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𑌅𑌷𑍍𑌟ð‘Œūð‘Œĩ𑌕𑍍𑌰 𑌗𑍀ð‘ŒĪð‘Œū ð‘Œļ𑌊𑍍ð‘ŒĪð‘ŒŪð‘‹ð‘Œ―ð‘Œ§ð‘ð‘ŒŊð‘Œūð‘ŒŊ𑌃

𑌅𑌷𑍍𑌟ð‘Œūð‘Œĩ𑌕𑍍𑌰 𑌗𑍀ð‘ŒĪð‘Œū is a 20-chapter dialogue of direct 𑌅ð‘ŒĶ𑍍ð‘Œĩ𑍈ð‘ŒĪ, alternating between 𑌅𑌷𑍍𑌟ð‘Œūð‘Œĩ𑌕𑍍𑌰's sharp pointers and 𑌜ð‘ŒĻ𑌕's deepening recognition. Its method is not to decorate life with beliefs, but to correct the central mistake that produces bondage: taking the body-mind to be the Self. Again and again it points to the witness (ð‘Œļð‘Œū𑌕𑍍𑌷𑍀) - awareness itself - as what you are, and shows how freedom becomes natural when identification loosens.

The previous chapters have already established the core vision. Chapter 1 combines ethical stabilizers with direct inquiry into the witness. Chapter 2 speaks the afterglow of recognition through metaphors like wave-water and rope-snake, loosening fear and ownership. Chapter 3 exposes the subtle ways desire and ego can survive after insight, and Chapter 4 describes the lived texture of freedom where compulsion drops. Chapter 5 urges ð‘Œēð‘ŒŊ - the dissolution of false identification - and Chapter 6 has 𑌜ð‘ŒĻ𑌕 reply that for one who is established in truth there is "no giving up and no grasping" because the Self is untouched.

Chapter 7 takes the ocean metaphor and turns it into a lived stance. 𑌜ð‘ŒĻ𑌕 describes himself as an infinite ocean (𑌅ð‘ŒĻ𑌂ð‘ŒĪ-ð‘ŒŪð‘Œđð‘Œū𑌂𑌭𑍋𑌧ð‘Œŋ) in which the world is a boat and a wave. The key point is not poetry but psychology: the rise and fall of experiences does not produce inner gain or loss for the Self. When awareness is recognized as the stable "ocean", the mind does not become impatient with changing conditions. The chapter also makes a strong Advaita claim: the world as "world" is ð‘Œĩð‘Œŋ𑌕ð‘Œē𑍍𑌊ð‘ŒĻð‘Œū (imagination) - not in the sense that nothing appears, but in the sense that separateness and binding-importance are imagined.

The chapters that follow will make the same insight even more practical. Chapter 8 gives crisp definitions of bondage and liberation as movements of mind: desire, sorrow, grasping, and anger are bondage; their absence is freedom. Chapter 9 begins the turn toward ð‘ŒĻð‘Œŋ𑌰𑍍ð‘Œĩ𑍇ð‘ŒĶ (mature disillusionment) and the dropping of ð‘Œĩð‘Œūð‘Œļð‘ŒĻð‘Œūs (latent tendencies) as the heart of peace, and later chapters keep widening the perspective until effort relaxes into natural ease.

Seen as a whole, Chapter 7 is a chapter of unshakable inner balance. It says: let the world-boat drift; let the world-wave rise and fall; none of this adds to or subtracts from awareness. The result is not coldness but spaciousness: 𑌜ð‘ŒĻ𑌕 remains ð‘Œķð‘Œū𑌂ð‘ŒĪ (peaceful), 𑌅ð‘Œļ𑌕𑍍ð‘ŒĪ (unattached), and 𑌅ð‘Œļ𑍍𑌊𑍃ð‘Œđ (without hungry craving). He even says that when the world is seen as a kind of magic show (𑌇𑌂ð‘ŒĶ𑍍𑌰𑌜ð‘Œūð‘Œē), the usual compulsions of "must accept" and "must reject" lose their force. The summary of this chapter is simple: when you abide as consciousness, the waves of experience may continue, but they cannot produce inner increase or loss.

𑌜ð‘ŒĻ𑌕 𑌉ð‘Œĩð‘Œū𑌚 āĨĨ
ð‘ŒŪð‘ŒŊ𑍍ð‘ŒŊð‘ŒĻ𑌂ð‘ŒĪð‘ŒŪð‘Œđð‘Œū𑌂𑌭𑍋𑌧𑍌 ð‘Œĩð‘Œŋð‘Œķ𑍍ð‘Œĩ𑌊𑍋ð‘ŒĪ 𑌇ð‘ŒĪð‘Œļ𑍍ð‘ŒĪð‘ŒĪ𑌃 āĨĪ
𑌭𑍍𑌰ð‘ŒŪð‘ŒĪð‘Œŋ ð‘Œļ𑍍ð‘Œĩð‘Œū𑌂ð‘ŒĪð‘Œĩð‘Œūð‘ŒĪ𑍇ð‘ŒĻ ð‘ŒĻ ð‘ŒŪð‘ŒŪð‘Œūð‘Œļ𑍍ð‘ŒĪ𑍍ð‘ŒŊð‘Œļð‘Œđð‘Œŋ𑌷𑍍ð‘ŒĢ𑍁ð‘ŒĪð‘Œū āĨĨ 𑍭-1āĨĨ

Meaning (𑌊ð‘ŒĶð‘Œū𑌰𑍍ð‘ŒĨ):
𑌜ð‘ŒĻ𑌕𑌃 - King Janaka
𑌉ð‘Œĩð‘Œū𑌚 - said
ð‘ŒŪð‘ŒŊð‘Œŋ - in me
𑌅ð‘ŒĻ𑌂ð‘ŒĪ-ð‘ŒŪð‘Œđð‘Œū-𑌅𑌂𑌭𑍋𑌧𑍌 - in the infinite great ocean
ð‘Œĩð‘Œŋð‘Œķ𑍍ð‘Œĩ-𑌊𑍋ð‘ŒĪ𑌃 - the boat of the world
𑌇ð‘ŒĪð‘Œļ𑍍ð‘ŒĪð‘ŒĪ𑌃 - here and there
𑌭𑍍𑌰ð‘ŒŪð‘ŒĪð‘Œŋ - wanders; drifts
ð‘Œļ𑍍ð‘Œĩð‘Œū𑌂ð‘ŒĪ-ð‘Œĩð‘Œūð‘ŒĪ𑍇ð‘ŒĻ - by the "wind" of its own inner tendencies/mind
ð‘ŒĻ - not
ð‘ŒŪð‘ŒŪ - to me; for me
𑌅ð‘Œļ𑍍ð‘ŒĪð‘Œŋ - is
𑌅ð‘Œļð‘Œđð‘Œŋ𑌷𑍍ð‘ŒĢ𑍁ð‘ŒĪð‘Œū - intolerance; impatience

Translation (𑌭ð‘Œūð‘Œĩð‘Œū𑌰𑍍ð‘ŒĨ):
Janaka said: In me, the infinite great ocean, the boat of the world drifts here and there by the wind of its own nature. For me there is no impatience.

Commentary (𑌅ð‘ŒĻ𑍁ð‘Œļ𑌂𑌧ð‘Œūð‘ŒĻ):
This verse describes an inner change that is easy to miss: impatience disappears. The world-boat "drifts" - things do not always go according to plan - because the mind-winds of countless tendencies (ð‘Œĩð‘Œūð‘Œļð‘ŒĻð‘Œūs) keep blowing. In ordinary bondage, we experience this as irritation: "Why is this happening? It should not be this way." 𑌜ð‘ŒĻ𑌕 says that when he rests as the ocean of awareness, the drift is seen without being taken personally. The ocean does not get angry at the boat. The key is not passive resignation; it is the removal of the false claim of ownership that fuels impatience.

This is one of the most practical gifts of Advaita. Much suffering is not created by events but by the demand that events must match our story. The demand appears as a tight body, a hurried breath, and a mind that argues with reality. The verse points to a deeper strength: when the Self is recognized as the stable witness, the mind can respond without being internally violent. The gItA points to a similar maturity in the idea of 𑌊𑍍𑌰ð‘Œļð‘Œūð‘ŒĶ (clarity and grace): you do what you can, and you accept what is beyond your control without collapsing into bitterness. The ocean metaphor makes that maturity vivid.

Practice by training "no impatience" in small situations first. When you face a delay, an unexpected message, or a small plan-change, notice the first inner tightening. Name it: "impatience." Then take one breath to remember the ocean: awareness is present before the irritation, during it, and after it. Let the irritation be a wave in that awareness. After that breath, choose one intelligent action: adjust the plan, communicate clearly, or simply wait. The goal is not to eliminate problems; it is to stop adding inner friction. Over time, this becomes a spiritual practice with real-life benefits: you remain more stable in relationships, less reactive at work, and more capable of meeting difficulty without losing dignity.

ð‘ŒŪð‘ŒŊ𑍍ð‘ŒŊð‘ŒĻ𑌂ð‘ŒĪð‘ŒŪð‘Œđð‘Œū𑌂𑌭𑍋𑌧𑍌 𑌜𑌗ð‘ŒĶ𑍍ð‘Œĩ𑍀𑌚ð‘Œŋ𑌃 ð‘Œļ𑍍ð‘Œĩ𑌭ð‘Œūð‘Œĩð‘ŒĪ𑌃 āĨĪ
𑌉ð‘ŒĶ𑍇ð‘ŒĪ𑍁 ð‘Œĩð‘Œūð‘Œļ𑍍ð‘ŒĪð‘ŒŪð‘Œūð‘ŒŊð‘Œūð‘ŒĪ𑍁 ð‘ŒĻ ð‘ŒŪ𑍇 ð‘Œĩ𑍃ð‘ŒĶ𑍍𑌧ð‘Œŋ𑌰𑍍ð‘ŒĻ 𑌚 𑌕𑍍𑌷ð‘ŒĪð‘Œŋ𑌃 āĨĨ 𑍭-2āĨĨ

Meaning (𑌊ð‘ŒĶð‘Œū𑌰𑍍ð‘ŒĨ):
ð‘ŒŪð‘ŒŊð‘Œŋ - in me
𑌅ð‘ŒĻ𑌂ð‘ŒĪ-ð‘ŒŪð‘Œđð‘Œū-𑌅𑌂𑌭𑍋𑌧𑍌 - in the infinite great ocean
𑌜𑌗ð‘ŒĪ𑍍-ð‘Œĩ𑍀𑌚ð‘Œŋ𑌃 - the wave of the world
ð‘Œļ𑍍ð‘Œĩ𑌭ð‘Œūð‘Œĩð‘ŒĪ𑌃 - naturally; by its own nature
𑌉ð‘ŒĶ𑍇ð‘ŒĪ𑍁 - may it rise
ð‘Œĩð‘Œūð‘Œļ𑍍ð‘ŒĪ𑌂 𑌆ð‘ŒŊð‘Œūð‘ŒĪ𑍁 - may it set; may it go to rest
ð‘ŒĻ - not
ð‘ŒŪ𑍇 - to me; for me
ð‘Œĩ𑍃ð‘ŒĶ𑍍𑌧ð‘Œŋ𑌃 - increase; gain
ð‘ŒĻ - nor
𑌚 - and
𑌕𑍍𑌷ð‘ŒĪð‘Œŋ𑌃 - loss; damage

Translation (𑌭ð‘Œūð‘Œĩð‘Œū𑌰𑍍ð‘ŒĨ):
In me, the infinite great ocean, the wave of the world rises and sets naturally. For me there is no gain and no loss.

Commentary (𑌅ð‘ŒĻ𑍁ð‘Œļ𑌂𑌧ð‘Œūð‘ŒĻ):
This verse targets the deepest fuel of anxiety: the belief that life is constantly adding to or subtracting from "me." The wave rises (𑌉ð‘ŒĶ𑍇ð‘ŒĪ𑍁) and sets (ð‘Œĩð‘Œūð‘Œļ𑍍ð‘ŒĪ𑌂 𑌆ð‘ŒŊð‘Œūð‘ŒĪ𑍁) - success comes and goes, pleasure comes and goes, even identity-images come and go. When you identify as a wave, every rise creates pride and every fall creates fear. 𑌜ð‘ŒĻ𑌕 says: as the ocean, nothing is added and nothing is removed. The Self does not become "more" with praise, nor "less" with failure. This is not denial; it is the discovery of a deeper measure of self-worth that is not hostage to conditions.

The phrase ð‘ŒĻ ð‘ŒŪ𑍇 ð‘Œĩ𑍃ð‘ŒĶ𑍍𑌧ð‘Œŋ𑌃 ð‘ŒĻ 𑌚 𑌕𑍍𑌷ð‘ŒĪð‘Œŋ𑌃 is also a key for emotional regulation. When the mind believes something is an existential loss, it becomes reactive and defensive. When it believes something is an existential gain, it becomes greedy and anxious about losing it. Both are bondage. Many traditions speak about equanimity, but Advaita offers a very specific reason: awareness is the constant, and experiences are variable. The gItA's steadiness in praise and blame, heat and cold, pleasure and pain becomes possible because your identity is relocated from the changing to the changeless.

Practice by working with one "gain/loss" story at a time. Pick an area where you swing: money, approval, productivity, romance, health. When you feel a spike - elation or panic - ask: "What is the wave claiming right now?" Often it claims, "This makes me someone" or "This makes me nothing." Then return to the ocean for two breaths: notice awareness is present even in the spike. After that, take one grounded action: budget, rest, communicate, or do the next task. Also train with small deliberate exposures: allow a minor loss (skip a small comfort, accept a small imperfection) and watch that you remain intact; allow a small gain (praise, a treat) and practice enjoying without clinging. This teaches the nervous system what 𑌜ð‘ŒĻ𑌕 is describing: waves change, but you are not diminished.

ð‘ŒŪð‘ŒŊ𑍍ð‘ŒŊð‘ŒĻ𑌂ð‘ŒĪð‘ŒŪð‘Œđð‘Œū𑌂𑌭𑍋𑌧𑍌 ð‘Œĩð‘Œŋð‘Œķ𑍍ð‘Œĩ𑌂 ð‘ŒĻð‘Œūð‘ŒŪ ð‘Œĩð‘Œŋ𑌕ð‘Œē𑍍𑌊ð‘ŒĻð‘Œū āĨĪ
𑌅ð‘ŒĪð‘Œŋð‘Œķð‘Œū𑌂ð‘ŒĪ𑍋 ð‘ŒĻð‘Œŋ𑌰ð‘Œū𑌕ð‘Œū𑌰 𑌏ð‘ŒĪð‘ŒĶ𑍇ð‘Œĩð‘Œūð‘Œđð‘ŒŪð‘Œūð‘Œļ𑍍ð‘ŒĨð‘Œŋð‘ŒĪ𑌃 āĨĨ 𑍭-3āĨĨ

Meaning (𑌊ð‘ŒĶð‘Œū𑌰𑍍ð‘ŒĨ):
ð‘ŒŪð‘ŒŊð‘Œŋ - in me
𑌅ð‘ŒĻ𑌂ð‘ŒĪ-ð‘ŒŪð‘Œđð‘Œū-𑌅𑌂𑌭𑍋𑌧𑍌 - in the infinite great ocean
ð‘Œĩð‘Œŋð‘Œķ𑍍ð‘Œĩ𑌂 - the world; the universe
ð‘ŒĻð‘Œūð‘ŒŪ - called; as "named"
ð‘Œĩð‘Œŋ𑌕ð‘Œē𑍍𑌊ð‘ŒĻð‘Œū - imagination; conceptual construction
𑌅ð‘ŒĪð‘Œŋ-ð‘Œķð‘Œū𑌂ð‘ŒĪ𑌃 - exceedingly peaceful
ð‘ŒĻð‘Œŋ𑌰ð‘Œū𑌕ð‘Œū𑌰𑌃 - formless
𑌏ð‘ŒĪð‘ŒĶ𑍍 𑌏ð‘Œĩ - this alone
𑌅ð‘Œđ𑌂 - I
𑌆ð‘Œļ𑍍ð‘ŒĨð‘Œŋð‘ŒĪ𑌃 - established; abiding

Translation (𑌭ð‘Œūð‘Œĩð‘Œū𑌰𑍍ð‘ŒĨ):
In me, the infinite great ocean, the world is only a conceptual construction. I am exceedingly peaceful and formless; I abide as this alone.

Commentary (𑌅ð‘ŒĻ𑍁ð‘Œļ𑌂𑌧ð‘Œūð‘ŒĻ):
Here 𑌜ð‘ŒĻ𑌕 makes the strongest claim of the chapter: the world as "world" is ð‘Œĩð‘Œŋ𑌕ð‘Œē𑍍𑌊ð‘ŒĻð‘Œū - a construction. This does not mean you do not see forms or hear sounds. It means the binding interpretation "this is a separate reality that defines me" is a mental overlay. The "world" includes not only objects but also the conceptual map we live by: status, success, time-pressure, identity labels, comparisons. These maps are useful for functioning, but bondage happens when we forget they are maps and treat them as absolute. When 𑌜ð‘ŒĻ𑌕 says he is ð‘ŒĻð‘Œŋ𑌰ð‘Œū𑌕ð‘Œū𑌰 (formless), he is pointing to the fact that awareness can know forms without being one.

This verse also clarifies the difference between calmness and peace. Calmness can be fragile - dependent on the world behaving. Peace (ð‘Œķð‘Œū𑌂ð‘ŒĪð‘Œŋ) here is 𑌅ð‘ŒĪð‘Œŋð‘Œķð‘Œū𑌂ð‘ŒĪð‘Œŋ - deep quietness - because it rests on the recognition of the Self as the background of all experience. This is close to the Upanishadic vision of the Self as ð‘Œķð‘Œū𑌂ð‘ŒĪ𑌂 ð‘Œķð‘Œŋð‘Œĩ𑌂 𑌅ð‘ŒĶ𑍍ð‘Œĩ𑍈ð‘ŒĪ𑌂 - peace, auspiciousness, non-dual. When this is seen, even strong life events are held within a wider stillness. The mind can still plan and respond, but it does so without the extra pressure of existential identity.

Practice by noticing where you live inside ð‘Œĩð‘Œŋ𑌕ð‘Œē𑍍𑌊 (conceptual loops). Choose one recurring loop: comparison ("I should be ahead"), rehearsal ("what if they reject me"), or labeling ("I am this kind of person"). When it starts, pause and say: "This is a construction." Then bring attention to something immediate: breath, sound, sensation. Notice that awareness is present before the thought and after it. That awareness is the ð‘ŒĻð‘Œŋ𑌰ð‘Œū𑌕ð‘Œū𑌰 ground. After two breaths, return to the situation with practical intelligence: make the call, take the step, rest if needed. Over time, this reduces the grip of conceptual stress and allows the deeper peace of the witness to become more accessible in daily life.

ð‘ŒĻð‘Œūð‘ŒĪ𑍍ð‘ŒŪð‘Œū 𑌭ð‘Œūð‘Œĩ𑍇𑌷𑍁 ð‘ŒĻ𑍋 𑌭ð‘Œūð‘Œĩð‘Œļ𑍍ð‘ŒĪð‘ŒĪ𑍍𑌰ð‘Œūð‘ŒĻ𑌂ð‘ŒĪ𑍇 ð‘ŒĻð‘Œŋ𑌰𑌂𑌜ð‘ŒĻ𑍇 āĨĪ
𑌇ð‘ŒĪ𑍍ð‘ŒŊð‘Œļ𑌕𑍍ð‘ŒĪð‘‹ð‘Œ―ð‘Œļ𑍍𑌊𑍃ð‘Œđ𑌃 ð‘Œķð‘Œū𑌂ð‘ŒĪ 𑌏ð‘ŒĪð‘ŒĶ𑍇ð‘Œĩð‘Œūð‘Œđð‘ŒŪð‘Œūð‘Œļ𑍍ð‘ŒĨð‘Œŋð‘ŒĪ𑌃 āĨĨ 𑍭-4āĨĨ

Meaning (𑌊ð‘ŒĶð‘Œū𑌰𑍍ð‘ŒĨ):
ð‘ŒĻ - not
𑌆ð‘ŒĪ𑍍ð‘ŒŪð‘Œū - the Self
𑌭ð‘Œūð‘Œĩ𑍇𑌷𑍁 - in objects; in states; in "things"
ð‘ŒĻ 𑌉 - nor
𑌭ð‘Œūð‘Œĩ𑌃 - objects; states; "things"
ð‘ŒĪð‘ŒĪ𑍍𑌰 - there (in that truth)
𑌅ð‘ŒĻ𑌂ð‘ŒĪ𑍇 - in the infinite
ð‘ŒĻð‘Œŋ𑌰𑌂𑌜ð‘ŒĻ𑍇 - in the spotless; unstained
𑌇ð‘ŒĪð‘Œŋ - thus
𑌅ð‘Œļ𑌕𑍍ð‘ŒĪ𑌃 - unattached
𑌅ð‘Œļ𑍍𑌊𑍃ð‘Œđ𑌃 - without craving; without hungry desire
ð‘Œķð‘Œū𑌂ð‘ŒĪ𑌃 - peaceful
𑌏ð‘ŒĪð‘ŒĶ𑍍 𑌏ð‘Œĩ - this alone
𑌅ð‘Œđ𑌂 - I
𑌆ð‘Œļ𑍍ð‘ŒĨð‘Œŋð‘ŒĪ𑌃 - established; abiding

Translation (𑌭ð‘Œūð‘Œĩð‘Œū𑌰𑍍ð‘ŒĨ):
The Self is not in objects, nor are objects in the Self there in the infinite, spotless reality. Knowing thus, unattached and without craving, I abide in peace as this alone.

Commentary (𑌅ð‘ŒĻ𑍁ð‘Œļ𑌂𑌧ð‘Œūð‘ŒĻ):
This verse addresses a subtle trap: turning non-duality into a new conceptual possession. Someone may say, "All is in the Self," and then still cling and fear. 𑌜ð‘ŒĻ𑌕 points to something more experiential: in the infinite and unstained (𑌅ð‘ŒĻ𑌂ð‘ŒĪ, ð‘ŒĻð‘Œŋ𑌰𑌂𑌜ð‘ŒĻ) reality, the usual inside/outside logic does not apply in the way the mind thinks it does. When the Self is known as awareness, objects are known as appearances in it, but the Self is not an "object-container" that gets filled by things. It is simply the knowing itself. When this is felt, attachment naturally drops, because attachment depends on the belief that some object can complete or protect the Self.

The qualities named here are worth slowing down for. 𑌅ð‘Œļ𑌕𑍍ð‘ŒĪ is not avoidance; it is non-sticking. 𑌅ð‘Œļ𑍍𑌊𑍃ð‘Œđ is not depression; it is the absence of hungry craving. Together they describe a mind that can engage without clutching. This aligns with the gItA's vision of one who is ð‘ŒĻð‘Œŋ𑌃ð‘Œļ𑍍𑌊𑍃ð‘Œđ𑌃 - free of craving - and therefore steady. In relationships and work, this is transformative: you can care, but you are not possessed; you can pursue, but you are not desperate; you can let go, but you are not bitter. Peace becomes less of a mood and more of a baseline.

Practice by translating 𑌅ð‘Œļ𑌕𑍍ð‘ŒĪð‘Œŋ and 𑌅ð‘Œļ𑍍𑌊𑍃ð‘Œđð‘Œū into one daily experiment. Choose one place you usually cling: a person, a result, an image of yourself. Then practice caring without demanding. For example: do the work carefully, but release the demand for applause; love a person, but release the demand that they must soothe your insecurity; pursue health, but release the demand that the body must never change. When craving arises, do not shame it; simply notice it as a movement and ask, "What am I trying to get from this object that the Self already is?" Rest for a breath in awareness, and then return to action. Over weeks, this trains the nervous system to experience security without constant external confirmation, which is the lived meaning of this verse.

𑌅ð‘Œđ𑍋 𑌚ð‘Œŋð‘ŒĻ𑍍ð‘ŒŪð‘Œūð‘ŒĪ𑍍𑌰ð‘ŒŪ𑍇ð‘Œĩð‘Œūð‘Œđð‘ŒŪð‘Œŋ𑌂ð‘ŒĶ𑍍𑌰𑌜ð‘Œūð‘Œē𑍋𑌊ð‘ŒŪ𑌂 𑌜𑌗ð‘ŒĪ𑍍 āĨĪ
𑌇ð‘ŒĪð‘Œŋ ð‘ŒŪð‘ŒŪ 𑌕ð‘ŒĨ𑌂 𑌕𑍁ð‘ŒĪ𑍍𑌰 ð‘Œđ𑍇ð‘ŒŊ𑍋𑌊ð‘Œūð‘ŒĶ𑍇ð‘ŒŊ𑌕ð‘Œē𑍍𑌊ð‘ŒĻð‘Œū āĨĨ 𑍭-5āĨĨ

Meaning (𑌊ð‘ŒĶð‘Œū𑌰𑍍ð‘ŒĨ):
𑌅ð‘Œđ𑍋 - ah! wonder!
𑌚ð‘Œŋð‘ŒĪ𑍍-ð‘ŒŪð‘Œūð‘ŒĪ𑍍𑌰ð‘ŒŪ𑍍 - pure consciousness alone
𑌏ð‘Œĩ - indeed; only
𑌅ð‘Œđ𑌂 - I
𑌇𑌂ð‘ŒĶ𑍍𑌰𑌜ð‘Œūð‘Œē-𑌉𑌊ð‘ŒŪð‘ŒŪ𑍍 - like a magic show; like illusion
𑌜𑌗ð‘ŒĪ𑍍 - the world
𑌇ð‘ŒĪð‘Œŋ - thus
ð‘ŒŪð‘ŒŪ - for me
𑌕ð‘ŒĨ𑌂 - how?
𑌕𑍁ð‘ŒĪ𑍍𑌰 - where?
ð‘Œđ𑍇ð‘ŒŊ-𑌉𑌊ð‘Œūð‘ŒĶ𑍇ð‘ŒŊ-𑌕ð‘Œē𑍍𑌊ð‘ŒĻð‘Œū - the imagining of "reject this / accept that"

Translation (𑌭ð‘Œūð‘Œĩð‘Œū𑌰𑍍ð‘ŒĨ):
Ah! I am pure consciousness alone, and the world is like a magic show. Then how and where, for me, can there be the imagining of "reject this" and "accept that"?

Commentary (𑌅ð‘ŒĻ𑍁ð‘Œļ𑌂𑌧ð‘Œūð‘ŒĻ):
The phrase ð‘Œđ𑍇ð‘ŒŊ-𑌉𑌊ð‘Œūð‘ŒĶ𑍇ð‘ŒŊ names the mind's basic software: divide experience into "must reject" and "must obtain." That software is useful for ordinary functioning, but it becomes bondage when it is driven by fear and incompleteness. 𑌜ð‘ŒĻ𑌕 says that when you know yourself as 𑌚ð‘Œŋð‘ŒĪ𑍍-ð‘ŒŪð‘Œūð‘ŒĪ𑍍𑌰 - consciousness alone - the world is seen as 𑌇𑌂ð‘ŒĶ𑍍𑌰𑌜ð‘Œūð‘Œē: a display that can be engaged with but cannot finally bind you. This does not remove discernment; it removes compulsive valuation. You can still choose what is wholesome, but you do not need to hate what is unwholesome or cling to what is pleasant.

This verse is also an antidote to constant inner commentary. The mind often narrates life with judgment: "This should not be happening," "I must get that," "This is unbearable," "This is not enough." These judgments are the glue of bondage. When the display is seen as a display, the judgments lose gravity. This is why Advaita often sounds like "freedom now": the moment the knower is recognized, the world is re-read. The gItA's attitude of ð‘Œļð‘ŒŪð‘ŒĪ𑍍ð‘Œĩ - evenness - becomes possible not by force, but by perspective: the Self is not at stake in every event.

Practice by noticing one ð‘Œđ𑍇ð‘ŒŊ-𑌉𑌊ð‘Œūð‘ŒĶ𑍇ð‘ŒŊ loop each day. It might be a person you "must avoid," a result you "must secure," or an emotion you "must not feel." When it appears, pause and ask, "Is this the voice of discernment, or the voice of fear?" Discernment is quiet and specific; fear is loud and absolute. Then rest for two breaths as the knower and let the loop be a display in awareness. After that, make the sensible choice: speak, step back, take action, or rest. Over time, the magic-show perspective grows: you still navigate life intelligently, but you stop turning every wave into a referendum on your worth. That is the lived meaning of "how and where can there be rejecting and grasping?"




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