# In the Lonely Depths: 26 The question of whether God exists becomes meaningless once we step beyond the threshold of language. Words are scaffolding we erect around silence—they give shape to what is fundamentally shapeless, architecture to what is boundless. When the mystic speaks of union with the divine, he returns from that union dumb with wonder, grasping for the very words that betray his experience. Consider the paradox: the more eloquently a person describes their encounter with the transcendent, the more we suspect they have merely encountered language about the transcendent. The authentic meeting leaves no vocabulary intact. It unmakes us, and in that unmaking, we are remade into something that cannot speak, only *be*. The atheist who argues God does not exist and the believer who insists He does are engaged in the same enterprise—both are fighting over territory that exists only in thought. The actual domain of the sacred—if it exists at all—lies beyond this battlefield. It is where all our propositions collapse, where both yes and no become equally foolish. Perhaps the path is not to answer the question but to outgrow it. To move through philosophy not toward conclusion but toward that quietness where the question itself dissolves like mist. The seeker who arrives must shed the very lantern that lit his way. In this dissolution, maybe—just maybe—he touches what was always untouched by his reaching.

126.

Upon what did the witness arise—this 'I'?

This knowledge, 'I am,' suddenly emerged within you—unbidden, uncalled—yet it came of itself. With the arising of this 'I' begins the seeing, the feeling, the knowing—this body, this world, this emptiness—all things announce themselves in that moment.

This 'I' and the sky-like space paired with it—together they create a world born of consciousness. Then you begin to feel the body, and you fasten the sense of 'I' to the body—and thus is born a profound self-deception.

But when you turn inward, a deeper question stirs: "Who is seeing?" or "Upon what did this 'I' arise?" Then it becomes clear—the seer must surely be distinct from what is seen. And the One inherent in this act of seeing—he has never come, will never go—he was always, is always, and will always be.

This sense of 'I' is itself a manifestation—but only after it arrives does the world, the body, space, time—all become perceivable. Without the 'I' there is nothing—but once it comes, everything appears—and from this seeing is born the false identity: 'I am this body,' 'I am this person.'

Yet when you turn back upon the path of inquiry, a profound search begins—"Who is seeing this seeing?" Then you understand—there is seeing, but there is One who sees—and he who sees is never the 'I,' but rather the Supreme Witness—upon whom even this sense of 'I' has arisen.

This Witness is bound by no name, no form, no identity; it is ever unmanifest, beyond birth and death, the sole reality upon which all rests.

The sense 'I am' comes suddenly—and with it begins the world of experience. You feel the body, you begin to think the 'I' is the body. But in the quest to know yourself, this question arises: "Upon what did this 'I' arise?"

Then it is revealed—this seeing happens through a true Witness—one who is never born, never dies, and stands beyond all things. He is eternal, non-dual, formless Spirit—upon him the 'I' has come, and one day shall vanish again.

127.

Meditation is the 'I's own reflection upon its own being.

What is meant by meditation is this: the knowledge or consciousness 'I am' meditates upon itself. When you are told to meditate upon the sense of 'I,' who then meditates? The 'I' itself meditates—upon its own solitary presence. But the error arises when you begin meditation with this thought: "I am a certain person," "I am this body," "I am this identity."

When you bind the 'I' with any name, any form, any identity—that meditation loses its purity. Instead, you must separate the 'I' from all things and hold it in its absolute root, silent and formless. This pure 'I'—without thought, without language—when it steadies itself in meditation upon itself, and this meditation continues long enough—then the 'I' itself begins to reveal its own meaning.

Meditation is not attention upon some external object—but consciousness's own return to itself. If the 'I' is bound to body, identity, or mind, that meditation remains confined within duality. True meditation occurs when the 'I' completely severs itself from all relations, withdraws from name and form, memory and history, and feels itself only at the level of pure, wordless sensation.

This feeling is meditation—and this meditation itself one day unveils the hidden truth: who the 'I' is, whence it came, and where at last it dissolves.

At that point, the ‘I’ and the ‘one who meditates’ are no longer separate—the two merge into one as self-knowledge.

Meditation is nothing other than this—the ‘I’ meditating upon itself. This ‘I’ is not some personal identity—but rather that which is utterly solitary, silent, thoughtless—mere sensation itself. When one meditates in this way for a long duration, the ‘I’ itself reveals its deepest meaning. That revelation is self-knowledge—free of duality, formless, and the gateway to ultimate liberation.

128.

Where questioning ceases—there the sense of ‘I’ finds its rest.

When you meditate on this sense of ‘I am’—which is the very beginning point of all knowledge—how then can any question arise? Do you not notice that whenever you do anything, the mind always carries with it the shadow of some question or doubt? Exactly the same thing happens when you enter the path of spiritual practice—the mind speaks up: “Will anything come of this path? Or am I merely wasting time?”

But when you begin to abide in this ‘I am’ knowledge, guided by the guru’s direction—then gradually you come to understand that this ‘I’ itself is the first manifestation of all knowledge; it has no form, no language—only silent existence itself. To establish yourself in this knowing is the way of practice.

And if you once truly abide in this ‘I’—then no question can come to you anymore. If a question arises—know that you have departed from the ‘I’, that the mind has drawn you back into its old cycles. Once you grasp this truth, questionlessness itself becomes a clear sign of your progress in practice.

The mind is accustomed by its very nature to dualistic thinking and doubt. In every action, even upon entering spiritual meditation, people ask—”Am I on the right path?”, “Will this meditation succeed?” When you abide in ‘I am’—this silent, formless, wordless knowing—there is no more duality; you simply are.

When any identity is attached to this ‘I’, questions arise. But if you remain established in the solitary ‘I’, then no question has any opportunity to come—for questions spring from division. Thus whether questions are arising or not becomes itself a sign of your stage of practice—as long as questions persist, the mind is working. When questions cease, then you will have reached silent consciousness—where there is only ‘being’, no analysis.

The sense of ‘I am’ is the beginning of all knowledge, and to become steadfast in this knowing is true meditation itself. If the question arises—”Will this lead to anything?”—then you must understand that you have strayed from the ‘I’. For when this knowing touches your deepest level—no question is ever born. This questionless state is the true mark of practice. Therefore, observe your own inner being—are questions coming? Then return to the ‘I’.

Be still, be silent—for that very stillness is the gateway to true liberation.

129.

All the materials of name, form, and identity that exist—use them only for the work of the world. Beyond that, hold within yourself only one knowing—’I am’—but without any sense of body; a silent presence beyond name and form and shape. Yes, you are dwelling in a body, the body will remain, and to deny this is not possible either.

Society has given you a name, a form, certain characteristics and a design. Very well, go about your work and responsibilities with these—but deep in your mind, keep steadfast remembrance of this—you are none of these things. They are merely useful external forms—not your true identity.

Let work happen, let responsibility be, let life continue—but amidst all this, hold firmly within yourself this hidden knowledge—”I am”—yet I am not the body, not identity, only consciousness.

In this world, body, name, form, society-given identity—all are a play of activity. They are not real, yet since the world goes on, you must use them externally in function.

Yet inwardly, the seeker remains always aware—these forms are mere masks; I am not these. The true ‘I’ is that formless consciousness—which has no birth, no death, no identity—which is only presence.

So, act in the world—but remain rooted in self-awareness. Work with your body, harbor no conflict in your mind—yet know that this is merely an instrument; I am only that ‘I’, which exists as silent being behind all action.

Names, forms, identities—use these only for the world’s necessity. But hold firmly within yourself the knowledge—you are not these. Action will unfold, life will move forward—but behind it all, remain as that silent ‘I’—which has no sense of body, only the awareness of consciousness. Thus, even while living in the world, you can remain established in that eternal freedom.

130.

In ‘I’ alone lies the only practice; in ‘I’ alone lies the path to liberation—there is no method in walking this path—among all the world’s practices, if there is one sole method, it is this faith: ‘I’ means ‘I’—nothing beyond it.

The guru repeatedly offers only this one teaching—and calls it true initiation and instruction: Remain established in the awareness ‘I am’ and build unwavering faith in it. But what does this faith mean?

It means this—when you remain steady in the awareness ‘I am’, do not mix anything else with it—no identity, no thought, no memory, no feeling—only the pure ‘I’ awareness. In this way your consciousness becomes so completely saturated with this knowledge of ‘I’, as though your every breath, your every sensation, your very existence is held within this ‘I’.

Only then—can you one day transcend even this ‘I’, because you have become one with it, nothing else remains. No external practice, no mantra or ritual—the true path to realization is self-remembrance. And the focal point of this self-remembrance is—the awareness ‘I am’. Yet let this ‘I’ never become ‘I am so-and-so’, ‘I am such-and-such’, ‘I am man/woman’, ‘I am body’—let it never crystallize into these.

Rather, it must be—absolutely primordial, formless, impartial existence-feeling—where ‘I’ carries no relation, only presence. When fully immersed in this ‘I’, you can eventually transcend even its boundary; for complete unity with something is the true way to dissolve that very thing.

The sole authentic method is—to remain established in the awareness of ‘I’, and to build lasting faith in it. Let this ‘I’ be pure, formless, thought-free existence-feeling—without identity or embellishment. When you become fully saturated in this ‘I’—then the path beyond it opens before you. For then you yourself become that awareness—and thereafter, gradually transcending even that awareness, you become established in eternal, perfect freedom.