It was a subdued meeting in Chitrakoot. No garish publicity, no deafening applause—merely a low-key venue where seekers sat cross-legged, taking in a voice that did not dominate but softly invited. The speaker, unassuming but profoundly convinced, started not with philosophy, but with a chant: Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram.
And then he told me, "I have come to tell you the last truth."
There was a silence. Not the dramatic one, but the kind that causes you to lean forward involuntarily.
He started by remembering his recent speeches in Uttarkashi regarding śākar upāsana—worship through form. "What's already been said is written," he said simply. "No use going over it." That day, he intended to take it further. Beyond shape, beyond adoration, even beyond who I am.
He posed a question we all ask sometime, albeit seldom in words: Who am I truly, if not my name, religion, or body?
Waking, Dreaming, and Deep Sleep We go through three states every day—waking, dreaming, and deep sleep. We do things in waking. We dream in dreaming. We sleep so soundly that we forget everything—ourselves included.
"But," he asked, "who is it that goes through these three? Who is the one that stays behind?"
It's not a mystery. It's a pointing. What you refer to as "I" is not the body that rises, dreams, and slumbers. That's merely the surface. Below it is something quiet, stable, and unchanging.
He referred to this as the fourth state—turīya—beyond the others. It's not trance or supernatural seeing. It's simply the understanding that you are not the changing. You are the stable.
The Soul as King To make us understand it, he employed an easy metaphor.
"Imagine the soul as a king," he told us. "In the waking and dreaming state, he's occupied—ruling, performing, preoccupied. In deep sleep, he is resting, unaware of his throne. But in the fourth state, he knows who he is. He is the king—and he remembers it."
In that condition, everything is transformed. The soul no longer becomes confused by experiences. It sees distinctly: I am not this role, this state, or this feeling. I am the witness of all three.
This is not a belief, he made clear. It's an immediate experience—what Vedanta refers to as Self-realization. You don't picture it. You awaken to it.
The Witness is Brahman The discussion delved further.
"This witness," he declared, "is not your personal soul. It is Brahman—the same presence in all things."
He cited the Upanishads, the Gita, and the Bhagavatam—not to appear learned, but to remind us that this isn't new. The elders knew it. They asserted, with certainty and clarity: Atman is Brahman. The soul is not distinct from God. The self within you is the self in all.".
It's a radical assertion. Most religions fall short of it. But Vedanta does not. It has the courage to assert: you're not merely created by God—you are, in effect, not separate from that ultimate reality.
A Truth Few Dare to Speak He stopped speaking once more.
"This truth is difficult," he conceded. "Not so much to say, but to listen to. That's why few of us say it out loud. Most of us would rather say things to crowds about simpler matters—stories, rituals, ethics. This, however, is the cutting edge of the mind."
And yet, he insisted that it should be said. Because if not now, then when? If not we, then who?
Vedanta, he reminded us, doesn't stem from personal experience itself. It is experience validated by scripture—by the Vedas, the Upanishads, the Gita. Not merely see it one must be able to base it in ageless wisdom.
Devotion as a Doorway He did not discourage devotion or adoration. He actually honored it. Adoring Ram, Krishna, or a Guru, he declared, is not beneath—it's an entrance. But it has to go somewhere.
"Don't get stuck at the statue," he advised. "Adore until the statue disappears and you start to behold the divine in everything—in trees, in human beings, even in yourself."
It's not the body that imparts knowledge. It's the intention. When you bow down to a god, and tears well up in your eyes—not out of fear, but out of yearning—you are ready. Ready to see Brahman not only in temples, but in the entire world.
The Real Expansion In our world today, we pursue visibility—more followers, more likes, more reach. The speaker smiled kindly at this habit.
"Real growth," he declared, "isn't being noticed more. It's knowing that you were never alone to start with."
That acknowledgment flames out jealousy, comparison, competition. When you look into the same soul in each face, what's to battle?
He reminded us that Brahman does not compete. It merely is. It pervades. It observes. It loves.
Closing Reflections By the end of it, no one was restless. Even the birds of Chitrakoot seemed subdued.
He concluded that this isn't philosophy to be argued. It's a truth to be lived. Not by escaping the world, but by perceiving it in a new light.
To perceive yourself in everything. To perceive everything in yourself. To live without separation.
"That," he said, "is Vedanta."
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Note: These are the knowledge from the ancient textbook Vedanta of India. Pure knowledge to grow.