spirituality – Page 4 – Demystifying Kundalini

Chapter 14: The Mass of Creation – How Weight Gives Shape to the Universe

In the previous chapter, we saw how matter is not something separate from us but is already woven into our very sense of self. The particles that form our body and the stars above share the same fabric of existence, whispering that the universe is one continuous being.

But to move from this insight of oneness to the world of form, another question arises:
If everything is already me, then what decides the different shapes and roles matter takes?
Why does one part of the cosmos become a star, another part a tree, and another, me?

The answer lies in mass — the quiet sculptor that gives the self a body, the cosmos a shape, and energy a destiny.

The Weight That Anchors Creation

Mass is not a random gift given at collapse. It is the inborn property of a particle, written into the universe through the Higgs field. This invisible field fills all of space, and each particle interacts with it in a unique way. Some interact weakly, staying light, like the electron. Others interact strongly, becoming heavy, like the top quark. And some, like the photon, do not interact at all, remaining massless.

In this way, the Higgs field quietly determines the “responsibility” each particle must carry. Mass is fixed, permanent, and essential. Without it, all particles would rush through space at the speed of light, unable to clump, unable to form structure, unable to make worlds.

The Higgs field is like a cosmic university, and the Higgs bosons are its professors. Each professor evaluates the particles—the students—assigning them different weightages based on their character and abilities, shaping their place in the grand curriculum of cosmic engineering.

Collapse: From Possibility to Reality

If mass is fixed by the Higgs field, then where does superposition enter the story?

Here lies the subtle beauty. A particle’s mass is set, but its state — position, spin, momentum — can exist in a superposition of possibilities. Collapse is the act by which one possibility becomes actual. In this sense, collapse does not create mass, but it decides how mass-bearing particles arrange themselves to form the structures of reality.

If we clarify it further, Mass is a fixed intrinsic property of elementary particles and does not exist in quantum superposition. However, its influence appears through energy and momentum, which do remain in superposition and collapse upon measurement. In composite systems, or in special cases like neutrinos, superpositions of states with different effective masses can occur. Thus, mass also expresses itself only when collapse decides the final outcome—though not directly, but indirectly through energy and momentum.

This is like the mind. Our body is given to us — flesh, bone, and weight, already fixed by genetics, diet, and time. But our thoughts are in superposition, countless and fleeting. Collapse occurs when the mind chooses one thought and makes it into a decision. Just as collapse crystallizes one quantum possibility into reality, our decisions crystallize the flow of thought into action. The mass or weight of the body cannot show its effect if the mental choices collapsing into favorable decisions do not carry the body to jump over the grass-filled bag and compress it to make silage.

In other words, it is like a degree-qualified student who can only demonstrate the effect of his knowledge when he meets and interacts with people who need him—an outcome determined by the probabilistic superposition of his placement, energy, and momentum, collapsing into a favorable result. If the placement is favorable in a favorable college but his energy drains away due to illness or bad habits, his knowledge-weight will not show its effect to students. Even if both placement and energy are favorable, but he lacks momentum in the right direction, the result still won’t manifest. So you can imagine how many favorable conditions creation must have required—from the quantum level to today’s human society—for us to be mutually interacting through our laptops across the entire world. Truly amazing.

Thus, in Sharirvigyan Darshan, mass is like the body’s given clay, and collapse is like the potter’s hand shaping it into vessels of destiny.

Balloons in the Fairground

Imagine a grand fairground where countless balloons float in the air. Some are light and barely tethered, drifting wherever the wind pushes them. Others are heavy, filled with sand, falling quickly to the ground and forming clusters. This playful scene mirrors one of the most profound truths of our universe: mass decides clumping, and clumping decides form.

Without the Higgs field assigning weight, all balloons would drift endlessly. But with it, some anchor, some rise, and together they paint the diversity of the fairground.

The First Drops of Weight

In the earliest moments of creation, the universe was like a weightless ocean — full of energy but without anchors. Particles were massless sparks, rushing about freely. But when the Higgs field “switched on,” particles gained mass, as though dew had settled on an invisible web. Suddenly, energy was not only light but also heavy. It could now clump, gather, and begin to form structures.

Mass became the sculptor’s tool. Where there was none, everything stayed diffuse, a mist without boundaries. Where mass appeared, centers of gravity emerged, galaxies condensed, and stars found their birthplaces.

The Cosmic Balancing Act

Mass is not merely about heaviness — it is about responsibility. A particle with more mass pulls on its neighbors, like a magnet drawing iron filings. A lighter particle, on the other hand, slips past interactions, unnoticed, like a feather in the wind. A politically minded person, massive in every field of life, always attracts a crowd of people around him who are less massive. But those who are too thin or like feather-light—like beggars, who are truly deficient, or saints, always fulfilled but resting in pure awareness, the lightest of all—pass by unaffected by his massive pull.

Imagine a cosmic marketplace. Particles with greater mass settle down like merchants in the square, attracting customers (other particles) toward them. Those with less mass are like travelers, always moving, rarely stopping. Together, they create balance: the merchants giving centers of stability, the travelers ensuring motion and exchange. Without both, creation would tilt either into lifeless stillness or restless scattering.

The Sculptor of Diversity

Consider Earth. Its mountains, rivers, oceans, and living beings — all owe their existence to how mass was apportioned. If electrons had been a little heavier, chemistry would have danced differently, atoms might never have formed stably, and life as we know it might have been impossible.

If protons had been slightly lighter, stars might never have ignited fusion, and the Sun’s gentle warmth would not have shone on Earth. A small difference in mass is the line between a cold void and a living cosmos.

Mass and the Poetry of Form

Think of clay in the hands of a potter. Without clay, the potter’s wheel spins endlessly, but no vessel takes shape. Mass is like the clay of creation. It gathers, it holds, it allows form to be molded. The Higgs field provides the clay, collapse provides the shaping hand, and together they sculpt the universe. The spinning wheel is like pure awareness, yet it neither spins nor requires spinning, because here the particles, becoming metaphorical clay, move themselves to be shaped—unlike ordinary clay.

A stone mountain is nothing but clustered particles that carry mass. A drifting cloud is made of lighter forms, airy and mobile. The rhythm of form and formlessness, of solid and fluid, is written by the pen of mass.

Even non-physical has mass

Dark matter is invisible and non-physical, yet it has a non physical type of mass that never can be measured, may be it is encoded mass in the form of special streching of empty space. its gravity affects the visible cosmos. Similarly, invisible ghosts means bhūta, preta, ḍākinī, piśācinī, yātudhāna, kiśkindhika, and others described in ancient Hindu spiritual texts can be understood as subtle forces, like different types of dark matter, that influence the physical lives of people. Various remedial spiritual rites, yoga, mantras, and forms of meditation are practiced to alleviate their effects. These practices carry the soul of the practitioner closer to pure awareness, which is completely beyond all influences—even the gravity of this non-physical “dark matter.” Just as cosmic dark matter pervades everything but cannot touch the pure cosmic sky, so too do these forces fall short of reaching pure awareness.

Closing Image

Picture again the fairground of balloons. Some rise, some fall, some cluster, some drift away. Each balloon’s motion is shaped both by its given weight (from the Higgs field) and by the path it takes (decided by collapse).

So too in life: our body is our given weight, our thoughts are countless balloons, and our decisions are collapses that tether some while letting others drift. Had thoughts been as heavy as the body, they could not drift at will; we would not be able to let go of some while tethering the important ones, and making decisions would not be possible. Thus Creation itself is this delicate play of weight and lightness, attraction and release, collapse and freedom.

Thus, mass is not just about heaviness. It is the quiet architect of creation — the one who gives shape to the shapeless and anchors the dance of the cosmos.

This is how the Higgs field, superposition, and collapse together make the universe diverse, structured, and alive.

Chapter 13: From Matter to Self – How Everything You See Is Already You

The journey that began with seeing the atom not as something hidden or separate but as the very stuff of the body and world now opens into a wider understanding. Once it is understood that atoms are not something out there, but the very essence of blood, bone, and breath, then the next step naturally arises: if atoms make up all things, then all things are already part of the same self. It means, if the thinking body is conscious or self, then thinking or superposition and deciding or collapse of quantum particles — and everything made of them — are also conscious or self. Atom makes the cosmos, atom makes the body. So atom is the father of all, and every piece of matter is a brother to human. Matter itself begins to reveal its secret—that it is not lifeless dust scattered in space, but a mirror in which the conscious self finds countless disguises. It means, it is the same self taking on many different forms. Things once worshipped as possessions—car, house, food, money—are now seen in a new way, as if they are all showing the same one reality.

The common mind is accustomed to worshipping matter in fragmented ways. A vehicle is adored as a symbol of status, money as a guarantee of security, food as a source of satisfaction, and a house as a shelter of pride. Yet strip them of their labels, look deep enough, and they are only clusters of atoms dancing in familiar forms. The very same atoms pulse through veins as blood, hold bones together as calcium, breathe life as oxygen. What appears as external wealth and what circulates inside as flesh and thought are not two substances but one continuum. In this realization, a door opens that does not belong to any religion or creed, for the logic is plain: if all is built from one pattern or blueprint like vibrations, energy, superposition, collapse etc., then all is essentially one.

When the claim of ego is gently dropped, the discovery becomes more intimate. The person once seen as enemy also breathes the same air, shares the same atomic foundation, and moves under the same laws of cosmos. Hostility then melts, not because of preaching or command, but because opposition itself loses its reality. It is like watching two waves fight on the surface of an ocean, forgetting they are water through and through. The ocean never quarrels; it only plays or does Leela.

Maanavata se bada dharm nahin, kaam se badi pooja nahin; samasya se bada guru nahin, aur grihasth se bada matha nahin”—this secret verse, discovered and propagated by the author, directly reflects the principles of quantum science. Although not really discovered, but researched and understood, as it has persisted since ancient times in one form or another. The first line, no religion is greater than humanity, reflects how countless probabilities in quantum physics collapse into a single event near the peak of the probability wave. This peak represents the peak development of the creation. Humans have the peak level of grey matter to carry forward the creation to that height. This makes humanity the true religion of the quantum world. To reach this peak, quantum particles select the best or highest-valued option among many, just as the human mind collapses multiple thoughts into a single decision of utmost humane significance. Most probably this peak of humanity aligns with the peak of quantum probability wave in this or that way. Although this happens naturally by quantum law, the human ego grows and claims that it was ‘I’ who did it. Suppose Ramu is living in Shimla with his family. Now consider the whole cosmos as a probability wave of his position. In theory, he could choose to live anywhere in the cosmos, but why only at his present place? Even this is fully true in practical terms too, a human can be reborn in that specific part of the infinite cosmos where its existence best serves the purpose of humanity. This is because the highest human potential for work and business is usually at familiar places, with accustomed and supportive people such as family members, friends, and relatives. When this potential for humane work declines at his native place, he has to migrate—just as countless people migrate elsewhere for the same reason. However, shifting always happens toward a favorable place, much like quantum particles relocating to a new position near the peak of the probability wave as the peak of humanity wave, and not arbitrarily. This is clearly seen in quantum tunneling, when a quantum particle shifts from one side of a barrier to the other, landing most likely at the peak of its probability wave. The particle does not actually travel physically; it is as if it ‘dies’ in one universe and is ‘reborn’ in another, more suitable universe, where it can contribute more effectively to the service of creation and humanity. That decision or wish to relocate becomes mental work, and its result expressed in action becomes physical work—together forming the only genuine worship of the quantum world, free from hypocrisy or flattery. Hence, no worship is greater than work, second verse of the joint verse is proved. The third verse, no guru is greater than the problem, shows that guidance does not come from outside only. A quantum particle adjusts and learns by interactions with other particles and overcoming obstacles; in the same way, humans grow by social interactions and solving problems in the service of humanity. The final line, no hermitage is greater than family life, explains that if quantum particles remained forever dissolved in stillness of pure awareness without interacting with other particles, or if one stayed only in Nirvikalpa Samadhi away from social interactions, no world could exist. Life continues because creation expresses itself through family and duties. Also, as told above, humanity grows best in a family type cooperative environment. In this way, the verse applies equally to the quantum realm, the macrocosm, and human society. Yes, interactions between cosmic bodies like stars and galaxies are similarly based on this quantum verse. The author lived this truth in letter and spirit, learning indirectly from the quantum world with the help of this so called quantum verse, attaining the essence of Karma Yoga along with glimpses of Kundalini awakening and self-realization. Beyond this stage, one may pursue Nirvikalpa Samadhi, but it remains optional—for one can also remain in Karma Yoga and Sahaj Samadhi always. Though few may reach such a nirvikalpa state, their indifference to worldly show does not harm the world’s activity; instead, their journey benefits society when others follow their footsteps from the very beginning, and not by trying to enter directly into samadhi. Since it is directly linked to the quantum world, this verse qualifies to be called a quantum verse.

If we dissect quantum behaviour further, every quality of a quantum particle exists as a separate probability wave, and these waves are independent, not interfering with one another. Similarly, each aspect of human life—where one is born, whom one marries, what profession one follows—arises in uncertainty independently. No one knows beforehand where a person will be born, but wherever it is, it carries the potential to contribute best to humanity. Marriage too is uncertain, yet it naturally aligns in a way that serves the larger good. A person may be born in a royal family and marry into poverty, yet both possibilities are part of the same unfolding toward humanity’s peak. One may appear inborn poor yet hold the role of a company’s CEO. In truth, it is the wave of humanity itself that determines these outcomes. If mutual relationships seem to appear among the different “waves” of life, it is only because they all are guided by that larger wave of humanity. Relationships among them are secondary; the primary movement is always toward the flowering of humanity.

This truth as told above deserves repeating: no guru is greater than a problem. In the quantum world, a particle is not instructed from outside—it learns by meeting resistance, by facing tension, by adjusting itself again and again. So too in human life, real challenges often teach more than any teacher. A problem can sharpen the mind, melt away pride, and give lessons that even the best guru cannot always sustain. Of course, the role of a human guide is valuable, but it is never enough on its own. Progress needs willingness, and though willingness can be encouraged by a teacher, it must finally rise from within. True growth comes from balancing the guidance of an external guru with the inner guru of lived experience. Returning once more to the verse, it concludes: no hermitage is greater than family life. If particles were to dissolve forever in stillness, nothing could appear—no world, no movement, no life. Creation is alive because stillness agrees to move, because silence becomes sound, because the inner withdrawal returns outward as relationship and duty. In the same way, family is not a barrier to realization but the very field where realization ripens. The home itself becomes the monastery, and daily life becomes the true ground of awakening.

As said above, the author of this vision did not leave these quantum truths as dry philosophy. They were lived, tested, breathed. Karma Yoga was not a slogan but a way of cleansing. Problems were accepted as teachers. Work itself became worship. This approach opened a doorway where the currents of Tantric Kundalini stirred, bringing glimpses of awakening and self-realization—achieved not in isolation, but alongside the fulfillment of worldly duties, obligations, and tangible physical progress. The body, when seen with clarity, is no longer only biology; it becomes Sharirvigyan Darshan—the science of body as mirror of cosmos and human behaviour. What nature has inscribed in the workings of cells is echoed in human society and even in cosmic evolution. Digging deeper, the pulse of metabolism reflects the pulse of stars, and the pattern of neurons echoes the pattern of galaxies. It means, steady pulse of metabolism in every cell reflects the pulse of stars, which are born, shine, and fade in cosmic cycles. Likewise, the intricate branching of neurons in the brain strikingly resembles the web of galaxies stretched across the universe. The tiny rhythms within us are not separate from the vast rhythms of the universe. Seen this way, the body is not an isolated fragment but a miniature cosmos, repeating on a small scale the same patterns that shape the stars and galaxies on the grandest scale.

Basic Sharirvigyan Darshan has already shown how viewing simple similarities between body cells and human behavior reveal unexpected wisdom. For instance, cells communicate, compete, cooperate, and balance survival with sacrifice—just as communities do. And when this insight is not merely thought but lived, its power is astonishing. The author, guided by such a karmic-yogic mindset, found the doors of Kundalini Yoga opening naturally, as if the body itself rewarded sincerity with vision. A glimpse of the serpent power uncoiling and rising gave a direct taste of unity, an experiential confirmation that the science was not mere speculation. Advanced Sharirvigyan Darshan dares to go further, suggesting parallels not only between cells and society but between atoms themselves and human workings. If atoms and human actions are reflections of each other, then studying one becomes a way to understand the other. When the physical parallels are seen, and the mind rests in egoless wisdom, truth is both confirmed and experienced. This idea is not yet fully tested, but its promise is immense. It suggests that life is like a play in which every moment and every particle reflects the whole. Time and space themselves are holographic, where each fragment carries the imprint of the entire universe. Just as in a hologram each fragment carries the complete image. It means, even a single fragment of endless time and endless cosmos reflects the whole of time and cosmos itself, showing that each passing instant and each quantum of space occupied by the quantum particle holds within it the signature of eternity. Therefore, it is possible to experience eternity at every moment and at every place by experiencing similarity between cosmos, human body and quantum particle.

Basic Sharirvigyan Darshan as indicated above, authored by the same author, has been well described in the published work The Mythological Body – A New Age Physiology Philosophy [Sharirvigyan Darshan]. Originally written in Hindi, it is thoughtfully translated here into English to make its insights accessible to a wider audience while preserving the depth and essence of the original. The work explains the striking similarities between the internal physical structures of the human body—cells, organs, and systems—and human behavior as well as societal dynamics. It demonstrates how patterns governing the body, such as communication, cooperation, competition, and balance, are mirrored in human actions and social organization, offering a unique lens to understand life as a reflection of universal principles. Extending this insight, the human body itself can be seen as the supreme living mandala, a microcosm containing countless dehapurushas—miniaturized, non-dual beings that work in perfect harmony, mindful yet unattached. Observing and contemplating these inner beings teaches lessons in non-duality, cooperative society, and even the nurturing of nature, while also serving as a practical and powerful gateway to Kundalini awakening and liberation. Through this understanding, the body becomes both a mirror and a guide, showing how true spiritual growth occurs naturally within the world, without the need for forced renunciation, and how life itself can gently lead one to detachment once a threshold of inner realization is reached.

In this way the story of matter becomes the story of self. The universe that appears vast, cold, and external softens into intimacy. A stone is not alien; it is kin. A stranger is not separate; he is the same play of atoms as the hand that writes. Even loss begins to transform, for nothing can truly vanish; it only reshapes its disguise. This realization does not demand retreat into caves or cloisters, though that too may be chosen. It equally allows one to remain in Karma Yoga, to live in Sahaj Samadhi—an effortless harmony where the ordinary world is no longer a trap but an open field for action without entanglement.

The thrill of this adventure is that it unites opposites. It makes science and spirituality kiss where they once seemed strangers. Quantum collapse becomes a metaphor for human decision. The activity of cells becomes a mirror of society. Family life becomes the monastery of the modern seeker. Every corner of matter becomes a temple because it is none other than the self in costume. Awe arises not from imagining miracles beyond reach but from seeing the miracle that is already present in every sip of air and every grain of dust.

See the brick fixed in the wall: its quantum particles have chosen to stay grouped, solid, and unmoving for years. For what? Only for humanity—enduring the suffering of weather as silent penance. What greater austerity than this? Its work of supporting the house is constant and unwavering. Living in a large family of bricks, it eases its burden through close interaction with its companions. In the heat of summer, it expands, releasing excess energy; in winter, it shrinks, huddling with others like family members conserving their shared vitality. In this way, it learns from environmental challenges how to adapt and interact to minimize suffering. This is not mere material behavior—it is cosmic psychology, inseparable from human psychology.

The mystery is not diminished by this understanding. Rather, it deepens. To see that everything is self is not to reduce it to a mechanical formula, but to watch the play of disguises with wonder. Why should the self choose to appear as tree, as river, as mountain, as laughter, as sorrow? The answer may never be pinned down, and perhaps that is the beauty. Mystery is not something to be destroyed by knowledge but to be embraced by deeper seeing. Just as a child never tires of looking at the ocean though it is only water, so the awakened mind never tires of looking at the world though it is only self.

I am pointing to the presence of Self in every particle, because only Self—consciousness—can think and decide as we do. What is non-Self is non-conscious. Thus, Self is synonymous with consciousness, while non-Self is synonymous with non-consciousness. In this way, there is nothing truly non-Self or non-conscious in the cosmos, for even quantum particles display a kind of choice or decision, reflecting the presence of consciousness. Everything is conscious. It has been strongly advocated by sanatan dharma where everything is worshipped.

The path from matter to self is not an abstract riddle but a lived possibility. The car parked on the street, the money folded in the pocket, the house filled with voices, the bread broken at the table—all are matter. But in a deeper gaze, they turn, shimmer, and reveal the self. It is the same journey atoms take when they become flesh, the same journey flesh takes when it becomes awareness. And from awareness arises again the sense of world. Round and round the circle turns, not to trap but to liberate, once the play is recognized.

Thus, the thirteenth chapter stands not as a conclusion but as an opening into a greater adventure. From atom to body, from body to world, from world to self, and from self again to cosmos, the circle is complete yet always expanding. The invitation is not to escape this dance, nor to be drowned in it, but to stand in its heart, free, luminous, at play—where everything seen is already the self in countless forms.

And yet, if everything you see is already you, what gives this shared self its many shapes — stars, rivers, mountains, and bodies? The answer lies in mass, the quiet architect that turns the oneness of matter into the diversity of form.

Harnessing Inner Silence: A Yogic Approach to Stress

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Journey of Nada, Keval Kumbhak, and Deep Dhyana

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Practical Insights from My Experience:

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

Daily Practice Direction:

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

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

Morning Dhyana: My Journey Through Nirvikalpa and Heart-Space Purification

Recently, I noticed a new development in my morning sadhana. Immediately after rising from bed, I concentrated on the Ajna and Sahasrara chakras, with subtle awareness of breathing seemingly rising from there. My mind waves began dissolving into a vast background space, leaving a sense of stillness. It felt effortless, as if the nirvikalpa-type dhyana was happening naturally without any prior yoga or preparatory practices.

After about an hour, my awareness shifted downward to the heart area. There, I felt a heavy darkness, which I realized was the emotional weight stored over time. Slowly, emotions and thoughts associated with those impressions emerged into my awareness, making the space lighter. It felt like an inner cleansing, a natural process of emotional and karmic purification.

From a Kundalini perspective, this process shows a beautiful rhythm: first, energy rises to higher centers, giving freedom from thought and and bringing waveless awareness. Then, it naturally descends to integrate higher consciousness into the emotional body. The darkness I felt in the heart was dense energy, now being slowly dissolved. This combination of upward transcendence and downward integration is rare, as many practitioners rise without cleansing the lower centers.

From a psychological perspective, the heaviness in the heart reflected unconscious or repressed emotions. By observing them in awareness, they surfaced without resistance and gradually lightened. This is a natural catharsis — the mind sees what was hidden, allowing tension and stored impressions to dissolve.

This experience made me question whether my usual physical asanas, cleansing techniques, and pranayamas were necessary before morning dhyana. I realized that if nirvikalpa absorption arises naturally, intense or long practices could drain the subtle energy needed for it. Gentle, minimal preparation, however, can support the body and subtle channels without interfering with the natural flow.

My guru had suggested a few practices: Jal Neti, Vastra Dhouti, Vaman, sneezing, Kapalbhati, Anulom Vilom, Sarvottan Asan without stretching, Greeva Chalan, Skandh Chalan, Nabhi Chalan (10 forward + 10 backward), and Sarp Asana. Upon reviewing them, I found them light enough if performed gently, slowly, and briefly. Vaman should only be done when advised or needed for it may be heavy in gerd; Kapalbhati should be mild; movements should be smooth and relaxed.

I created a light, energy-preserving morning prep routine to complement my dhyana: start with 3–5 minutes of gentle cleansing (Jal Neti, Sneezing, Vastra Dhouti), then 4–6 minutes of light movements (neck, shoulder, and core), followed by 3–5 minutes of gentle pranayama (Anulom Vilom and mild Kapalbhati), a short Sarvottan Asan without stretching, and finally 2 minutes of settling into stillness. After this, I enter nirvikalpa-type dhyana, focusing first on Ajna and Sahasrara for 15–20 minutes, followed by heart-space descent for 5–10 minutes to observe and release emotional heaviness. I end with integration and gentle awareness for 2–3 minutes.

The guiding principle is simple: let the dhyana arise naturally and effortlessly. Pre-dhyana practices exist only to prepare the body and subtle channels, not to produce forceful energy. Overdoing movements, pranayama, or cleansing can drain the subtle prana that fuels morning absorption. Consistency and gentleness are more valuable than intensity.

However, this is not always true. Most often, my rigorous energy work with strong āsanas, spinal breathing, and chakra meditation creates such potential in the brain that, after deep nirvikalpa dhyāna within five to ten minutes, I feel the āsanas themselves become perfected. When the same āsanas are practiced for many years, they seem to make the nāḍīs flow better, whereas new or even complicated āsanas do not have the same effect. Of course, these are simple ones like leg lifts, shoulder turns, and similar stretches. Probably, the nāḍīs develop in better alignment with the direction of those habitual āsanas with time. Interestingly, the guru-given effective āsanas did not work as well for me as my own simple stretching poses, which I had been doing for decades. No doubt, the guru’s prescribed āsanas will also become perfected with time, perhaps in an even better way. Thus, time and habit seem to be the main factors. When I am sufficiently tired, simple dhyāna starts by itself; when I am fresh and energetic, energy work leads to better dhyāna with greater awareness.

Through this approach, I am learning to harmonize high consciousness in the brain and subtle emotional purification in the heart. Simple Thokar practice also helps heart a lot. The upward flow gives bliss and waveless awareness, while the downward flow clears the unconscious, leaving a light, integrated, and balanced inner state. Observing my own responses allows me to adjust pre-dhyana practices, ensuring that maximum absorption and minimal energy drain occur every morning.

This journey teaches me that advanced sadhana is not about more effort but about precise awareness, gentle preparation, and letting the natural currents of energy and mind guide the practice. By honoring this rhythm, the heart opens, the mind rests, and the subtle energy supports a consistent and deepening nirvikalpa experience. However, all of this is relative. The definition of effort, energy, and practice may vary from person to person. So the approach is simple: try, observe, and practice — the “TOP” formula.

Chapter 11: From Body to Cosmos – The Universal Pattern

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 10: Death, Memory, and the Holographic Field

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 9 – Healing from the Inside Out

Human life is not just a chain of days and events. It is a flow of patterns, shaped by awareness, taking form as the body and mind we live in. In the last chapter, we saw how consciousness links experiences together and turns possibilities into reality. Now, we look deeper—into the body’s power to heal itself from the inside out.

Most of us are taught to think of illness as something that “attacks” us from outside—a virus, a germ, an injury. But seen more deeply, illness is often a disturbance in the body’s natural balance. It is like a musical note going slightly out of tune. The instrument is still there; it just needs the right vibration to return to harmony.

The human body is not just flesh and bone. On a finer level, it is a field of information. Every cell and atom follows a kind of invisible blueprint. That invisible blueprint can be understood as the subconscious mind, because the subconscious stores the deep patterns, memories, and beliefs that quietly shape how the body functions, heals, and responds to life—often without our conscious awareness—acting like the hidden master plan the body follows. When this blueprint is clear, the body is healthy. When it is disturbed—by stress, shock, or unprocessed emotions—the body’s image of health becomes blurred. Real healing happens when that inner pattern is restored. Then, the body’s physical parts follow naturally. The inner pattern or blueprint means the subconscious mind’s pattern becomes clearer through meditation and spiritual practices like dana (charity), tapa (discipline), and vrata (sacred vows), which purify hidden impressions and restore the mind-body field to its natural harmony, allowing the body to heal more easily.

Modern medicine sees disease as a chemical imbalance or physical damage. That is true, but these are often the surface effects of a deeper cause—the disturbance in the body’s energy or information field. I refer to the subconscious mind as the body’s energy or information field because it silently stores and transmits the mental-emotional patterns as information and energy that influence the body’s chemistry, cell behavior, and overall balance—acting like an invisible control network that links mind, energy, and physical form. Quantum physics tells us that many possible states exist at once. In the body, this means every cell can “choose” between states of health or illness. The choice depends on the signals it receives from the surrounding field.

From this point of view, the work of a healer is not only to fight the disease, but also to guide the body back into its natural rhythm. A certain threshold of subconscious clarity is needed for the body’s natural rhythm to hold; when clarity drops below that point, distortions build up in the mind-body field, and disease begins to appear. This is why some therapies—sound, light, gentle touch, meditation—can help. They are not magic; they are ways of sending the “right song” back into the body so it remembers how to be well.

Even the so-called placebo effect is proof of this. When someone truly believes they will heal, the belief itself changes the body’s energy blueprint. “Blueprint” is just a metaphor to make the idea visual, but it directly means the body’s energy field or subconscious pattern that belief can influence and change. It is not the pill but the mind’s certainty that triggers the body to repair itself. Far from being “just imagination,” it is one of the clearest examples of the mind’s healing power.

Deep spiritual states also create a powerful healing field. For example, Nirvikalpa Samadhi is often misunderstood as withdrawing from life and sitting in emptiness. But it is really about living and acting with the understanding that the doer, the action, and the result are one. When the sense of doer, action, and result being one is realized, stress and inner conflict drop sharply, which prevents new subconscious disturbances from forming—helping the body stay in its natural state of health. Simply saying, nirvikalp samadhi clears the subconscious mind. A person in this state naturally radiates balance and calm. Just being around them can help others’ patterns return to harmony.

In yoga, practices like Yam and Niyam are not strict rules but ways to keep the body’s field clear and steady. They prevent disturbances before they appear. A karmayogi—someone who works in the world with selfless awareness—may look fully engaged in life, but inside they are in deep alignment, already healing themselves and influencing others.

Healing and self-realization meet in the quiet space between thoughts. When we pause and rest in awareness, the mind’s noise settles, and distortions fade. This is not emptiness in the dull sense, but a full and alive silence where the body remembers its original state of balance. It means that in moments of pure awareness—when thoughts pause like in keval kumbhak—the mind becomes still, the subconscious clears, and the body naturally returns to its healthy, balanced state; this silence feels vibrant and alive, not blank or lifeless.

The brain adds another mystery. Neurons send electrical signals in two-dimensional patterns, yet we experience a rich, three-dimensional world. This shows that depth and reality are not purely in the brain’s matter, but in how consciousness shapes information. In a hologram, if the source plate is clear, the image is clear. Healing works the same way—clarify the blueprint, and the whole picture changes. It means that just as a hologram’s image depends entirely on the clarity of its original recording plate, the body’s health depends on the clarity of its inner pattern or subconscious; when that inner “source” is clear, the outer physical condition naturally improves.

Life also gives us natural phases of alignment. In youth, energy flows strongly, and engaging fully with life strengthens harmony. Later, as the body slows, deeper stillness and states like Nirvikalpa come more easily, keeping the field aligned with less outward action. It means we have a better opportunity in youth to experience energy-awakening–based Savikalpa Samadhi, while in later life, silent Savikalpa Samadhi and even Nirvikalpa Samadhi can naturally arise as a result of the earlier energetic awakening.

In physics, the wavefunction holds all possible realities. What becomes real is chosen by the conditions at the moment. Healing is about tuning the conditions so the healthiest possibility becomes the natural choice. It means that, just as physics says all outcomes exist until conditions decide which one appears, the body also holds many possible health states, and by creating the right mental, emotional, and physical conditions, the body naturally “chooses” the healthiest state to manifest.

To heal from the inside out is to remember that the body is not a machine needing only external repair, but a living hologram in constant contact with infinite intelligence. At any moment, the song of the field can change—and when it does, the atoms follow. Whether through belief, sound, selfless work, or deep silence, we can invite the body back into its natural rhythm.

True healing is not about escaping the world or clinging to it. It is about walking through life as both healer and healed, knowing that the blueprint of wholeness is always present. Every mindful step strengthens the song of health. Every breath taken in awareness is a gentle return to balance. In this way, healing becomes not a struggle, but a natural expression of living in tune with who we really are—a spark of consciousness, shaping itself into the form of a healthy, living human being.

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

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

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

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

Zero Amplitude – Zero Thoughts

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

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

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

Breath Amplitude as the Thought Gateway

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

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

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

The Quantum Analogy

This reminded me of quantum wave mechanics.

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

My experience felt similar:

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

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

Orch-OR Connection

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

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

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

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

The Practice-Based Side: Prana–Apana Tactics

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

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

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

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

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

Why This Feels Unique

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

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

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

The Simple Takeaway

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

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

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

When the Breath Moved to My Ajna Chakra

🌸 Happy Janmashtami! 🌸
On this sacred day when we rejoice in the birth of Lord Krishna, a quiet celebration unfolded within me — a new birth of awareness, as the breath began to awaken in the Ajna Chakra.

Today something new happened in my meditation.
Earlier, my subtle breathing seemed to come from the Anahata Chakra — a gentle rise and fall at the heart center. But this time, my awareness settled fully in the front Ajna Chakra between my eyebrows, and something extraordinary unfolded.

It felt like the Ajna itself was “breathing.” There was a subtle constriction as prana moved downward, with awareness contracting into a fine point, and a gentle relaxation as prana moved upward, with awareness expanding like a soft glow. This rhythm was continuous — like respiration — yet my physical breathing was barely noticed. Air still flowed in and out of my lungs, but it seemed irrelevant. At times, it even felt like the breath had stopped entirely.

From a yogic perspective, this is when the chitta (mind-field) and prana (life-force) synchronize at the Ajna. The normal link between mind and chest breathing fades, replaced by a pranic tide in the head. This is a pratyahara–dharana fusion state: senses withdrawn, awareness steady, yet alive. The physical lungs continue their work in the background while awareness rides only the subtle rhythm. This can lead naturally to kevala kumbhaka — the effortless, breathless stillness.

I learned that Ajna breathing happens when the ida and pingala energy channels merge at the Ajna, creating a tiny “micro-pump” in the pranic body. The sensation is like the Ajna itself is inhaling and exhaling. It sharpens inner vision and steadies meditation, but it can also pull prana upward so much that grounding is needed to stay balanced. A simple way to do this is to keep a thin “awareness-thread” down the spine to the Muladhara Chakra while meditating.

We also explored how this can evolve:

Path 1: Stay in Ajna breathing and stabilize it until samadhi readiness is natural.
Path 2: Let Ajna’s expansion phase overflow into the Sahasrara Chakra, where the breathing becomes spherical and almost timeless.
Path 3: Occasionally cycle awareness through all chakras to keep the whole system alive and balanced while still rooted in the higher centers.

From this, we shaped a single practice:

Start with Ajna breathing for stability.
Let expansion naturally drift upward into Sahasrara breathing.
Before ending, cycle down and up through all chakras a few times to ground and integrate.

Ajna breathing feels like a gateway. Sahasrara breathing feels like stepping beyond the gate into the infinite sky. Both are precious, but Ajna gives the steady flame, while Sahasrara gives the boundless space. The key is to let it happen naturally, ride the rhythm, and stay rooted enough to live fully in both worlds — the inner and the outer.

The Weight That Anchors Creation

Collapse: From Possibility to Reality

Balloons in the Fairground

The First Drops of Weight

The Cosmic Balancing Act

The Sculptor of Diversity

Mass and the Poetry of Form

Even non-physical has mass

Closing Image

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Zero Amplitude – Zero Thoughts

Breath Amplitude as the Thought Gateway

The Quantum Analogy

Orch-OR Connection

The Practice-Based Side: Prana–Apana Tactics

Why This Feels Unique

The Simple Takeaway

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