Book Catalogue and the Quiet Role of Hobbies in Stabilizing the Mind

A person without any hobby or creative outlet often becomes mentally restless or disturbed over time. This is something many people observe in everyday life. When the mind has nothing meaningful to engage with, it begins to turn its energy inward in an unhealthy way. Thoughts multiply, worries grow, and small issues start appearing larger than they actually are. Because of this, almost every culture has encouraged some form of hobby, art, reflection, or creative engagement as a natural part of life.

The reason behind this is quite simple. The human mind continuously produces thoughts, ideas, emotions, and mental energy. That energy needs a channel through which it can move outward constructively. If no such channel exists, the energy keeps circulating inside the mind. Over time this internal circulation may appear as overthinking, worry, irritation, unnecessary arguments, or mental fatigue. A hobby functions almost like a release valve for this pressure. When the mind becomes engaged in a meaningful activity, its energy flows outward in a balanced way.

Another reason hobbies are helpful is that an idle mind tends to amplify problems. When someone has nothing engaging to do apart from routine duties, the mind often begins replaying past events repeatedly. It may imagine future difficulties that do not even exist yet. It may compare life constantly with others and create unnecessary dissatisfaction. This process happens quietly and slowly, but over time it can disturb mental balance. A hobby gives the mind something constructive to focus on, preventing this endless cycle of mental replay.

Hobbies also create what might be called micro-joys in everyday life. These are small moments of satisfaction that occur regularly through simple activities. Gardening, reading, writing, music, photography, yoga, meditation, sports, crafts, or learning new subjects can all produce these small but meaningful experiences. Each of these activities gives the mind a sense of participation and quiet accomplishment. Even when the activity itself is simple, the psychological effect can be surprisingly positive.

Another important aspect is identity. Many people build their entire identity only around work responsibilities and family duties. While these roles are important, they can make life feel narrow if nothing else exists alongside them. A hobby adds another dimension to life. It is something done not because of obligation but because of genuine interest. This additional dimension often brings balance and freshness into daily living.

Psychologists sometimes describe the mental state produced by hobbies as a flow state. In this state the mind becomes fully absorbed in the activity being performed. Time passes quickly, stress hormones decrease, creativity increases, and the mind becomes calm. Many people unknowingly experience this state while painting, writing, playing music, reading deeply, gardening, or engaging in sports. Even simple activities can generate this state when attention becomes fully present.

From a broader perspective, intellectual and spiritual exploration can also function as hobbies of this type. Reading philosophical works, studying mythology, exploring yoga psychology, or reflecting on consciousness allows the mind to engage deeply without agitation. In such cases the activity becomes both a hobby and a form of contemplation.

Writing and reading spiritual or philosophical reflections naturally fall into this category. They allow the mind to explore ideas about life, consciousness, and existence. At the same time they give mental energy a constructive direction. Over time, such reflections sometimes grow into longer writings or books.

Many of the writings listed below emerged from exactly such reflective exploration. Some of them discuss Kundalini and yogic psychology. Others examine mythology, philosophy, or the meeting point between spirituality and science. A few books address practical matters such as self-publishing and building websites. None of them were originally planned as part of a large catalogue. They appeared gradually over time as different ideas and reflections developed.

For readers who encounter one of these writings and wish to explore further, the following catalogue brings many of them together in one place.

Books That Emerged from These Reflections

  1. A New Age Kundalini Tantra: Autobiography of a Love-Yogi
  2. The Moon Vet: Consciousness, Cosmic Civilizations & Life Beyond Earth
  3. Kundalini Science: A Spiritual Psychology – Book 5
  4. Dancing Serpent: The Play of Inner Energies
  5. Love Story of a Yogi: What Patanjali Says
  6. Purana Riddles: Decoding the Hidden Meanings of the Puranas
  7. Tantra: The Ultimate Knowledge
  8. Kundalini Demystified: What Premyogi Vajra Says
  9. Organic Planet: Autobiography of an Eco-Loving Yogi
  10. Comic Mythology: Awakening the Spirit with Beards
  11. Kundalini Science: A Spiritual Psychology – Book 2
  12. Sex to Kundalini Awakening: Mystical Sexual Tantra Explained
  13. She Who Became My Guru
  14. Mythological Body: A New-Age Physiology Philosophy
  15. My Kundalini Website on E-Reader
  16. The Art of Self-Publishing and Website Creation
  17. Bhishma Pitamaha: The Unsung Mahāyogī
  18. Kundalini Science: A Spiritual Psychology – Book 4
  19. Vipassana & Kundalini: Harmonizing Inner Awakening
  20. Kundalini Science: A Spiritual Psychology – Book 3
  21. Beyond Kundalini: The Journey to Nirvikalpa – Book 6
  22. Sanātana Dharma: A Lived Experience
  23. Sankhya Sansar: Sankhya, Yoga & Vedanta United
  24. Quantum Science & Space Science in Yoga
  25. Quantum Darshan: Consciousness, Body & the Quantum Universe
  26. Blackhole Doing Yoga: A Cosmic Allegory
  27. The Dance of Unity: Kundalini Through Non-Dual Awareness
  28. Kundalini Science: A Spiritual Psychology
  29. Krishna Living: Play, Love, Yoga, and the Evolution of Consciousness — Sanātana Dharma – Lived Experience (Series) Volume II
  30. Walking along the Bank: Reflections After Kundalini — After the Six-Volume Kundalini Science Series

Series

  1. Kundalini Science – A Spiritual Psychology (Books 1–6)
  2. Sanatana Dharma – Lived Experience (Books 1–2)

Boxed Sets

  1. KUNDALINI ESSENTIALS – Experiences & Insights (Books 1–4)
  2. TANTRA & SACRED ENERGY – From Love and Sexuality to Awakening (Books 1–3)
  3. KUNDALINI SCIENCE: A Spiritual Psychology – Complete Six-Book Series

Readers can find these books on Amazon by searching the author’s name or through general search engines. All titles are also available in audiobook format.

In the end, whether through hobbies, creative activities, philosophical reflection, or spiritual inquiry, the mind naturally seeks a constructive anchor. When that anchor is present, mental energy finds direction and balance. The catalogue above is simply a collection of such reflections that grew over time from curiosity about consciousness, life, and the inner dimensions of human experience.

Perception of Time: An Illusion — How Yoga, Environment, and Awareness Dissolve Time Even While in Motion

Introduction: Question That Sparked the Inquiry

A reader once asked me a simple but profound question on the theme of demystifying kundalini: if time is an illusion, then what really happens when we travel? When we sit in an aircraft and fly from one city or country to another, are we actually going anywhere? Or is the mind creating the perception of movement and time, giving us the feeling that we have reached somewhere? And if movement itself is illusory, how does one experience timelessness even while the body is in motion? This question opened a deep inquiry, not theoretical, but rooted in lived experience, observation, yoga, and long years of inner life.

Time Is Not Experienced Directly, Only Change Is

Time is never experienced directly. What we experience is change. The mind observes change, compares it with a previous state, stores that comparison as memory, and from this process the feeling of time is generated. Without comparison and memory, time does not arise as a felt reality. When we sit inside an aircraft, from an external reference frame the body is moving across space. But from the standpoint of immediate awareness, one is simply sitting. He does not see any change in his position. Even when looking outside, no scene appears to be changing, unlike when sitting in a car or a train.

When I drive a car, I become timeless. I do not notice the hours or even days spent on the journey. But when I sit as a passenger, even two hours start feeling like a whole day. During driving, my mind does not register changes, nor are there continuously changing thoughts, so the sense of time disappears. Although roads change, scenes change, and even thoughts change, the mind does not register them deeply because it requires sufficient space for driving attention. When this is accompanied by a non-dual sense, timelessness increases further, along with a sense of bliss.

As a passenger, however, I experience whorls of fleeting and constantly changing thoughts. To reduce this, I started reading something while traveling. Reading calmed down vulgar and restless thoughts, and as a result, the sense of time was reduced to some extent. Sensations arise, thoughts arise, sounds are heard, the body breathes. The sense that “I am going somewhere” is not a direct experience but a mental construction created by clocks, schedules, destinations, expectations, and memory. If these mental reference points are temporarily removed, movement continues, but time collapses.

Motion Does Not Create Time, Mental Registration Does

Movement by itself does not create time. Time is created when change is registered deeply and held. Change is continuous everywhere, but felt time arises only when change is noticed, compared, and stored. This is the crucial mechanism. Yoga does not stop change, and meditation does not freeze the world. What yoga changes is how change is processed. In a yogic life, experiences are lived fully but are not clung to. Meditation dissolves impressions before they can consolidate into dense memory. Change may be noticed lightly or may be deregistered quickly before it turns into the psychological substance we later call time. This is why days can feel full while living them, yet years can feel astonishingly short when remembered.

Before formally sitting for yoga, this state of unchanging Tao occurred in me even during periods of intense worldliness, with the help of Sharirvigyan Darshan. Through this, I became non-dual in experience. Non-duality is essentially synonymous with non-changing.

During those fifteen years as well, I experienced timelessness. Time did not dominate my life even then, because awareness remained established in something that did not move, even though worldly activities continued on the surface.

Jet Lag and the Body’s Relationship With Time

This understanding becomes clearer when we look at jet lag. Jet lag is not caused by distance but by crossing time zones. When one travels fast across multiple time zones, clock time jumps abruptly, but the body does not jump. The body lives by rhythm, not by abstraction. Circadian cycles, digestion, hormone release, sleep and wakefulness all follow gradual solar cues. Jet lag is the desynchronization between symbolic clock time and biological rhythm. The body must realign itself, and that realignment is felt as fatigue, confusion, or discomfort. In this sense, jet lag can be understood as the body reconciling continuity after the mind has leapt ahead through space using technology.

Why Delhi to Goa Felt Effortless

This is why flying from Delhi to Goa did not produce any jet lag for me. Hunger came naturally, sleep came on time, and I felt rested on arrival. There was no disturbance because no time zones were crossed. Clock time, sunlight rhythm, and body rhythm remained aligned. This experience shows something important: the body does not care about distance, it cares about rhythm. Whether one moves ten kilometers or two thousand kilometers is irrelevant to the body if rhythm is preserved. From the awareness perspective, movement happened, but time did not fracture. Experience remained continuous.

Ten Years That Felt Like Ten Days

While living a full yogic life for nearly ten years, those years passed like ten days. This is not poetic exaggeration. It is a direct consequence of how time is stored. Time exists only as memory, not as lived presence. When life is restless, conflicted, or driven by unresolved desire, memory becomes dense, and time feels long. When life is lived in presence, with minimal psychological friction, memory accumulation is light. In yogic living, days are lived, not counted. Experiences complete themselves in the moment. When one looks back later, there are very few mental bookmarks. The mind therefore concludes that little time has passed. This does not mean life was empty. It means life was complete enough not to leave residue. Time feels long only when something is unfinished.

Registration of Change Is the Real Clock

This leads to the central insight: time is not produced by change itself, but by the depth of registration of change. Yoga weakens unnecessary registration. Meditation clears impressions before they harden. Experiences are either lightly registered or unregistered quickly. Before they can thicken into psychological time, they dissolve. This is why suffering stretches time. Suffering creates strong registration through resistance, repetition, and unresolved emotion. One painful year can feel longer than ten peaceful ones. Yoga does not erase memory. It prevents excess accumulation.

The Role of Unfamiliar Locations and Reduced Social Obligation

Another important observation from my experience was that I was living in an unfamiliar location, with far fewer social obligations. This played a major role. Social obligation is one of the strongest amplifiers of time. Social life requires constant identity maintenance, comparison, anticipation, and retrospection. Each interaction creates micro-registrations that multiply memory density. When social obligation is reduced, the mind has less to track, rehearse, and store. Events naturally cluster into broader chunks. Instead of daily registration, experiences register weekly or even more broadly. This is not because nothing happens, but because nothing demands psychological bookkeeping. Solitude or low-demand environments allow experience to complete itself immediately.

Spiritual Environment and Subconscious Orientation

Timelessness during those ten years was also supported by the spiritual environment itself. Temples, kathas, Sanatan rhythms, and sacred symbols were ever-present. This environment did not force belief or practice. It gently oriented the subconscious inward. Certain ideas were already settled deeply, such as the notion that the Ganga purifies or that the cow is sacred. Because these ideas were settled, they did not require daily mental debate. They rested quietly in the background, freeing attention. When inwardness is socially normal, the nervous system relaxes into yoga without effort.

Adolescence, Childhood, and the Earliest Experience of Time and Duality


This timelessness that I describe was also experienced by me for about three years during adolescence. However, before that, in early childhood, I felt time as extremely delayed, perhaps the slowest and heaviest in my entire lifetime. That phase occurred largely due to the company I kept, especially with Mohan, a stormy and restless child. That environment intensified duality and made even short periods feel unbearably long.
Yet, paradoxically, that phase also helped non-duality to be learned indirectly. Through contrast, awareness began to recognize what it was not. However, even a small bout of duality—such as anger, dispute, or loss of non-dual self-awareness—even if it lasts for only a few moments, makes one feel as if one is passing through ages. Time stretches instantly.
Such moments do not end with the moment itself. They strain relationships for a long time afterward, thereby increasing duality further, just as a small spark increases a fire ahead. One disturbance creates conditions for many more. Because of this, one needs to be always cautious, not merely in action, but in inner alignment.

During my university time, I felt that five years were spent like five lifetimes. This happened because the environment there was completely filled with duality, especially around me. I do not know whether those people were around me so that I could learn from them, or whether they were meant to make me learn their style of living, but later it felt like both happened.

I was affected by their dual lifestyle, and perhaps they were also affected by my non-dual style, especially later in their lives when their jumping energy calmed down. Although I was recently awakened at that time, what can a single awakening do if the environment does not support it and instead opposes it? I was happier remaining alone in non-duality, but one cannot remain alone in a crowd for long.

Even before awakening, because of my family background rooted in non-duality, I already felt timelessness. This shows that a non-dual environment is more important than awakening itself. Awakening only gives confirmation that nonduality is the final truth.

Symbols as Functional Yogic Tools, Not Superstition

In yogic understanding, symbols are not literal or superstitious. They are functional. The Ganga represents flow, purification, continuity, and subconsciously aligns attention toward the central channel, the sushumna. The cow represents sensory nourishment without aggression. Preserving the cow symbolically means protecting the senses from being scattered outward. Worship of natural objects is not about external objects themselves. It is about regulating inner systems. Each symbol corresponds to subtle functions within the body and nervous system. Every form of energy and matter is connected to one or another chakra. Therefore, worshipping the presiding deity of that form is essentially worshipping the corresponding chakra, or practicing chakra meditation in a symbolic way. symbols are not main aim but the subtle yogic principles represented by them.

It is not that worshipping nature or preserving any special animal is the main aim of the scriptures. The main aim is the subtle yogic truth. Symbols may change, but the truth does not.

Why Gross Worldliness Cannot Hold Subtle Insight

People deeply immersed in gross worldliness often cannot understand subtle yogic states. Even if they momentarily glimpse them, they cannot retain them. This is not because they are incapable, but because their memory systems are busy preserving visible, measurable, socially reinforced objects. Gross things advertise themselves repeatedly and therefore remain remembered. Subtle states are self-erasing. Without an environment, rhythm, and symbolic support, subtle awareness is quickly overwritten. This is why traditional yoga relies so heavily on environment, routine, and symbolism, not merely on technique.

Timelessness Is Not Escape, It Is Alignment

Timelessness did not arise because I escaped the world. It arose because the world I was in did not constantly pull attention outward. When the senses are protected, when symbols remind without demanding, when identity work is minimal, change still happens, but it is not registered as time. Yoga does not slow time or speed it up. It reduces the mind’s need to measure it. Awareness remains unchanged whether the body is sitting still or crossing continents. Movement continues. Time dissolves.

Conclusion: Living Yoga, Not Practicing It

This entire inquiry leads to one conclusion. Time is manufactured through memory. When memory lightens, time thins. When awareness is complete, time disappears. Yoga lived as a way of life, supported by environment, rhythm, and inward orientation, naturally dissolves time without effort. This is not an altered state. It is the ground of experience. Whether the body is in motion or rest becomes irrelevant. That is yoga lived, not practiced.

Ultimately, this converges to the ultimate base of non-duality. Change is what affects consciousness and the body. Change itself is duality. First, consciousness is affected, and with it the body, as both are deeply connected. A change in time zone is an extreme change in the environment, leading to extreme duality and, consequently, more pronounced effects on the body.

If non-duality is maintained, these changes may become less severe. In fact, change itself may even become beneficial by producing stronger non-duality, because the former becomes the basis for the emergence of the latter when approached with the correct mindset.

What a change in time zone produces body-change through a sudden alteration of position, an even greater degree of it is produced with dual mindset while living in the same location. We do not notice it because it is gradual and sustained, even though it is low-grade. Yet it affects the body and consciousness much more than occasional changes of location.

Thus, non-duality appears to be the most fundamental antidote to the poisoning of body and mind caused by continuous change, especially in modern life.

One more experiential insight emerges from this. Working too strenuously, to the point of exhausting the body and mind, strengthens duality indirectly and unknowingly. This happens because it gives the inner message that one’s work is more important or special. Importance should exist in the mind, but it should not be given excessive weight, as that produces duality.

Today, many people exhaust themselves in electronic screens, mobile phones, and constant stimulation. They may speak about non-duality, but their lifestyle itself is deeply dual. In the same way, doing too little is also duality, because it gives insufficient weight to responsibility and importance and makes one attached to easy goingness.

Excess and lack, both are harmful and dual. Only the middle path is non-dual. Working moderately, in balance, becomes a door to non-duality.

How Inner Throat Awareness Changed My Dhyana: A Lived Discovery of Dharana, Sushumna, and Ajna Balance

When Head Pressure Became the Teacher, Not the Problem

For a long time, my yoga and meditation practices were accompanied by a familiar companion—pressure in the head. It was not painful, but it was unmistakable, dense, and demanding. The more sincerely I practiced asanas and dhyana, the more this pressure intensified. Initially, I accepted it as a byproduct of progress, perhaps even a sign of spiritual ascent. But over time, it became clear that something in the internal mechanics of my practice was misaligned. The pressure was not expanding into clarity; it was accumulating. That accumulation itself became the inquiry.

During this phase, I performed sutra neti, initially with the understanding that it was only a cleansing practice. On my first attempts, I could not pass the sutra through the nostrils. After a few days and multiple attempts, I was able to penetrate the right nostril on the third try. Something unexpected happened. Internally, the right nasal passage felt as if it had widened, not just physically but spatially. Subsequent attempts became easier. The left nostril, however, remained untouched, almost untouched territory, what I instinctively called “virgin.” Along with this, I felt a mild scratchy irritation at the opening inside the throat, near the back of the mouth. This sensation was not alarming, but noticeable.

What followed surprised me more than the physical changes. My awareness, which previously stabilized in the brain region during yoga and meditation, spontaneously began settling at the throat. Bliss arose there, not in the head. The head pressure reduced immediately and dramatically, regardless of how intensely I practiced. Pressure was now felt subtly inside the mouth, at the back where the throat begins. With this shift, dhyana became easier, quicker, and more stable. It became clear to me that sutra neti had not only cleansed a passage; it had prepared a center of awareness. For the first time, I understood it as a preparatory practice not just for hygiene, but for regulation. It is just amazing.

Discovering the Hissing Breath and the Throat as a Regulator

As awareness stabilized in the throat, I noticed that breath naturally began moving through the mouth with a hissing quality. This hissing was not forced. It arose spontaneously. It was like a serpent hissing—yes, the Kundalini serpent. Now it became clear why Kundalini Shakti is called a serpent. One more thing became evident: as it progresses upward in the Sushumna, it alternates left and right through Ida and Pingala respectively. It is the movement of a snake—going left, then going right, and with each alternation progressing forward, not straight ahead. This can be seen clearly: first on the left side of the face, then on the right, and finally along the midline at the back of the head.

What was striking was its effect. The sound and subtle pressure maintained dominance of the throat point and prevented awareness from rushing back into the head. The hissing applied a gentle pressure to the scratchy point, keeping it awake. With this, prana no longer felt like it was trying to go upward to the head. Instead, it circulated through the body and returned from the throat. The topmost functioning point no longer felt like Sahasrara but distinctly Vishuddhi.

This realization corrected an earlier assumption. I had thought that higher experiences must always culminate at the crown. But here, stability, bliss, and ease were arising without any demand to move upward. The throat was not a stopping point; it was a turning point.

Humming, Ujjayi, and the Ocean Undercurrent of Breath

When I applied gentle pressure to this scratchy inner throat point using a humming breath, similar to ujjayi pranayama, or even during simple inhalation when breath felt like an undercurrent rather than airflow, the point activated further. The sensation was like the deep currents of the ocean—movement without turbulence. This further sharpened regulation. The more the throat point activated, the less head pressure was possible.

The insight became clear: vibration, pressure, and subtle breath were not techniques here but regulators. The throat was acting as a valve. Bliss was no longer explosive or sharp; it was circulatory and breathable. Over time, the scratchy sensation softened, becoming a stable sensory anchor rather than irritation. However, it dulls with time, so it needs to be reawakened with Sutra Neti at intervals.

From Sound to Silence Without Losing Stability

As humming and hissing softened naturally, the throat did not fall asleep. Instead, silence itself seemed to vibrate there. Breath became subtle, almost invisible, yet the throat remained alive. Awareness rested without fixation. The head remained light. Bliss remained present without pressure. This was not loss of practice; it was practice absorbing itself. The system had shifted from technique to function.

This configuration resolved a long-standing fear—the fear of going too far, of irreversibility, of renunciate drift. Earlier, intense upward movement had always carried a sense of danger. Now, ascent completed a loop. Nothing terminated at the head. Nothing demanded escape from life. The architecture had changed.

Rethinking the Location of the Throat Chakra

Earlier, I believed the throat chakra was located at the middle front of the neck. Now, lived experience showed me that the operative center was inside, at the back of the mouth where the throat begins. This raised a question: was my earlier understanding wrong, or was this another sub-chakra?

The clarity that emerged was subtle but firm. The earlier understanding was not wrong; it was incomplete. The front of the neck corresponds to expression, voice, emotion, and outward communication. The inner throat is the regulatory core where breath, sound, prana, and awareness converge. These are not two chakras but two functional layers of the same Vishuddhi field. One expresses. The other governs flow.

This understanding was further confirmed when I noticed that strong emotions still created sensations in the mid-neck region. These effects were moderate and transient, linked to emotional expression. In contrast, the inner throat effects were stabilizing, structural, and long-lasting. Emotion moved through the front; regulation lived inside.

Early Sushumna Flow Through Inner Vishuddhi

Another critical discovery followed. Activating the inner throat chakra stimulated Sushumna flow earlier and more smoothly during the very beginning of dhyana. Previously, meditation had an entry phase filled with effort. Now, the system seemed aligned before meditation even began. Ida and Pingala quieted naturally. The central channel did not need to be forced open. It simply conducted.

This was not premature Sushumna dominance. It was regulated access. The throat acted as a gatekeeper, ensuring balance before ascent. As a result, bliss circulated, thoughts loosened, and awareness stabilized without dissociation or fear.

Why Ajna Became Easy Only After Alignment

A crucial realization followed. Immediately placing focus on Ajna was demanding and challenging. It created effort, pressure, and disturbance in pranic flow. But when Sushumna was first stabilized through the throat or even lower chakras, Ajna became effortless later. Ajna no longer functioned independently. It became linked to the lower centers through common awareness.

Trying to isolate Ajna created head pressure and disturbed circulation. Allowing Ajna to arise within a unified axis created clarity without strain. Ajna revealed itself not as a ruler but as a relay.

Dharana Reunderstood Through Experience

This brought clarity to the meaning of dharana. Dharana was not holding attention at a point. Dharana was establishing an internal architecture where attention no longer needed to be held. When effort was present, dharana was incomplete. When pressure arose, dharana was incomplete.

For me, dharana occurred when awareness stabilized at the inner throat, Sushumna conducted naturally, lateral pulls quieted, and circulation established itself. At that point, dhyana emerged automatically. Meditation no longer began; it continued. Ajna participated without dominating. Thoughts lost traction without suppression.

Dharana, in lived reality, was not concentration. It was removal of everything that prevented the system from holding itself.

The Final Integration

What changed through this journey was not technique but orientation. The system moved from vertical ambition to circulatory intelligence. Bliss became nourishing instead of demanding. Head pressure became impossible, not managed. Fear dissolved not through reassurance but through structural balance. Practice became livable.

The throat did not replace the head. It taught the head how to belong to the whole. Ajna did not disappear. It learned to function within the axis rather than above it. Dharana ceased to be effort. Dhyana ceased to be a goal. Awareness ceased to chase peaks and began to circulate as life.

This discovery was not accidental. It was the body’s correction of an incomplete architecture. Once seen, it does not reverse. One does not go back to diagram-based spirituality after touching functional truth. The chakra was not relocated. It was entered.

And with that, meditation stopped demanding attention and began returning it.

Krishna Living: When Play, Love, and Life Become Yoga

Some lives do not follow a straight line.
They unfold like rivers—sometimes playful, sometimes forceful, sometimes quiet, but always guided by a deeper terrain beneath the surface.

This is the story of such a life.

Not a saint’s biography.
Not a philosophy.
Not a method.

But a lived exploration of what Sanātana Dharma looks like when it happens naturally—through childhood, love, confusion, failure, attraction, restraint, devotion, awakening, withdrawal, and maturity.

Early Life: When Survival Itself Is Yoga

Before conscious seeking begins, life itself often prepares the ground.

In Premyogi’s early years, survival was not guaranteed. Illness, loss, and narrow escapes marked childhood. Siblings did not survive. Circumstances were harsh. Yet something endured quietly, without panic, without grasping.

Even at birth, there was no cry.

It was as if prāṇa had already learned to settle.

From a yogic lens, this was not tragedy alone. It was tapas—not imposed, but lived. Yamas and niyamas enforced not by discipline, but by circumstance. Attachment loosened early. Fear visited, but did not dominate.

Sanskaras formed not through teaching, but through atmosphere—scriptures read aloud at home, rituals performed with humility, service offered without discrimination, dignity maintained without wealth.

Krishna-living does not begin with devotion.
It begins with resilience without bitterness.

Childhood and Play: Līlā Before Knowledge

As childhood unfolded, Premyogi did not become serious or withdrawn. Quite the opposite.

There was mischief, wandering, curiosity, frankness, and play. He observed people more than books. He roamed markets and parks. He learned human behavior instinctively. Authority was questioned—not rebelliously, but naturally.

This is an often-missed truth:
Krishna-consciousness is not solemn.
It is playful clarity.

Play is not distraction when awareness is present.
It is līlā.

Even conflicts, accidents, and encounters with danger carried lessons—not moral ones, but energetic ones. When to act. When not to interfere. When force worsens imbalance. When restraint is intelligence.

Without knowing the language of yoga, life itself taught it.

Adolescence: When Attraction Becomes a Teacher

Then came attraction.

Not romance as society understands it, but a powerful inner stirring triggered by a feminine presence. There was no contact. No confession. No possession. And yet the energy was intense—strong enough to awaken deeper layers of the psyche.

This was not repression.
It was fullness without discharge.

Held in nonduality, attraction refined itself. Energy rose instead of spilling outward. Desire did not fragment attention; it sharpened it. The mind became clearer, studies deeper, confidence steadier.

Here rasa was born—not as lust, but as sustained joy.

Rasa, in this sense, was not excitement. It was taste—the deep savoring of life without ownership. Beauty was neither rejected nor consumed. It was allowed to act as a yogic force.

This phase revealed a crucial insight:
love without contact can rotate energy rather than dissipate it.

Bhakti: When Love Loses Its Object

As time passed, physical separation happened naturally. The outer form disappeared.

Yet something unexpected occurred.

The inner presence did not fade—it spread.

Attraction completed its work and transformed into bhakti. Not devotion to a deity or belief, but devotion to presence itself. Remembrance flowed without effort. Meditation happened without posture.

Life itself became the practice.

This bhakti did not withdraw Premyogi from the world. It made him more attentive, more capable, more grounded. Stillness coexisted with movement. Silence lived inside activity.

This was bhakti born of lived rasa—not learned, not adopted, not chosen.

Gopī Samādhi: When Love Becomes Ground

As remembrance deepened, a threshold was crossed.

The beloved dissolved as an object. Love remained without direction. Attention forgot itself. Samādhi arose—not from silence, but from love.

Then came a brief, decisive moment.

In a dream-like waking state, Premyogi experienced a total collapse of observer and observed. River, bridge, mountain, sun, and self appeared as one unified reality. Everything was equally luminous. Nothing was higher or lower.

It lasted only seconds.
But it changed everything.

This was savikalpa-samādhi—a glimpse of self-realisation. Not sustained, not repeatable by will, but unmistakable.

And then it faded.

Not as loss.
As completion.

Withdrawal: When Sweetness Finishes Its Work

Krishna-living, by nature, does not last forever.

Its intensity softened. The inner image faded gently. There was no grief, no clinging. Readiness replaced longing.

This withdrawal was not renunciation. It was maturity.

What remained was fragrance—guidance without attraction. Protection without effort. The inner refinement guarded Premyogi through education, work, marriage, responsibility, temptation, and pressure.

Krishna-living no longer burned.
But it kept him safe.

Transition: From Sweetness to Power

Eventually, even sweetness felt insufficient.

Not wrong—just complete.

A new need arose: structure, direction, power. The feminine tone gave way to a masculine clarity. The image of Dada Guru replaced the consort. Ritambharā—truth-bearing intelligence—began to dominate.

There was no visible austerity. No public practice. Yet inwardly, discipline and tantra began quietly.

Krishna had refined the heart.
Now Shakti would build the spine.

The Deeper Pattern

Looking back, Premyogi saw that nothing was accidental.

Flooded rivers crossed safely. Lineages tested. Play, love, loss, awakening, withdrawal—all followed an intelligent sequence.

Water and energy behaved the same way. When consciousness accompanied intensity, even floods made way. When awareness guided energy, danger turned into passage.

In this light, the Bhāgavata Purāṇa no longer appeared as mythology—but as ancient spiritual case studies. Patterns repeating across time, expressed differently in different lives. All the scriptures evolved from the Vedas, the Vedas are called Shrutis. Shruti means knowledge gained through listening over ages. These Shrutis are different cases of awakenings. By studying them, an average pattern of events experienced by awakened beings was identified and written in a style simple enough for the general public. This became the timeless Bhagavata Purana. In it, the main event was love, so it is love-dominated.

Similarly, Tantra-type listenings formed the Shiva Purana, with Shiva as the main character. Since the primary events in such awakenings were Tantric in nature, the Shiva Purana is Tantra-oriented. Likewise, Shakti-oriented and Rama-oriented scriptures were created, all evolved from the Vedas as listenings.

It was a scientific age—not material science, but spiritual science. Data collection, segregation, averaging, and analysis were the same as today, but they were applied to spirituality in the form of boundless human growth, not the limited physical growth of today.

The Essence

This journey does not argue for belief.
It does not offer technique.
It does not promise permanence.

It reveals something simpler and deeper:

  • Awakening often comes through intensity, not avoidance
  • Love can be yogic when held without collapse
  • Sweetness is a phase, not a destination
  • Withdrawal can be intelligence, not loss
  • Power becomes safe only after the heart is refined

Krishna-living is not the end.

It is the preparation.

When play teaches awareness,
when love teaches restraint,
when devotion teaches stillness,
and when sweetness teaches when to leave—

life itself becomes the guru.

And the river, however flooded, always finds a way forward.

Krishna Living is not about imitating the divine, but dissolving the ego that stands between life and love. When play, love, and life become yoga, they do so in the spirit Krishna revealed—effortless, spontaneous, and free of self-importance. The river of life flows playfully yet powerfully, just as His leelas flowed from pure awareness, not from desire to prove or possess. Childhood joy, mischief, and curiosity here are reminders of innocence, not identity—signposts pointing toward surrender rather than superiority. To live this way as a premyogi is to walk lightly, love deeply, and act joyfully, knowing that all beauty belongs to Krishna alone, and we are merely participants in His rhythm, not claimants of His grace.

bhayankara rasa in quantum world

In Nātya-Śāstra, Bhayānaka Rasa is not merely “fear” as an emotion felt by the self, but the Rasa that evokes fear in the audience or observer — it is fear-producing, not fear itself.

So, in quantum terms, it’s more like the creation of instability or resonance that induces tension in another system, rather than the contraction of one’s own system (which we earlier associated with Bhaya / Fear).

Bhayānaka Rasa — Fear-Producing / Dread-Creating

Quantum Resonance as Disturbance

In physics, interactions propagate through fields, and a particle or system in an excited or unstable high-energy state can influence nearby particles by inducing oscillations or disturbances through well-defined mechanisms such as electromagnetic coupling, even across a distance. This influence is governed by measurable laws and does not imply emotion or intention. By analogy, in human experience, intense inner states also spread through interaction rather than contact. A person overwhelmed by stress or rage may appear highly charged—his tension visible in the eyes, face, and posture. Without speaking or acting, this state can unsettle those nearby. In Indian aesthetics, the contracted, agitated condition within such a person is termed Bhayānaka Rasa. In observers, the resulting response is bhaya, or fear. Spiritually understood, this comparison is metaphorical: just as physical disturbances propagate through fields by interaction, psychological tension propagates through perception and awareness, without implying that human emotions follow quantum laws.

Quantum Tunneling as Threat Potential

In physics, a particle may sometimes appear in a region where classical reasoning says it should not exist, creating a sense of unpredictability. A similar reaction occurs in the human mind. Fear and horror often arise not from direct harm, but from the sudden appearance of the unknown. When a stranger enters one’s familiar territory from an unseen path or unexpected direction, the mind immediately imagines possible dangers—attack, theft, or loss—before any action has taken place. This anticipatory tension is recognized in Indian aesthetics as bhaya—the felt experience of fear arising from suspense and uncertainty. The source that generates or radiates this tension is termed Bhayānaka, the fear-producing rasa. Spiritually, this distinction reveals a subtle truth: events themselves do not create fear; fear arises when the mind receives and mirrors a Bhayānaka expression and becomes dual like it, projecting potential tragedy into the unknown. A Bhayānaka person is always dual and attached, and he is generally driven by the urge to snatch or take something from the potentially fearful person. A nondual and inwardly free person, who wishes nothing and is detached, has no reason to become Bhayānaka, since he does not want to snatch anything violently; likewise, no one will feel fear toward him, because there is no anticipation of loss through him. Sometimes, however, a nondual person, due to prolonged exposure to the powerful energy of a Bhayānaka person, may begin to turn dual like him and then start feeling bhaya after living for some time in his company. This indicates that nondual contemplation—through quantum darśana or similar insight—needs to be strengthened and accelerated to prevent such influence. It also means that a Bhayānaka person is not necessarily an enemy, but may act as a friend or even a guru, indirectly helping the seeker mature nondual contemplation and grow spiritually through challenge and contrast.

I gained much spiritual growth through this Bhayānaka-produced bhaya challenge. In a way, this challenge has hovered around me since my first breath. It taught me a bhaya-free life of nonduality and detachment instinctively. Many times, seeing my nondual weapon winning, the bhayānaka weapon was upgraded against me, and I again upgraded my defending nondual weapon. Thus, this tug of war always went on—sometimes the defensive nonduality weapon was stronger, and sometimes the attacking duality weapon. Many duality weapons were eventually upgraded into nonduality weapons by coating them with the armor and shield of ‘non’ matter, influenced by the effectiveness of non-duality. Some took a long time, some took less. Ultimately, the nonduality weapon wins, as it is the nearest to truth. Actually, this is the situation for everyone—fear of the environment, fear of animals, fear of elders, fear of teachers, and fear at every step. All of this exists to teach us, inspire us, and help us grow.

Wavefunction Collapse and Observer Effect

In physics, observation collapses many possibilities into a single outcome. A similar process operates in human experience. When uncertainty is present, the mind holds multiple possible futures, but the moment authority, threat, or high stakes enter—like a strict boss assigning one task with warning—those possibilities shrink into a single demanded outcome. Fear arises not from the task itself, but from the sudden narrowing of freedom. However, one can gain unbelievable power from nondual śarīra-vijñāna darśana or quantum darśana to counteract fear and still function fully under the command and rule of law. This is my personal experience, not merely a philosophy. Art and drama use the same principle: by restricting attention and delaying resolution, they generate tension and suspense. Spiritually, fear is understood as the mind’s reaction to constraint, while actually awareness remains untouched by the collapse of possibilities, just as happen in the quantum world.

Quantum Instability / Chaos

In physics, systems that operate at the edge of stability are highly sensitive to small perturbations; even minor disturbances can trigger noticeable changes when balance is fragile, as interactions propagate through fields by well-defined physical mechanisms. A similar pattern appears in human experience. Bhayānaka arises when an event, action, or presence signals potential instability—loss of control, unpredictability, or imbalance—before any actual harm occurs. This signal makes observers alert, anxious, and tense, not because danger is certain, but because uncertainty has been introduced. Fear (bhaya) in others is generated when the mind mirrors this perceived instability, borrowing disturbance through perception rather than through any literal transfer of force. The fear-producing state (Bhayānaka) exists in the source, while fear itself (bhaya) arises only in the observer who allows inner imbalance to form. If this mirroring does not occur, fear is not produced, even in the presence of apparent threat. From a nondual perspective, both the fear-producing and the fearful are understood as transient expressions of the same underlying reality, comparable to temporary oscillations within a single field. When this quantum darśana is stable, distinctions between threatening and threatened dissolve, and fear loses its apparent reality—not through suppression, but through understanding. Simply put, when the targeted person finds himself equally disturbed as the targeting person, he begins to balance himself, as no one wishes to become like someone who intends to harm him.

Bhayānaka Rasa and the Quantum Reflection of Consciousness

Human experience suggests that inner emotional states are often reflected outward, as if the world responds in kind. These patterns are also seen in the quantum world in a similar manner. Bhayankara Rasa or aggression, Fear, calm, or harmony perceived outside—or observed in the quantum world—frequently mirror corresponding movements within consciousness. From this perspective, it appears as though worldly objects and even quantum particles behave analogously to living beings—not literally possessing organs or chakras, but expressing corresponding qualities or tendencies, such as love–hate linked to the heart chakra or interaction and expression linked to the throat chakra. Just as human emotions are connected to subtle centers of awareness, or chakras, one may then ask why it should not be said, analogously, that quantum particles also possess a body and chakras like human beings, or that a quantum particle is, in itself, a complete human being.

Fear, Polarity, and Kundalini Awakening

One may understand this symbolically: a single, unified soul appears to divide into two tendencies—attachment and aversion, attraction and repulsion, plus and minus. In a similar way, pure awareness manifests as particle–antiparticle pairs. The “plus” tendency slightly outweighs the “minus,” allowing the manifested world of humanity to continue and grow, just as matter dominates over antimatter in the observable universe. In this sense, the human being can be seen as a living expression of these polarities, sometimes acting as a particle, sometimes as its opposite. Even people can be categorized as plus, minus, or neutral, depending on which polarity predominates within them or whether both polarities have annihilated each other. After this apparent division, the soul experiences a loss of wholeness and naturally seeks to return to completeness. This movement often takes the form of growing sāttvikatā—an increasing refinement and purity of consciousness through worldliness with nondual awareness—whose extreme culmination is realized through Kundalini awakening and self-realization. actually awareness in spiritual context is always nondual awwareness. Actually, without a nondual attitude, awareness is simply differentiating worldly awareness, not spiritual or true or pure type one. Tantric traditions seek to accelerate this process within a single lifetime by consciously engaging with the so-called “minus” world through pañcamakāras, under discipline, awareness, and proper guidance. Used rightly, these act not as objects of attachment but as a recoil force, like rocket propellant, giving a powerful push toward transcendence. When attachment arises, however, the minus tendency overwhelms the plus, leading not to wholeness but to stagnation, as unresolved urges remain. It is simply a premature or raw wholeness that cannot provide liberation, as one has not yet reached the peak of worldliness through sattvikatā. In a similar way, the outer world does not collapse prematurely, but first reaches a peak stage of evolution, which is analogous to self-realization in the inner world. This stage may be understood symbolically as the enlightenment of Brahmā, after which its liberation occurs through the dissolution of the world, known as pralaya. This represents a mature annihilation of the plus and minus aspects of existence with each other. At the end of the world, one may symbolically imagine antiparticles appearing in balance, allowing particles and antiparticles to combine again and return to a state of initial void of complete pure awareness. Non-tantric spiritual paths also cultivate sāttvikatā, but often more slowly, lacking the intense friction generated by engagement with rājasic and tāmasic forces; thus awakening may unfold gradually, sometimes across many lifetimes. A comparable pattern is seen in physics, where particles and antiparticles are constantly produced together and annihilate each other. Antiparticles are not useless; their presence provides the conditions through which a small excess of particles persists, allowing the physical universe to expand and evolve. Symbolically, the continual creation and dissolution of lower tendencies like bhaya, bhayankara etc.—within oneself or observed in others—serve as a contrast and stimulus for higher growth, suggesting that those who embody negativity are not merely “bad,” but often become the very conditions that inspire others to be good, and the good to become even better. Those deeply attached to lower states may dissolve into repeated up–down cycles, while those inclined toward balance draw inspiration and momentum from this contrast, avoiding annihilation until reaching the peak of awakening and self-realization. In this way, fear (bhaya) and the fear-producing state (Bhayānaka) become meaningful forces within consciousness—not as final truths, but as dynamic tensions that propel awareness toward greater clarity and wholeness.

Bhayānaka Rasa: Surface Disturbance, Inner Stillness

Bhayānaka Rasa refers not to fear felt within oneself, but to the state or expression that produces fear in others. While bhaya is the personal contraction of the mind in response to perceived danger, Bhayānaka is the outward radiance of tension, suspense, or dread. It arises when an event, character, or atmosphere signals instability or threat, making the observer alert and uneasy even before anything harmful occurs. This rasa is widely employed in storytelling, drama, and art, where fear is deliberately evoked through uncertainty and anticipation. Yet from a nondual, quantum-aware perspective, both Bhayānaka and bhaya are understood as surface-level expressions only. Just as oscillations, fluctuations, and interactions continuously appear in the quantum world while the underlying field remains unaffected, outward expressions of fear may arise without disturbing inner stillness. One may therefore express or witness Bhayānaka or Bhaya outwardly—like an actor in a drama—while inwardly remaining calm, centered, and untouched, with disturbance confined only to the surface and not to the core of awareness just like wavy surface of inner calm ocean.

Like other negative worldly emotions, bhayānaka and bhaya tends to attach themselves to the remaining positivity within a person. When one becomes attached to fear or repeatedly identifies with it, this negativity (tāmasikatā) can overpower and even annihilate one’s accumulated sāttvikatā. Such attachment may lead to a kind of premature inner collapse, where growth toward wholeness is arrested. However, through detachment born of quantum darśana—the insight that all such states are transient surface expressions—fear can be neglected rather than resisted. In this detached stance, fear no longer binds; instead, it becomes a source of momentum. The presence of negativity then acts as a contrast that inspires the seeker to strengthen sāttvikatā further and further, until it reaches a level that can no longer be pulled back or annihilated by tāmasikatā. In this way, what once threatened dissolution functions like rocket propellant—providing thrust for irreversible inner ascent rather than drag or backward movement toward destruction.

Nonduality as the End of Fear: Freedom from Bhaya

Simply speaking, the best method to prevent bhaya is freedom from worldly attachments, or in other words, the cultivation of a nondual attitude. Fear exists because of the anticipation of losing something to which one is deeply attached. If there is nothing held tightly, and if everything is already accepted as lost, then there remains no anticipation of loss and, therefore, no bhaya. In this way, fear dissolves naturally. Human beings first become dual, and from this duality arise deep attachments to negativity or darkness, often rooted in unresolved and buried violent tendencies within. When such energy is projected outward, the person embodying it appears bhayānaka to others. This negativity may indeed cause loss or harm to a targeted person. Yet if the target is attached to possessions, identity, or outcomes, fear arises; if the target has already relinquished everything through nonduality-born detachment, fear cannot take hold, because there is nothing left to lose. When the bhayānaka individual sees that his fear-producing power fails against such inner freedom, he gradually loses faith in that weapon. Observing the victory of nondual detachment, he too may be drawn toward freedom, inspired by the one who remained untouched.

Fear, Contraction, and the True Path of Expansion

One who is afraid makes others afraid. It is because his consciousness is contracted. He has not yet experienced the full expansion of consciousness to the ultimate limit of awakening and self-realization. Therefore, he fears that he will have to put in great effort again to expand his consciousness.

But one who has once awakened through self-realization does not worry about this contraction. He has already tasted the fully ripened fruit. Now he moves toward Nirvikalpa Samadhi — beyond words like contraction or expansion of consciousness — into pure void. For him, the journey becomes easier, because worldly expansion of consciousness can no longer lure him back.

The fearful person, however, tries to regain expansion of consciousness through the world. He believes it is possible only through outer means. So he attempts to snatch from others, and as a result, others become afraid of his behavior. Yet this is the wrong way to expand consciousness. Because of the guilt it creates, his consciousness contracts even more.

The correct way of expansion is to avoid harming others, or to cause minimal harm. Then consciousness rises easily and quickly toward awakening. From such a peaceful walker, no one feels fear — even though he may be expanding his consciousness far more than the aggressive walker.

Quantum Analogy of Fear and Cooperation

In quantum physics, when a quantum system collapses from a wave of possibilities into a fixed particle state, it becomes localized and rigid. If such a collapsed entity strongly interacts with other quantum entities, it can disturb their superposition as well. Through forceful interaction, it induces collapse in them. In simple terms, a collapsed quantum state can trigger collapse in nearby systems.

This is similar to fear spreading through interaction. One contracted system creates disturbance, and disturbance reduces coherence. When both systems are collapsed and localized, their behavior becomes more particle-like — rigid, defensive, and limited. In such a condition, the probability of returning to a broad wave-like superposition decreases, because repeated disturbance reinforces localization. In physics, this resembles increasing decoherence.

However, interaction does not always have to be violent or forceful. Quantum systems can also become coherent. When interaction is gentle and aligned, phase relationships synchronize. Instead of forcing collapse, the systems enter cooperative coherence. In such coherence, even a localized state can gradually regain wave-like characteristics through constructive interference.

In this analogy, cooperation corresponds to quantum coherence. Rather than collapsing each other through fear-driven disturbance, systems align and stabilize one another. The result is collective amplification instead of mutual contraction. Expansion then is not achieved by snatching energy, but by resonance.

Thus, in quantum terms, fear behaves like forced measurement causing collapse, while cooperation behaves like phase alignment creating coherence. In coherence, growth becomes shared rather than competitive.

Those who fear themselves make others afraid—
just as disturbed quantum states tend to disturb other quantum states.

Vrindavan Within: How Cows, Prana, and Self-Awareness Open the Door to Nirvikalpa Dhyana

Vrindavan Not as a Place but as an Inner Field of Self-Awareness

The understanding began very simply and very directly, not as philosophy but as lived seeing. Vrindavan appeared to me not merely as a sacred town associated with stories and devotion, but as a field of self-awareness inside. This inner Vrindavan is not created by imagination; it is discovered when awareness becomes calm, spacious, and naturally present. In this field, nothing is forced and nothing is rejected. It is a place of inner softness, where awareness rests in itself without struggle. The idea that Vrindavan exists within is not symbolic poetry alone; it reflects an actual experiential landscape that becomes available when attention settles into its own source.

Cows as the Senses and Grass as Subtle Bliss

Within this inner Vrindavan, cows reveal themselves as the senses. Senses are often treated as enemies or distractions, but here they appear gentle, habitual, and innocent, just like cows. They move toward nourishment naturally. The nourishment they seek, in a meditative inner state, is not gross pleasure but subtle, blissful, calm, and peaceful thoughts. These thoughts feel like grass—soft, tender, refined, and non-violent. Grass is nourishment that does not agitate; it sustains without intoxicating. When blissful and sattvic thoughts arise in meditation, they are like this grass, feeding the senses without disturbing awareness.

From Inner Grass to Outer Grain and Worldly Activity

Grass, however, does not remain grass forever. When it grows outward, when it matures and hardens, it becomes grain. Grain is useful, productive, and necessary, but it is denser and harder. In the same way, subtle inner bliss, when expressed outwardly, becomes worldly activity. The outer world is not wrong or inferior; it is simply condensed sensory awareness. What is soft and fluid inside becomes structured and solid outside. The gross world is like hard grain, while the inner field remains like living grass. This distinction is crucial: it shows that worldly life is not separate from inner awareness, only a different density of the same reality.

Cow Grazing as Calm Sensing Without Disturbance

When cows graze peacefully, they do not fight the grass nor cling to it anxiously. They simply eat. Similarly, when the senses function calmly, without craving or resistance, sensing continues but does not bind. This is the meaning of cows grazing in the inner Vrindavan. Sensing happens, but awareness remains untroubled. There is no suppression of the senses and no indulgence. There is only relaxed participation. In this state, life flows smoothly, and awareness remains intact.

When grain is shown and fed to cows, they struggle to get it, fight with each other, and eat it with craving and attachment. They appear disturbed and restless. This disturbance also affects the cowherd, because he now has to actively control them.

Similarly, in the outer world, the senses behave like furious animals rather than grazing cows. They no longer move calmly but rush toward objects with craving and competition. This agitates self-awareness as well, because it must struggle to restrain and manage the senses instead of resting naturally in witnessing

The Cowherd as Witnessing Self-Awareness

The most important presence in this inner scene is the cowherd. The cowherd does not graze, does not become the cows, and does not consume the grass. He watches, guides lightly, and remains free. This cowherd is witnessing self-awareness itself. It is not effortful observation and not mental vigilance. It is simple presence. When witnessing becomes strained or intentional, the inner Vrindavan turns into a field of discipline. When witnessing is natural, it becomes play, or līlā. Awareness simply remains aware.

Krishna as Self-Awareness Itself

At this point, Krishna appears not as a mythological figure. He may have been incarnated in the Dvāpara Yuga, as scriptural stories always carry double meanings—both internal and external. Yet here, Krishna is revealed as the very essence of self-awareness. He is not the mind, not a personality, and not an individual doer. He is the effortless center of attraction that awareness naturally has when it rests in itself. That is why Krishna never forces anything. He does not command the cows; they come on their own. Self-awareness does not push the senses inward; alignment happens naturally when conditions are right.

The Flute as the Subtle Body and the Seven Chakras

Krishna’s flute reveals another layer of lived understanding. The flute is empty inside, just like the subtle body must be empty of egoic tension to function as an instrument. It is helped by nonduality. Its seven holes correspond to the seven chakras of the body. Without holes, there is no sound; without chakras, there is no expression. The body itself does nothing. It becomes music only when prana flows through it under the presence of awareness. This emptiness is not absence but readiness. Prana flows through different chakras, invoking different expressions and emotions. It is as if different sounds are emerging from the flute.

Playing the Flute as Natural Prana Flow

Krishna playing the flute is awareness breathing prana through the subtle body. This is not forceful pranayama and not controlled breathing. It is natural breath, unstrained and effortless. Awareness does not blow hard; it simply allows prana to pass. Because of this alignment, the sound produced is irresistibly harmonious. In yogic terms, when awareness and prana align, the entire system becomes coherent. When awareness and prana align means prana becomes so subtle that it is equal to void-like awareness. Its subtle music is so refined and harmonious that the senses, which are feeding on grain in the gross outer world, leave it and move toward inner Krishna playing the flute in inner Vrindavan, to graze again on grass. As the breath passes through the flute and becomes almost zero-like, even the grazing senses calm down so deeply that they themselves dissolve into void.

Cows Leaving Grass as Entry into Nirvikalpa

When the flute sounds with feeling of breathlessness, the cows leave even the grass and move toward Krishna. This moment carries the deepest yogic meaning. Grass itself represents subtle bliss and sattvic pleasure. When cows leave the grass, it means the senses abandon even refined enjoyment. They are not suppressed; they forget themselves. This forgetting is nirvikalpa. There is no object, no experiencer, no claim of bliss. Even the thought “I am experiencing bliss” disappears. There is only absorption.

Why Nirvikalpa Cannot Be Held

This state cannot be maintained by will. The moment a thought arises—“I am in nirvikalpa”—the absorption breaks, and the senses return to grazing. Awareness does not mind. Krishna keeps playing. Self-awareness does not cling to states. It allows coming and going. That is why nirvikalpa often lasts only moments, yet leaves deep understanding behind.

Direct Experience in Riverbeds and Flood Plains

These insights are not theoretical. Repeatedly, I sit near a riverbed spread across vast flood plains. The ground is covered with stones of varied sizes and shapes, naturally polished and layered like a welcoming carpet. The openness of the land, the silence of the space, and the slow rhythm of nature create a natural inner stillness. In these places, stray cattle often roam and graze freely.

The Presence of Cows and Effortless Nirvikalpa Dhyana

In these environments, nirvikalpa dhyana arises easily, without effort. This repeated experience reveals something important: cows grazing are not only symbolic representations of yogic processes; cows themselves have a direct effect on the mind. Their presence calms the nervous system. Their grounded, non-aggressive energy supports inner silence. The mind mirrors what it perceives. When awareness rests among beings who live without inner conflict, awareness recognizes itself more easily.

Sages composed scriptural stories in such a way that they carry both physical and symbolic meanings, though the symbolic meaning is primary. The physical layer is not accidental; it supports and strengthens the inner teaching. For example, if grazing alone were the message, other grazing animals could have been chosen. The cow was chosen specifically because of her physical qualities as well—her calmness, non-violence, nourishing nature, and her ability to transform rough grass into sustaining milk. These physical characteristics make the symbolic teaching visible and experiential, ensuring that the metaphor is not abstract but lived and understood through everyday life.

Nature, Animals, and the Support of Awareness

The river, the stones, the open plains, and the grazing cattle together create an environment where prana flows smoothly and awareness remains uncontracted. This shows that yogic realization is not only an inward practice but also a resonance with living nature. The outer landscape reflects and supports the inner landscape.

Vrindavan as Awareness at Play

Ultimately, Vrindavan reveals itself as awareness at play. Senses graze on subtle bliss without agitation. Worldly action emerges naturally from inner calm, just as grain emerges from grass. Prana flows like flute music through an empty body. The senses abandon even bliss when alignment deepens. Awareness remains the silent cowherd, untouched and free. When awareness breathes through emptiness, the senses dissolve into silence, and nirvikalpa appears effortlessly. This is not mythology, not imagination, and not borrowed doctrine. It is direct yogic physiology lived, seen, and expressed through the timeless language of Vrindavan.

Dancing Serpent: How Inner Energy Learns Direction and Transforms Life

The Forgotten Intelligence of Inner Energy

Every human being carries a living force inside, ancient, intelligent, and sensitive to every thought and emotion. It rises when the mind becomes clear, and it falls when the mind becomes restless. This force is not separate from life; it is life itself moving through the body and mind. Yet modern living has forgotten how to listen to it. We either suppress this energy out of fear or spill it unconsciously through exhaustion, desire, and distraction. The result is a life that feels busy but empty, active but unfulfilled.

Indian tradition symbolized this energy as the serpent, not because it is dangerous, but because it moves in waves, not lines. A serpent does not climb a ladder; it dances. It rises, pauses, coils, and rises again. In the same way, inner energy is not meant to move in one direction forever. It is meant to learn rhythm, balance, and direction. When this rhythm is lost, life feels like struggle. When it is restored, life becomes a flow.

Why Energy Needs Direction, Not Suppression

The greatest misunderstanding about inner energy is the belief that it must either be released or controlled. Both approaches fail. Suppression creates pressure, anxiety, and illness. Unconscious release creates weakness, dissatisfaction, and lack of purpose. Direction is the missing key. Energy that is guided does not need to be forced, and energy that is guided does not need to escape.

When energy moves downward without awareness, it becomes raw desire, endless activity, mental noise, and emotional instability. When energy moves upward without grounding, it becomes detachment, dryness, and disconnection from life. But when energy is allowed to move down and up in conscious rhythm, it nourishes the entire system. This is the true meaning of the Nagin Dance — not sexuality, not mysticism, but intelligent movement.

How Thought Controls the Rise and Fall of Energy

Energy follows thought more closely than breath. Lower thinking pulls energy downward. Higher thinking lifts it upward. When the mind is trapped in fear, anger, or desire, energy sinks into the lower centers of the body, fueling survival and reaction. When the mind touches clarity, meaning, or nonduality, energy rises naturally toward the brain and heart, creating peace and insight.

This does not mean lower energy is bad or higher energy is good. Both are necessary. Worldly life requires energy in the lower centers to work, digest, build, and act. Inner life requires energy in the upper centers to reflect, understand, and rest. Growth happens only when these two worlds communicate. Energy that never descends becomes stagnant. Energy that never rises becomes blind. Movement is life.

The Dance Between Worldliness and Awakening

Many people believe spirituality means leaving the world, but this is a misunderstanding. True awakening happens within the world, not away from it. The world feeds the serpent with raw experience, and awakening refines that experience into wisdom. The dance between action and silence is what creates maturity.

When energy is handled well, work becomes lighter, relationships become smoother, and creativity becomes effortless. The mind stops fighting life and starts cooperating with it. This is why the sages never taught escape. They taught right living. They knew that energy must be educated, not rejected.

Relationships as Energy Laboratories

Energy is most clearly seen in relationships. When two people interact without awareness, energy leaks through conflict, expectation, control, and emotional hunger. When awareness is present, energy circulates instead of spilling. The body relaxes, the breath slows, and connection becomes nourishing rather than draining.

This is why ethics, consent, and mutual growth are essential. Energy work without respect becomes manipulation. Energy work without freedom becomes harm. The serpent magnifies whatever is hidden, so if fear or dominance is present, it grows. If patience, clarity, and equality are present, the dance becomes healing.

Why Awakening Is Not a Dramatic Event

Many seekers chase mystical experiences, believing them to be awakening. But awakening is much simpler and much quieter. It is the moment energy learns direction. Bliss, visions, silence, and merging are aftereffects, not the goal. They come and go. What remains is stability, clarity, and balance.

A truly awakened person does not look special. They work better, listen better, love better, and suffer less. Their mind is steady, their body is responsive, and their relationships are cleaner. Awakening is not escape from humanity; it is perfection of humanity.

The Role of Daily Life in Sustaining Ascent

Energy cannot be held by meditation alone. It must be supported by daily habits. Sleep, food, movement, breath, work, and silence all shape its flow. When life is chaotic, energy becomes chaotic. When life is simple, energy becomes clear.

Integration is the difference between temporary experience and lasting transformation. When energy work becomes part of routine, the serpent no longer needs effort to rise. It rises by habit. The body remembers. The breath remembers. Life itself remembers.

From Serpent to Nectar: When Energy Becomes Nourishment

In the beginning, energy feels like a force to be controlled. Later, it feels like a companion. Finally, it becomes invisible. It turns into nectar. Life itself becomes nourishing. Even difficulty carries meaning. Even loss carries clarity. Even aging carries wisdom.

This is not excitement. It is steadiness. It is reliability. It is quiet joy that does not depend on conditions. The serpent has learned its dance, and the dance has become life.

Humanity Is the True Foundation of Spiritual Growth

Some people need nondual awareness to live well. Others need simple humanity without philosophy. Both are valid. What matters is direction. If energy is moving upward in intention, life grows. If energy is moving downward unconsciously, life contracts.

Humanity must never be sacrificed for awakening. Compassion, respect, patience, and kindness are not optional. They are signs of correct direction. Any path that destroys humanity is not spiritual, no matter how powerful it looks.

The Serpent Is Already Moving

You do not need to awaken energy. It is already awake. You only need to stop confusing it. When direction is learned, rhythm returns. When rhythm returns, life stops being a struggle and becomes a dance. The serpent has always been dancing inside you. This book (DANCING SERPENT: The Play of Inner Energies), and this understanding, simply teaches you how to notice it, respect it, and let it move without fear.

The Single Law of the Serpent: Always Up-Facing

The main point is simple: the serpent should always remain up-facing, no matter at which level or chakra it is present. It may rise or fall, it may move slowly or quickly, but its direction must remain upward. The level does not matter; the facing does. Even when energy descends for worldly work, digestion, action, or rest, it should still be oriented upward in intention. Only during moments of release or escape from the body does the serpent turn down-facing for a few moments, and even then it must be turned upward again as soon as possible. This timely turning is the key to balance and growth. Believe it or not, an up-facing nagin is the root of everything good and divine in human life, while a down-facing nagin becomes the root of confusion, decline, and suffering. Direction is destiny.

When energy dances consciously, life itself becomes art.

Upfacing Serpent and the Moment of Self-Realisation

The serpent that is upfacing symbolises an awakened Kundalini. Only one who is awake stands upright and faces growth, expansion, and light. A sleeping being naturally remains downfacing—inclined toward inertia, darkness, and loss. Orientation here is not physical but existential: awareness that turns upward seeks evolution; awareness that turns downward dissolves into unconsciousness. kundalini awakening is as simple as energy faing up, nothing mysterious.

The experience of full nonduality, where the sense of self merges completely with the meditation image and simultaneously expands in all directions, accompanied by overwhelming bliss and spontaneous expression for a few moments, is self-realisation. It is not imagination, trance, or emotional high. It is the direct outcome of a sustained Kundalini awakening, where energy, awareness, and identity dissolve into a single, indivisible reality—beyond observer and observed.

Kundalini Awakening: Simply Energy Facing Up

Kundalini awakening is nothing mysterious. It is simply energy facing upward. When energy turns upward, growth happens. When it turns downward, dissipation happens. There is no symbolism required beyond this basic orientation.

Upfacing energy expresses wakefulness, evolution, and integration. Downfacing energy expresses sleep, decay, and loss of awareness. Awakening is not an event, a vision, or a power—it is a directional shift of energy.

When this upward-facing energy is sustained, awareness naturally becomes steady, nondual, and self-luminous. Bliss, clarity, and self-realisation arise as consequences, not goals. Mysticism begins only when this simple fact is forgotten.

Sanatan Dharma as Lived Experience: When Scriptures Become a Life

A personal preface

This is not a claim, not a declaration of divinity, and not an attempt to place myself above any tradition. This is only a record of lived experience — how scriptures, relationships, stages of life, and inner practices unfolded naturally inside one ordinary human life. I write this because many people think our scriptures are theory, mythology, or outdated philosophy. My life has shown me that they are a practical way of living, happening even in the age of supercomputers, aeroplanes, and high technology.

If divine permission comes, a full book may come later. For now, this is the nutshell — for curious readers who want to understand how Sanātana Dharma actually works in living human beings.

Scriptures are not theory — they are living maps

I have seen that the great god lineages are not isolated historical events limited to one time and place. They are stages of human spiritual evolution that keep happening again and again, everywhere, in different people, in different forms. That is why this dharma is called sanātana — eternal — unlike systems tied to one prophet, one story, or one century.

Technology does not block these stages. A needle, an aeroplane, a supercomputer — none of these stop consciousness from evolving. Outer tools change, inner laws do not.

The Śiṣya phase: childhood discipline and listening

My first phase was the śiṣya phase, in childhood.

I was an observer by nature. Disciplined. Non-revolting. Whatever teachers and elders taught that felt good and right, I accepted happily and with devotion, without criticism. I now see that this phase is common to all great lineages — before anyone becomes a knower, they must become a learner.

Rama, Krishna, Buddha, Shankara — all began as disciples. Ego must soften before it can dissolve.

Dada Guru: the power of sound and atmosphere

My grandfather used to read scriptures aloud for hours every day to listeners. Those words falling on my ears shaped my inner world long before I understood them. I did not study scriptures — I absorbed them.

That is why I call him Dada Guru.

He did not give me a mantra, but he gave me atmosphere, rhythm, reverence, and sound — śabda-brahma. Those sounds later pushed me naturally toward practical living, not theoretical belief.

Krishna phase: adolescence, attraction, and refined desire

In adolescence came the Krishna phase, lasting about 1–1.5 years during senior secondary school. This phase was intense and energetic — attraction to girls, being attracted by girls, social charm, indirect sexual fun — but never vulgar indulgence.

The purpose was not enjoyment but learning the essence of kāma. Attraction was raised but held in a sattvic environment, with social distance and inner discipline. Slowly, attraction turned into bhakti. A meditation image developed by itself in the mind — Radha and Krishna appearing in each other — and this led to spontaneous samādhi, exactly as described in Bhāgavata Purāṇa through the gopīs.

This phase cannot last long; it is too volatile and needs continued physical presence. The continued physical presence of attracting partners became difficult to tolerate, and maintaining control by consciously preventing physical contact for long periods required great inner discipline. But it is essential. Without it, later renunciation becomes dry and incomplete.

Shakti / Durga phase: courage, love, and inner femininity

After Krishna phase came the Shakti phase, lasting nearly five years during university life, and continuing even after marriage due to the support of my wife.

Internally, I lived a feminine reality — sensitivity, softness, devotion — while externally I became brave, ready to fight evil in sattvic, nonviolent, tactical, and lawful ways. This is the Durga function: courage without brutality, strength without hatred. Together, the meditation image of the mental consort anchored in the mind matured even further — not merely as a thought, but as a fully living inner presence, just as Radha lived within Krishna even in her physical absence, and even while he was living his worldly life with his wife, Rukmini. In Vaishnava understanding, Radha is the hlādinī-śakti — the inner bliss-consciousness of Krishna — and when sustained joy, devotion, and fullness arose naturally from this meditation image, that experiential bliss could be understood as the same hlādinī current described in the scriptures. It was not an identity or a divine claim, but the recognition that a human inner process was unfolding exactly as the ancient maps had described: bliss arising from continuous remembrance and inwardly residing devotion.

I succeeded a little — not by force, but by alignment, what I call divine help.

Life as gurukula: gods as living people

I slowly realized that gods did not come from heaven — they came through people around me.

A naughty relative boy living at our home carried the Krishna role.
My father carried the Rama role — discipline, responsibility, order.
My uncle carried the Shiva role — depth, silence, detachment.
All the sweet girls who were part of attraction carried the Shakti role.

These were not fantasies. They were living transmissions. I merged all these roles into one integrated life. It felt as if all gods joined their powers to destroy one demon — ignorance.

Shiva phase: tantra, isolation, and upward energy

When Shakti phase reached its peak, worldly energy naturally declined and pushed me into isolation. This was the beginning of Shiva phase.

Shiva here means not only worldly isolation but tantric transformation — raw base energy rising as Kundalini toward awakening. As energy turned upward, my inner imagery changed: the feminine consort image was replaced by a male guru image. This gave me the feeling of being male again, grounded and directed.

To the world, this can look strange or misunderstood. But it was not indulgence or confusion — it was pure Kundalini meditation in tantric style, where imagery changes to match energy direction.

This Shiva phase is most dominant in my recent books because it is the most recent and intense lived phase. Older phases are less vivid and more integrated.

Rama phase: rest, order, and balance (still unfolding)

The Rama phase has just begun.

After kevala kumbhaka and small glimpses of nirvikalpa-type samādhi, this phase appeared. Rama literally means rest, āram, balance. It is not heroic drama; it is stable living after turbulence.

This phase cannot be written fully yet because it must be lived fully first. It will come as the final integration stage. Now it is up to the divinely operating world to decide how long it allows me to remain settled in this phase, though there is no doubt that personal effort also matters.

Why the world misunderstands these experiences

People see only sexuality, repression, gender, or indulgence. They do not see sublimation. That is why tantra was always kept subtle and symbolic.

I never say “I am Shiva” or “I am Krishna.” I say: that phase unfolded. Language is the thin line between wisdom and misunderstanding.

Final understanding: Sanātana Dharma is human evolution

My life has shown me that scriptures are not to be believed — they are to be lived.

They are maps of consciousness written in symbolic language. When lived, they dissolve ignorance naturally.

I am not above humanity. I am an example of how humanity evolves when sound, discipline, love, and relationships support growth.

If divine permission comes, a book will come. Until then, this blog is the nutshell — a lived proof that Sanātana Dharma is eternal because it is always happening.

Four Incarnations, Four Pillars of One Building
(Why All Paths of Sanātana Dharma Are Complementary, Not Opposing)


These four Sanātana incarnations are like the four pillars of a single building. Just as a building cannot stand if even one pillar is missing, the sense of wholeness and salvation does not feel achievable unless all these forms are embodied within a single person. This also reveals a deeper truth: the many sects and paths of Sanātana Dharma are not rivals or contradictions, but complementary forces. Even Sikhism and Jainism, which fully support Rama-like ideals of character, can be seen as sects or streams of the single Hindu civilizational tradition, rather than completely separate religions. If we expand this understanding further, even religions such as Islam and Christianity can be seen, in a broader sense, as supporting branches of the same eternal flow—so long as they uphold humanity, compassion, and moral order. In that sense, they are not completely unconnected from other dharmic streams, but participate in the same universal movement toward righteousness, truth, and human upliftment, each expressing it through its own language, symbols, and historical context. Just as the pillars together support one structure, these traditions together support one human awakening — and this is exactly how they have always functioned in living practice.

When Motion Reveals Nonduality: A Travel Darshan from Sky, Forest, and Ocean

A Journey That Was Not Just Travel

This was a family trip to coastal areas. We went by aeroplane, stayed near the sea, walked among coconut trees, and spent time watching waves. Outwardly, it looked like a normal vacation. Inwardly, something subtle unfolded. Nonduality became more visible — not through meditation, not through effort, but through motion.

I noticed that when the world moved fast, the sense of separation weakened. The faster and more total the movement, the more clearly nonduality revealed itself.

Aeroplane: Nonduality at High Speed

The aeroplane felt special. Not just because it was high, but because it was top in motion. When you sit inside a flying machine, your body is moving but you are not acting. Motion happens through you, not by you. The ground, clouds, distance, time — all flow together. Motionless non-living joins with the in motion living producing nonduality. Human considers motion as sign of life instinctively.

In this state, fixed reference points disappear. The mind cannot hold divisions. Living and non-living begin to mix. Metal, engine, sky, body, breath — everything moves as one system. This mixing itself produced nonduality.

I realized something important: motion is the primary quality of the living world. When non-living objects join a living motion-field, separation collapses. The aeroplane became a form of moving samadhi — a dynamic samadhi. It was not stillness, but total flow.

When I added quantum darshan to this perception — the understanding that at the deepest level there is no real separation between matter and life — nonduality reached near its peak.

Not the absolute peak, because motion still remains. But the highest possible nonduality within movement.

The second amazing movement of the plane is its upward rise, which feels like rising kundalini energy toward sahasrar. Sahasrar symbolically represents nonduality, bliss, and awakening, so this upward motion naturally evokes the same sense of expansion and release.

Coconut Trees: When Matter Looks Back at You

At the coast, coconut trees appeared intensely beautiful. But not because they had some special beauty different from other objects. Their beauty came from recognition.

Their shape is human-like:

  • the crown of leaves like a head
  • the long naked trunk like a body
  • the swaying like dancing
  • the rhythm like laughter and enjoyment

When wind moved them, they looked like they were communicating with each other. A group of coconut trees looked like a group of people talking, laughing, living.

This again was the same mixing of living and non-living worlds. Motion blurred the boundary.

When the thought arose that even at the quantum level they are not different from us, bliss amplified. Perception and understanding aligned. Separation dropped not only visually but ontologically.

It was not that trees became human. It was that human and tree revealed the same pattern of life.

Animal Perception: Entering the Forest Mind

At that moment I understood something else: animals perceive forests differently from humans.

Humans see objects.
Animals see patterns.

Animals read:

  • movement
  • rhythm
  • density
  • silence
  • vibration

To them, a forest is not a collection of things. It is a single living field. Wind, branches, birds, ground — all are messages. Animals are not in the forest. They are the forest sensing itself. Animals do not divide experience into “me” and “forest” just like human do. For them, there is no separate observer standing inside nature. Sensing simply happens as one continuous field of movement, smell, sound, and vibration. When something changes, the whole field responds together. That is why it feels as if the forest itself is sensing — because perception is not localized in a self, but distributed across the living field.

Animals have no benefit of objectify the world. They don’t work blindly nor they need to work so. Lack of hands and brain limits their working ability. So draining energy in objectifying world has no use for them instead it can divert energy from basic need of food and survival. So instinctively they follow sensational patterns to act and react quickly. Together, what’ll they loose natural bliss of nonduality when duality has no major worldly role to play for them. However, little duality is adopted even them as petty worldly roles also demand it but not extreme duality like human.

When I saw trees communicating, I briefly entered this animal mode of perception. But with a difference.

Animals live in nonduality, but they do not attain samadhi.

Why? Because samadhi requires awareness knowing itself. Animals are in the flow, but they do not reflect on the flow. Animals remain continuously in the flow of perception, because their attention is always responding outwardly to the environment. They cannot voluntarily slow the nervous system, pause the breath, or rest awareness in itself. They need to be always alert for survival. Humans, through calm sitting, slow pranayama, or natural stillness like keval kumbhak, can create a pause in the flow. In that pause, awareness reflects on itself. That reflection is samadhi — something animals live but cannot consciously realize. They live unity, but they do not know unity. That’s why it’s described everywhere in scriptures that animals act every way like a human act except only yoga and achieving brahman through it, so one must not waste his life in petty things without practicing yoga.

A constantly active karmayogi lives close to the natural flow of life, somewhat like animals do, where action happens without much inner division. This creates presence, grounding, and a weak sense of separation, but awareness remains outward-moving. However, unlike animals he does it with super intelligence that’s why he gets many benefits in worldly functioning. They realise they are doing karmayoga and instead of continuously being in nonduality flow helplessly like animals, they adopted it intentionally intermittently at will so they realise its real benefits and harness those for their worldly and spiritual development. I think what’s depicted each god and goddess with a companion animal is a metaphor for their nondual lifestyle. For awakening and samadhi to arise, such a person must intentionally rest, slow down, and allow attention to turn back on itself. Without this pause, even pure action cannot become realization. Yet this very life of flowing action becomes a great advantage later, because when the karmayogi finally sits in stillness, reflection happens easily and samadhi comes with less struggle.

Animals live in unity naturally, without thinking about it. Humans lose that unity, but can stop, look, and come back to it consciously. When a human returns to unity with awareness, that is samadhi.

I was perceiving like an animal and knowing it like a human — that knowing turned perception into darshan and amplified bliss.

Ocean: The Living Rhythm of Existence

The ocean felt alive. Not as a belief, but as an experience of resonance.

Waves came forward like a hug.
They went back like stepping away after a kiss — not to increase intimacy, but to prevent too much of it.

The continuous coming and going felt like human life itself:

  • approach and withdrawal
  • effort and rest
  • work and pause
  • earning and returning

The ocean was pure motion. No fixed form, no stable edge, no permanent boundary. My body, breath, and the waves moved together. Again, nonduality appeared through motion.

It was clear that the ocean was not literally hugging me, and trees were not literally dancing. This was not imagination or projection in a pathological sense. It was field perception — where meaning arises from rhythm and unity arises from shared movement.

Bliss did not come from the ocean. It came from dropping the burden of separation.

Motion as the Secret Teacher of Nonduality

Stillness is one door to nonduality. Motion is another — and often a more accessible one for worldly life.

When motion becomes total, separation cannot survive.

When matter moves like life, and life recognizes itself in matter, the world becomes a single body.

This is why:

  • travel opens awareness
  • forests heal
  • oceans calm
  • flight feels liberating

The nervous system relaxes because it stops dividing reality into inside and outside.

A Grounded Darshan for Daily Life

What happened on this journey was not escapism. I did not lose my body. I did not lose my family. I did not leave the world. The experience came, stayed, and left naturally.

This is important.

It shows that nonduality does not require renunciation. It can arise in movement, in travel, in family life, in nature, in ordinary moments.

This is a mature nonduality — one that lives with life, not against it.

Closing Note: A Simple Truth

When motion becomes shared, the boundary between human and world softens, and existence feels like one continuous activity.

This is not philosophy.
This is travel.
This is perception.
This is lived darshan.

And this is how nonduality quietly reveals itself — not in caves, but between waves, trees, clouds, and family laughter.

Gayatri Mantra, Kundalini Yoga, and Caste: Sushumna Awakening and Brahman Awareness Beyond Birth

Initial Thought About the Meaning of Gayatri

Today, a yogin visited me at my request to show some techniques of sutra neti. He is OBC by caste, as I asked him, and while responding, he said that there is no caste of yogins. While discussing it, an idea came to me that the word Gayatri contains “tri,” meaning three. I felt that this three could represent Ida, Pingala, and Sushumna. These three nadis are the fundamental energy channels in the yogic body. Ida and Pingala are both feminine in nature as they belong to Shakti, and Sushumna is the unified and highest form of Shakti. All nadis belong to Prakriti and not Purusha. Gayatri is therefore always addressed as Devi. This threefold Shakti is the basis of yogic practice and the inner origin of Vedic knowledge. That is why Gayatri is traditionally connected with yogis and Brahmins.

Gayatri as the Mother of the Vedas

It is said in tradition that Gayatri is the mother of the Vedas. This does not mean that she created books or texts. It means that Gayatri represents the state of consciousness from which Vedic knowledge arises. When Ida and Pingala are balanced, Sushumna opens. When Sushumna opens, the perception of cosmic order, called ṛta, becomes possible. This perception is Veda. Therefore Gayatri is not only a mantra but the condition through which Vedic seeing becomes available to human awareness.

Why Both Yogi and Brahmin Practice Gayatri

Originally, Brahmin did not mean caste. It meant one who abides in Brahman-awareness. Yogi means one who unites the energies through yoga. Both are describing the same inner process using different language. Gayatri japa regulates the breath, balances Ida and Pingala, and gradually activates Sushumna. For this reason, Gayatri is whispered, practiced at dawn and dusk, and given during upanayana to begin inner discipline. It is a yogic process expressed in mantra form.

Meaning of Gayatri as That Which Saves Through Singing

Gayatri is defined as “gāyantam trāyate iti gāyatrī,” meaning that which saves the one who sings or recites. Gāyana refers to rhythmic japa, especially inner recitation. Trāṇa refers to protection or release from bondage. Bondage in yogic terms is the imbalance of Ida and Pingala, which produces mental duality and repetitive samskaras. When japa is practiced, breath becomes subtle, nadis harmonize, and Sushumna opens. Awareness then shifts from mind to witness. This shift itself is liberation in a small but real form. That is how Gayatri saves.

Gayana as Inner Vibration and Its Effect on Awareness

True gāyana is not loud singing but manasika japa, inner repetition. Gayatri works best at sandhya times, when natural nadi junctions occur, and when attention is steady at Ajna or the heart. Through personal experience, it becomes clear that when attention stabilizes in this way, Brahman-awareness appears naturally without effort.

Mantra Governs Nadis, Not the Other Way Around

A necessary correction is that Gayatri is not created by Ida, Pingala, and Sushumna. Rather, she governs and regulates them. Mantra is primary, and energy follows. This maintains the correct hierarchy and keeps practice safe. The mantra acts as a regulator of the entire energetic system.

Meaning of Bhuh, Bhuvah, and Svah as Inner States

The words Bhuh, Bhuvah, and Svah represent levels of consciousness, not physical locations. Bhuh corresponds to the physical body and gross awareness. Bhuvah corresponds to prana, mind, and subtle activity. Svah corresponds to buddhi, light, and causal awareness. When Ida and Pingala dominate, awareness moves between Bhuh and Bhuvah. When Sushumna opens, awareness naturally rises to Svah.

Savitur as the Inner Illuminating Sun

Savitur refers not to the external sun but to the inner illuminator that lights all three states of consciousness. This is the central witness-light experienced when energy flows in Sushumna. It is the reflection of Brahman in buddhi and the source of inner clarity. Just as the sun is not affected by whatever abodes it illuminates, similarly pure Brahman awareness during Sushumna flow is not affected by any of the three worlds but only witnesses them.

Bhargo Devasya Varenyam as the Chosen Light

Bharga means the burning clarity that removes ignorance. It is not physical heat but luminous understanding. When Sushumna stabilizes, samskaras dissolve naturally in this light. Therefore the mantra declares this light as varenyam, worthy of choosing above all others, because other forms of light such as sensory, emotional, and mental illumination are unstable.

Dhiyo Yo Nah Prachodayat and Transformation of Intellect

Dhi refers to buddhi, the faculty of discrimination. Prachodayat means to impel, awaken, or reorganize. When Sushumna flows, buddhi is no longer personal but becomes universal. This transformation of intellect is the direct experience of Brahman-awareness. The Brahman referred to in the Gayatri mantra is the same Brahman realized through the opening of Sushumna.

Mantra, Nadi, and Awareness as One Process

Mantra, nadi, and awareness are three expressions of the same process. Mantra is the sound-form, nadi is the energy-form, and awareness is the realized state. Gayatri does not merely describe Brahman. It creates the pathway for perceiving Brahman. That is why mantra experience and Sushumna experience feel identical. They are two ways of expressing the same inner truth.

Why This Knowledge Is Encoded and Not Explained

This knowledge was traditionally encoded rather than openly explained because explanation can create desire for experience, while encoding allows only practitioners to discover it through practice. In this case, experience came first and meaning came later, which is the correct order of realization.

Personal Caution and Grounding

From personal experience, it is known that forcing Sushumna can destabilize life. Therefore mantra is the safest and most natural regulator of energy. Gayatri allows awakening to occur without loss of balance in worldly life.

Conclusion: Gayatri and Brahman Are the Same Realization

The Brahman described in the Gayatri mantra is the same Brahman realized when Sushumna opens. Gayatri is therefore the mother of the Vedas, the regulator of nadis, the awakener of buddhi, and the inner sun of awareness. She does not promise liberation as an idea but enacts it as a lived process through japa and awareness.

A Yogi is the real Brahmin

It seems that caste is not by birth in this sense. One who is a Brahmin by birth but does not do yoga does not look like a real Brahmin. But a man born in any caste who practices yoga seems to be a Brahmin. Many examples are there. Dasi-putra Vidur, Valmiki, Vishvamitra, Shabari, Kabir, Rahim, and many more were from different religions and castes, but all were awakened like yogis and are still revered like Brahmins.