Something Settled

Something changed since a few weeks. My experience with ‘consciousness’ is evolving.

A few years back it was a process, a technique. Then since last year the process diluted, but an ‘attempt’ at consciousness stayed.

Last few weeks have been different. I hadn’t forgotten it or given up. It felt as if something had settled in me. I was not overthinking. My sensitivity stays but it does not hurt me anymore.

Can I consider this as graduating to the next level? I made no attempts to find similar experiences on the web. I want to keep it pure and unpolished. In fact, as a second thought, I get a feeling — why even care about writing it here.

The witness used to be something I invoked. A deliberate step. React to something, catch it, step back.
At some point the sequence disappeared. Not the awareness. Just the deliberate part.

Ashtavakra says the self is not an achievement. It was never lost. What you think of as a spiritual journey is just the end of forgetting yourself.
I was never building consciousness. I was learning to stop building noise on top of it.

There’s a side effect I didn’t expect.
Names slip more easily now. Labels dissolve faster. I forget credentials — mine and others’ — more than I used to. I thought it was overwork.

It was as if my mind was gripping identifiers to hold itself together. “I am the CFO.” “I am the writer.” As the grip loosened, those identifiers mattered less.
What remains is sensing. Not thinking about sensing. Just noticing.

Sabri didn’t taste berries her whole life and then decide the tasting was the point. She was waiting. The practice was her preparation. When Ram came, she didn’t offer the method. She offered what the method had made her.

The years of sitting, of catching yourself mid-reaction, of returning — you were not practising consciousness. You were peeling away what was covering it.
Sakshi Bhaav is not a technique. It is what remains when you stop convincing yourself you are something else.

Thehrav, in its truest sense, is not a pause you take. It is the pause that was always there — before the noise began.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​