46.
Fear dwells in the illusion of 'I,' and when there is no 'I,' fear itself ceases to exist. You believe—"I am this person, this body, this mind," "I am so-and-so's child," "I am someone's friend," "I possess wealth, I possess reputation, I possess life." This sense of personhood, this "I am such-and-such"—this belief is the root of all fear.
The Upanishads declare: "Dvitiiyaat vai bhayam bhavati"—where there is a second, there fear inevitably arises. Fear takes many forms—fear of death, poverty, loneliness, dishonor, disease, contempt, abandonment. New fears are born at every moment—because 'I am a person'...this very notion lies exposed to injury at every turn.
But if you come to know—that this 'I' itself is false, that this sense of personhood is merely imagination, that this 'I' of body and mind is nothing but illusion—then around whom does fear circle? Fear exists only where 'I' believes—"I possess something," "I will lose something," "something of mine will decay."
And when you realize—you are not this 'I,' but rather you are that upon which this 'I' casts its shadow—then fear vanishes forever. The Upanishads say: "Na cha'nyo'sti drashta, na cha shroota"—there is no second, no separate witness or listener—and where only one truth exists, whose fear of what?—when 'I' is not, there is no one to lose, no one to die, no person to be afraid. You are that—which does not die itself, does not change, does not lose, in whose silent consciousness all experience rises like waves and subsides again.
And to be established in that consciousness is true freedom from fear—for then there remains no one to fear.
47.
Dwelling in the 'I,' transcending the 'I' into ultimate liberation. You are in suffering, in doubt, in dread—chaos all around, restlessness within, the shadow of dependence—you seek freedom from all of it. And precisely then the Master appears—in human form, or in the words of a book, in the depths of meditation. He says—"All your problems rest upon this single foundation—the belief 'I am a person.'"
The Upanishads declare: "Gurum upaspriya, shradddhayaa, vidyaam abhigachchhet"—go to the Master, approach with reverence, embrace the path of knowledge. The Master says—"Be established in this root understanding: 'I am'—wordless, untouched, formless this existence-consciousness. Cast away all names, all identities, all history, and dwell only in this single awareness." And as you become established in this 'I' awareness, one day you will perceive—even this 'I' is not true. It too is but a concept, an illusory sensation that rises and falls with time.
And in that very contemplation is born liberation—when you understand: even the 'I' is false, and what is false has no power to bind you. The Upanishads declare: "Asango hyayam purushah"—this Self is truly unattached to anything—it has always been free, untouched, eternally established. The Master shows you the way, but the walking is your own responsibility. What he speaks is not mere book-knowledge, but rather the word of his own seeing, his own awakening, his own direct experience. And as you learn, step by step on that path, to let go even of the 'I' notion, what remains is no longer any thought, any name—it is you yourself—unchanging, absolute, silent consciousness.
48.
Sit in silence, remain as 'I'—at last even the 'I' will depart. You have traveled far—from that original sense of 'I,' which once arose like a wordless presence. Now you are trapped—in names, identities, history, thoughts, desires, sorrow, fear—a jungle of concepts, where from every tree hangs some title of the 'I.'
The Upanishads declare: "Atmanam viddhi"—know yourself—not by name, not by form, but as the source itself of all experience. This knowing does not come ordinarily; it comes—to those whose hearts are tender, or to those who, wounded by life's blows, have learned to ask—"Who am I?", "What is the meaning of all this?"—then the seeking begins, then the Master comes—in a face or in silence, in a book or in the world itself.
He says—”The root of all things is this sense of ‘I’—know it, abide in it, for within this ‘I’ lies hidden the seed of all your suffering.”
Now your task—sit quietly, set aside the mind, set aside the body, set aside history—and remain fixed in this alone: the feeling “I am.” Then, gradually, all the world’s busyness, its demands, its anxieties will fall away. You remain only as ‘I,’ yet not as a person. And when you have held steady for sufficient time, with sincerity and patience, this very sense of ‘I’ will dissolve of its own accord—as dew falls away in the morning sun.
The Upanishads say: “Nishchal tat Brahm”—what is completely still, silent, soundless—that is Brahman. When even the ‘I’ departs, nothing more remains—no body, no mind, no identity, no desire—only you, that nameless, experience-transcendent, singular essence, called the supreme Brahman. And the path to reaching that state is not so difficult—the guru says, simply sit in silence, be as ‘I,’ and see for yourself—who remains in the end.
49.
Abide in ‘I,’ then transcend it. Abandon all things—whatever does not belong to ‘I,’ whatever has been fashioned outside of ‘I’—language, thought, identity, history—cast all of it away and remain fixed in this alone: “I am.”
The Upanishads say: “Tad ekam, tasmat anyam tyaj”—what is singular truth, abide in that, and forsake all else. Return again and again to the sense of ‘I,’ without weariness, without interruption. When thoughts arise, turn them away; when memories come, set them aside. Practice—abiding in ‘I,’ in silence, in certainty, in namelessness. This ‘I’ is like a god—who first binds you, but who, when pleased, releases the bonds himself. And in that very moment—when you desire nothing, know nothing, stand without identity—this ‘I’ itself dissolves. And what remains is you alone—the absolute, singular, experience-transcendent.
The Upanishads say: “Na tatra darshir, na shrota, na jnata”—there is no seer, no hearer, no knower—only existence remains. Practice consists of this alone: abide in the sense of ‘I,’ gradually penetrate its depths, and one day, when the time comes—it vanishes of itself, just as the night’s mark is erased in the dawn. And then you remain as that silence, that unconditioned supreme Brahman, which was never ‘I,’ yet upon whose breast this ‘I’ came, and passed away.
50.
Abiding at the center of the sense of ‘I,’ then transcending even that. At the center-point of this consciousness lies one sole feeling—”I am.” This knowledge alone is the essence of consciousness itself, where there is no personality, no history, no shadow of identity whatsoever.
The Upanishads say: “Namrupâtmakam jagat, tat tyaj”—forsake the world of name and form, and abide in what is mere existence. This ‘I’—without words, solitary, pure—is the same in all, as air pervades the sky, yet is not separately perceived. In this awareness there is no “I am this,” “I am that”—here dwells only the unconditioned ‘I’—like the first consciousness of a child, before language, knowing only—”I am.”
Therefore let all your practice be this single effort: returning to that place, the pure center of ‘I.’ And when you can dwell there with deep sincerity and selflessness, that very ‘I’ will lose itself. You will then find what you sought—yet it will be no experience, no thought—you yourself will become that consciousness-transcendent.
The Upanishads ask: “Sthitaprajnasya ka bhasha?”—how can one describe him who stands established in steady consciousness? Remain with deep sincerity alone, speak nothing, think nothing, desire nothing—abide only in this: “I am,” this silent pure awareness. And when the time comes, that very awareness will dissolve, and you will remain—without identity, in silence, beyond judgment, as the supreme Brahman.