31.
Stability lies in remembering "I," liberation in the dissolution of "I." Hold fast to this knowledge alone—"I am"—and release all that has attached itself. For attachment is distortion, and distortion keeps you exiled from the foundational truth.
Guard the sanctity of this "I." This sense of "I" was the first light at the threshold of birth, yet over time it has been layered with identity, history, form, religion, nation—these accretions have veiled the original transparency of "I." The Upanishads declare: "Sarvopadhi vinirmmuktam"—free yourself from all adjuncts, and only then are you the real.
Remember "I" alone—in its purity. Withdraw your mind from all that clings to it, and dwell in the pellucid "I" alone. Meditate upon it, know it, hold it—a single point in the infinite cosmos—"I am."
Abide in "I" without deliberation. Again and again, every moment, return to this sense of "I"—as the river's waters perpetually turn toward the sea, so let your mind return to this sole center of perception.
Yet you will come to feel—that even this "I" is impermanent. One day you will understand: this "I" itself is dependent—on the body, on the mind's processes, on the interweaving of five elements. And what depends can never be true. The Upanishads say: "Nityam anaashritam"—the Real is self-sufficient, imperishable, independent.
This continuous remembering of "I" is the path of practice; the dissolution of "I" is its fruit. Then you will understand—not "I," but what existed before even "I"—that consciousness without self, that alone is real. There lies stability, there lies liberation—there dwells Brahman, the Absolute.
32.
"I" arose; you are not "I." Consider—this knowledge "I am" rose upon you; you did not summon it, did not construct it; it came of itself—one day, suddenly, in that instant you knew—"I am."
Then from that perception grew a current of selfhood—"I am this," "I am that," "my life, my will"—and around that current your world took shape; "I" gave color, form, intention to all your experience. The Upanishads say: "Atma drashtaa, shrotaa, mantaa, vijnata"—the Self is witness, listener, knower, understander—the Self merely sees; it takes no part; it only observes—and what it observes is never itself.
Now understand: you are that—upon which "I" has arisen, yet within which "I" does not exist. You are that—who witnesses all the activity of this "I," yet remains untouched by any of it. In this realization lies the root of liberation: "I" has come, "I" has created a world, but you are not "I"—you are that in which all has arisen—yet who is bound by nothing.
You are the witness, you are uninvolved, you are that silent consciousness in whose light "I" appeared as a shadow for a moment, then vanished—while you remained, eternal, voiceless, unique.
33.
The dissolution of "I" and the forgetfulness of the Absolute—when this sense of "I am" is utterly erased, nothing will remain—no memory, no history, no feeling—not even a thought that says "I was."
The Upanishads declare: "Yatra na taj jnanam na ajnanam"—where there is neither knowledge nor ignorance, neither memory—only one undifferentiated silence, which cannot be remembered, cannot be spoken, cannot be grasped.
This sense of "I" is the very seed of memory; it brings forth—"I once existed," "I saw," "I felt." So long as "I" persists, memory persists, history persists. Upon this "I" the mind is built—upon its foundation flows the stream of information, experience, thought-cycles. And its exhaustion brings sleep—for if this "I" ran continuously, the body could not endure—you would die. In sleep, this "I" does not wholly depart, only suspends—like a river's current stilled for a time. Thus even in sleep, if your name is called, you wake and say—"Yes, that is me."
But after death?
Then this “I” vanishes entirely, nothing remains—no mind, no memory, no personality—only nameless silence.
Yet for one who has awakened…who has transcended the sense of “I,” who knows that “I” is merely a concept, not what I am, for such a being this “I” and memory are like tools—to be used if needed, left aside if not—but they no longer bind him from within. The Upanishads declare: “Sah smarati, na smaryate”—he remembers, but memory does not consume him.
With the rising of “I” comes memory; with the suspension of “I” comes sleep; with the dissolution of “I” comes consciousness without memory; and beyond that dwells the supreme awakened one. He alone knows—memory, mind, the “I”—all are instruments for use, nothing that belongs to him.
**34.**
The inception of “I,” the gathering of time—”I am”—with the arrival of this primordial idea, time itself is born. Before that lay only the silent timelessness of consciousness—which was, yet knew not—”I am.”
The Upanishads say, “Kālah cha brahmaṇo rūpam”—time itself is a manifestation, and the first line of that manifestation is this sense of “I.” The “I” is that primal vibration, through which measurement begins—day and night, birth and death, here and there, I and thou—all are constructed after it. Upon this “I” has arisen the palace of concepts—knowledge, desire, memory, relationship. It has established the experience of space and time.
Yet this “I” and space arose together, in a single moment, spontaneously—upon you, upon you—supreme consciousness, within which all things arise, yet who yourself partake in nothing. Therefore, remember: with the coming of “I” begins time, and with the departure of “I” comes the end of time. Where “I” is not, time is not, measurement is not—there you dwell, unchanged, unparalleled, as the Absolute Brahman.
“I” is a primary shadow, behind which lies hidden an eternal silent radiance—yourself. You are not “I”; you are that—upon which “I” rose as time’s first wave, and in whose silence that wave shall dissolve, never to arise again.
**35.**
You who transcend both “I am” and “I am not”—when you come to know “I am,” then there awakens, like a shadow, “I am not.” For within knowing lies hidden the possibility of not-knowing; in the manifestation of “I” is born duality. The Upanishads declare: “Dvitīyāt vai bhayam bhavati”—with the second begins division, conflict, illusion.
When you have long remained in “I,” you perceive within it a silence, which you might name “I am not,” or the boundary between the known and unknown. But these two—”I am” and “I am not,” knowing and not-knowing—are both subtle layers of consciousness; they are merely the first line of duality.
They are shadows of each other—recognize one and the other is silently present—as light implies shadow, as sound implies the possibility of silence. But you—you are beyond this pair; you are the witness to both “I am” and “I am not.” You are that upon which these two states have arisen, yet with which they were never truly joined.
The Upanishads say: “Na aham-jñātā, na aham-ajñātā”—I am neither the knower nor the non-knower—I am that one who beholds both—yet I myself am no one, am nothing—I simply am.
When you know “I” and know that you are not “I,” then you are established in that supreme nature which transcends both knowledge and ignorance, which is no state, no thought, no feeling—only unparalleled consciousness, Brahman—into which all has arisen, and with which you remain untouched.