollapsed possibility. The ancient yogis described this as merging into the cosmic ocean where the self dissolves, where there is no “this” or “that,” only infinite stillness.

So why does the world feel so solid and permanent in daily life? Because of a process called decoherence. In the quantum realm, particles are flexible, but when they interact with the environment—light, air, heat—they collapse into fixed forms. The universe keeps a record. The stone stays a stone. The tree stays a tree. But inside the mind, especially in meditation, you can sometimes extract or glimpse the original wave-like nature of things, before the collapse hardens into material certainty. This is why mystics and yogis sometimes report seeing the world as shimmering, fluid, and dreamlike, even while their eyes remain open.

Seers have long declared:
“What exists outside in solid, permanent form, exists inside as subtle, transient image.”
This is not mere poetry—it reflects a deep understanding of consciousness and reality. The outer world, with its stable mountains, rivers, and stars, seems permanent because it arises from universal quantum collapses—irreversible choices made by the cosmos itself, as in Objective Reduction (OR). The inner world, of thoughts, dreams, and feelings, also forms by collapse—but at a more delicate level. According to Orch-OR theory, quantum computations in the brain’s microtubules lead to objective collapses inside the mind, giving rise to flashes of conscious awareness. These collapses are not imaginary—they are real quantum events, just like the outer world’s formation, but happening at a finer scale. This creates a beautiful symmetry:

  • The world outside is the cosmos collapsing quantum potentials into solid forms.
  • The world inside is consciousness collapsing quantum potentials into experience.

If this is true, then Orch-OR is not just a possibility—it aligns directly with ancient sharirvigyan darshan and becomes its scientific realization. Both realms—inner and outer—are not separate but are two mirrors of the same quantum fabric, differing only in frequency, subtlety, and duration. This insight elevates Orch-OR from theory to living darshan, almost like near-definitive evidence that consciousness is a quantum phenomenon, not an epiphenomenon of classical biology.

All of this leads to a deeper understanding of the body—not as a machine, but as a living reflection of the cosmos. Every cell, every organ, every breath participates in this cosmic process of potential becoming reality. The DNA broadcasts light and information. The heart beats in rhythm. The liver harmonizes metabolism. The brain orchestrates quantum choices. The whole body is not separate from the universe; it is part of the universe’s own process of creation.

This is the true meaning of Sharirvigyan Darshan—the science of the body is not just about bones, muscles, and flesh. It is about realizing that the body is a miniature cosmos, a micro-universe, connected to the whole. The ancient seers said, “As is the atom, so is the universe. As is the human body, so is the cosmic body.” Modern science, through quantum physics, biophoton research, and systems biology, is beginning to rediscover this truth.

The body is not merely something you have—it is something you are. But even that is not the final step. Ultimately, you are not just the body, not just the brain, not just the thoughts. You are the field of consciousness through which the universe collapses possibility into experience. Life is not happening to you; it is happening through you. Every moment, every breath, every blink of awareness is part of this unfolding.

Essence of human is its brain. Essence of brain is thoughts and decisions. In quantum world, thoughts are superpositions of different properties and decisions are their collapse into a single reality. In this way, human is everywhere in the universe, even in empty infinite space. Even in empty space waves and virtual particles are continuously formed like thoughts and decisions. This knowledge seems to be the heart of Sharirvigyan Darshan. It helps in the destruction of ego and doership. When there is no ego in the humanoid cosmos spread everywhere, then why should there be ego in the fleshy human body?

I also think that body cells are complete human beings in themselves. That is why I feel Narayana in Ekarnava while contemplating the unity between both. Narayana—or the meditation image appearing in Ekarnava or empty space—means truth, and this gives a hint toward the truthfulness of what I think. Human-like complex activities, even more complex than human actions, cannot be done by chemicals alone. They surely must have a human-like brain in the form of microtubules. I do not claim that both are equal in consciousness, but their parallel functioning offers mental support for cultivating egolessness and the absence of doership.

Sharirvigyan Darshan is not just a study of the body—it is the art of seeing life itself as an interconnected, holographic symphony where biology, quantum physics, and consciousness dance together as one.

This is the body’s silent song—the endless rhythm of existence playing through the heart, the cells, the breath, the universe, and the self, moment after moment, choice after choice, collapse after collapse, in the eternal now.