A Manual for Self-Realization

A movie may be a tragedy, drama, comedy, thriller, or romance, but whatever its theme, it is only a play of light and its momentary absence on a screen. The screen is a neutral canvas for light. In the same way, our projections appear upon pure, all-encompassing consciousness. Pure consciousness is like the screen: ready to receive every projection, yet when the light is off, it remains simply itself—the neutral canvas.

Therefore, one who possesses viveka, the knowledge of discrimination, sees life’s actions as superimposed upon the canvas of pure consciousness and is not confused or swayed. The pernicous slide of consciousness turns a rope into a snake: in dim light a rope may appear to be a snake, but when sufficient light is cast upon it, the snake vanishes and the rope’s true nature appears. The light of knowledge reveals the undefiled substratum, even when light—or its absence—tricks us with false images on the screen of life.

Heinous crimes appear on the screen of life, as do valour, mercy, compassion, selfishness, greed, and countless other forms. One who understands these as plays of light and shadow is not swayed by good or evil; both are temporary projections. Yet does such a person act when evil arises, or remain placid and aloof amid injustice? A person of knowledge knows their duty to the temporal world. Their actions—or inactions—are performed as duty, to reestablish righteousness, and not as a sensory preference and subsequent emotional like or dislike.

“Whenever there is a decline in righteousness (dharma), O descendant of Bharata, and a rise of unrighteousness (adharma), at that time I manifest Myself.”

Bhagavad Gita 4.7

“To protect the righteous, destroy the wicked, and reestablish the principles of righteousness, I appear age after age.”

Bhagavad Gita 4.8

The sense of duty is well expressed in these verses from the Holy Gita. To manifest yourself for the sake of striking balance in the world, without claiming the glory of doing so, is the way to act.

To the person of knowledge, all manifested actions are expressions of the all-pervading Self—the screen on which light appears and disappears. There is no inherent condemnation or extolment of action, because all actions are ultimately false; only the screen, the canvas, is real. The knower of the Self remains still even while moving, for stillness is the Self’s true nature. The screen is still, and by its stillness it allows the play of light. Meditation is the practice of entering that stillness and slowing time. In meditation, the meditator’s light increases, and with it, knowledge. The formula is simple: no time—more light; more time—less light. Light does not disappear when time is absent. From the “perspective” of light itself, time is already absent. This is physics, and physics is not separate from self-realization. If one could travel at the speed of light, time would stop entirely. Therefore, more stillness means less time and more light.

A common person may perceive meditative solitude as uneventful and dull because outward activity is minimal: no partying, joking, food festivals, travel, or restless search for the next popular place. Yet placidity, inaction, and perceived boredom are absent in the stillness of the all-pervading Self, which a meditator—or one possessing ātma-jñāna, knowledge of the Self—accesses through light. The nature of transcendence is not boring or inactive. On the contrary, it is supremely active, because it is the source of light, which shines more strongly as the stillness of the Self is perfected. This means consciousness has inverted and withdrawn from creation. Where there is no movement, there is no time. Such a soul no longer seeks validation in the world of light and shadow; such a soul becomes the light.

Therefore, a person whose consciousness has turned away from the outer world rejoices in a frequency unknown to common perception. That frequency is the screen, the canvas that allows light to reflect. In it arises the supreme realization of eternity and the infallibility of existence, perceived as “This is That.” It is impossible to perceive “This”—nature in the play of light—as “That”—the eternal, changeless substratum—while consciousness remains outward-facing. “This as That” becomes possible only through renunciation. Renunciation is the key that alters the frequency.

If you want to become whole,

let yourself be partial.

If you want to become straight,

let yourself be crooked.

If you want to become full,

let yourself be empty.

If you want to be reborn,

let yourself die.

If you want to be given everything,

give everything up.

The Master, by residing in the Tao,

sets an example for all beings.

Because he doesn't display himself,

people can see his light.

Because he has nothing to prove,

people can trust his words.

Because he doesn't know who he is,

people recognize themselves in him.

Because he has no goal in mind,

everything he does succeeds.

Tao The Ching 22

(Translated by Stephen Mitchell)

It is a common fallacy to perceive the world as oneness—as “That”—without renunciation. Action sought for reward creates time, and time creates movement; movement brings entanglement, entanglement brings delusion, and in delusion one is yoked to sin. But action performed without desire for reward creates light. Light comes with stillness, and in stillness no sin occurs.

Light is sinlessness.