116.
In that formless, featureless Supreme Self—eternally free from all division—there first arises the knowledge: "I am." This sense of "I" too bears no name, no form, no structure, for it has emerged from that timeless, formless consciousness. As the Self is infinite, so too this "I"-consciousness is bound by no limit—it is merely the awakening of presence.
Before birth, there was no "I," no sense of identity—no shape, no contour, no boundary, no tremor of thought. There was only an infinite silence—indifferent, yet perfectly complete. Then, suddenly, in that unknown Self arises the feeling: "I am," and through it, the entire world and all knowing begin.
Yet this "I" too is formless like the Self, for at its root lies that same consciousness, which is without form. Therefore, all knowledge is truly without form—because it springs from this sense of "I am," which itself is an existence arising from non-existence.
The sense of "I" is the first manifestation, but it is only the reflection of conscious Self. The Self existed before this "I," will exist after—for it is never born, never dies. "I" is merely a hidden sign that will perish one day; but you, that formless consciousness—you were before birth, you are after—and always, behind all experience, you abide as the solitary witness.
117.
This knowledge "I am" has suddenly arisen upon your eternally undivided Self—and therein lies its illusion. No one awakened you, you did not willfully choose to be born; yet suddenly you felt: "I am." This feeling is like a shadow that rises suddenly—as dreams appear in the depths of sleep, unbidden and unwilled.
While the dream lasts, it seems true; just so, the sense of "I" seems true as long as it persists. But as the dream fades, so one day will the sense of "I" fade away. What remains then is your true Self—eternal truth, formless forever, eternally free.
The Self never says: "I." This sense of "I" rises upon the Self like a natural intoxication—not from itself, not through effort. As sleep brings dreams—so this sense of "I" comes silently. And as dreams are false, so too is this "I" false—for it is but a passing emergence. When this knowledge dissolves and you dissolve again into your own eternal forgetting, your intentionless, weightless Self—then you shall find true liberation. What remains when "I" ceases—that alone is truth: you yourself, the unchanging, immutable Brahman.
118.
This knowledge "I am"—which is fundamentally the expression of sattva-guna—cannot sustain itself on its own. So it seeks support in rajas-guna (the quality of action) and tamas-guna (the delusion of dominion) in order to persist.
Understanding the significance of "I am" is one thing; remaining unshaken within it is altogether different and a far more arduous discipline. Walking this path is like moving against the current, for this "I"-knowledge itself repeatedly falls away, drawn by the pull of the gunas. Even if sattva-guna is pure, it is not lifeless—rather, it is restless, cannot sustain itself—and thus draws rajas and tamas toward it. Therefore, to hold this sense of "I am" in its purity requires concentration, steadfast resolve, and tireless remembrance.
In this world, no one can easily remain still; even the sense of "I" cannot bear itself—for however saturated it may be with sattva, from within it are born the desire to do (rajas) and the delusion of becoming (tamas). Thus, swimming against the current, holding fast to this pure sense of "I am"—this alone is true practice. If you would know yourself, you must break through this web of illusion woven by the three gunas and stand firm in that "I"-consciousness alone.
Remember this: self-knowledge lies in the pure form of the ‘I’; and to attain this knowledge, you must possess an unwavering conviction that transcends body, mind, and the qualities they embody.
The sense of ‘I’ is the radiance of that luminous being—yet that light itself seeks shadow. This shadow is rajas and tamas—which transforms the ‘I’ into a personality, an agent, a doer. And this is maya—where knowledge forgets itself. Therefore, the seeker must become a silent witness, one who, established in the sense of ‘I’, releases the enchantment of all qualities.
119.
True practice is one alone—to remind yourself in every moment: “I am not the body; I am a formless, nameless pure being of ‘I’-consciousness, dwelling within this body.” This practice rests on three pillars: 1. I am not the body; 2. My sense of ‘I’ has no form; 3. This ‘I’-consciousness has no name or word. To be established in this understanding, you must return to that moment when the feeling “I am” first awakened. Then this awareness was utterly pure, unburdened, and luminous—in that state, all three truths existed together.
There is no separate practice called self-remembrance—there is only one awakened consciousness: “I am not merely this bodily existence.” This awareness—”I am”—is the focal point of practice; yet to hold it in its pure form, you must remember: this ‘I’ is nameless, formless, and though it dwells in the body, it is not the body. In the very beginning of this awareness—when you first consciously recognized yourself as ‘I’—it was untainted, free from ego, free from action.
If you can return to that memory or realization, no further practice is needed. For then you yourself are that ‘I’—the very self-expression standing face to face with infinity.
All practice culminates in remembrance—and if that remembrance is pure, it smooths the path to liberation. To know yourself as “I am not the body,” to abide as the formless consciousness of ‘I’—this is the sole rung of understanding. To be established in this ‘I’-consciousness is the end of all doing—for then there is no doer, no action, only being—which itself is the eternal, immaculate Brahman.
120.
If you can remain steady in the awareness “I am” for sufficient time, this knowledge itself will one day unveil everything—no external knowledge will be needed anymore. In the beginning, you must fully understand this sense of ‘I’ and restore it to that pure state—when there was no body-consciousness. Then this ‘I’ was silent, formless—merely a wordless awareness, the mere existence of a being.
Now, once you have realized this ‘I’, you must remain established in it—again and again, for long periods. Through this repeated establishment and dwelling, the knowledge of ‘I’ becomes your intimate companion, and will itself reveal its profound mystery.
“I am”—this awareness is first an experience; then it becomes a companion; finally it becomes the guru itself. No external book, speaker, or logic is then needed—because this awareness begins to unfold itself. Yet there is one condition: you must recall it and take refuge in it repeatedly, as if awakening yourself in a silent flame.
This practice alone is true satsang, because here the inner consciousness illuminates consciousness itself. This inner abiding will one day open the door—where you understand that knowledge never comes from outside; everything lay dormant within you all along.
To be established in ‘I’-consciousness is the true attainment of a guru. For then the Self teaches the Self, memory becomes understanding, understanding becomes liberation. And in this realization, it becomes clear—knowledge is never gathered; knowledge only emerges.