The sword of discrimination can be seen as having two sharp edges: one being the path of yoga, culminating in meditative absorption or samādhi, and the other being Ātma-vicāra, self-inquiry into the very nature of one’s intrinsic being. These two approaches have the same aim: self-knowledge and self-realization. Yet there are degrees of similarity and difference regarding their philosophical framework and practical applications that I hope to shed some light upon.
Regardless of the various methods of practice or the object or focal point of meditation that one may choose, eventually these two paths lead one to inquiry into one’s essence of being. Practice can bring one to the threshold of surrendering the individual self into the silence of the spiritual heart, or the surrender of the individual soul into God, in either a personal or impersonal sense. Aspirants naturally have different inclinations in the way they relate best to that “great mystery” we call by uncountable names, but as long as the chosen point of singular focus represents THAT which is the infinite, pure conscious principle, there is no real difference at all.
The key to unlocking the door of the spiritual heart lies in the depth of curiosity in the silence which resides just behind the veil of endless thoughts in the mind. The gap between each thought, between each breath, is a keyhole to inner peace, and all effort to drop deeper into this gap is the very core of practice. Through one’s effort, a spontaneous arising of grace will carry us over that apparent threshold of self-realization.
Cultivating faith through philosophical teachings, coupled with saturating devotion and earnestness to peek beyond the veil of endless thought-patterns we call “the mind,” is essential to keep the fire of meditation and/or inquiry burning brightly. Life itself is the crucible to bring about such deep curiosity, and all of the effort from past cultivation fuels this spiritual impulse.
All Paths Lead to the One
In the bhakti yoga tradition, the Divine or God is thought to be revealed to devotees through exclusive devotion to one’s chosen image or deity. This was clearly exemplified by the Bengali saint Rāmakṛṣṇa Paramahaṁsa, as he devoted himself exclusively to the practices of various devotional paths, from the worship of Kṛṣṇa to that of Jesus Christ. He had a unifying influence in the spiritual world of his time, by demonstrating that all paths lead to the One. To further display this universal teaching, he also engaged intensely in tantric practices and plumbed the depths of Advaita Vedānta, the cultivation of these practices culminating in non-dual realization. This oneness teaching was clearly displayed when he emerged from absorption in the profoundly deep state of nirvikalpa-samādhi and started to repeat the name of the Divine Mother Kālī. When this occurred, his non-dual teacher Toṭapuri questioned him as to why he was chanting the name of Kālī after having achieved the pinnacle of nirvikalpa. Rāmakṛṣṇa replied that his mother Kālī and the non-dual Brahman are one and the same.
Yogic Meditation
The hallmark of yogic meditation emphasizes one-pointed concentration upon a chosen object, until the mind has become absorbed in the object, giving way to increasingly subtler levels of samādhi. Even a thought in the mind is considered a subtle object and is often internalized and visualized through various methods. In the Yoga Sūtras of Patañjali, there are many methods that are suggested to achieve or bring about samādhi. For example, Īśvara-praṇidhāna—surrender to God—can take the form of exclusive devotion to the form of one’s chosen deity or iṣṭa-devatā, even a nirguṇa (without qualities) aspect of devotion.
In Tibetan Buddhism, we see internal practices using visualization, which is performed of various deities, which all represent a facet of all-encompassing Buddha-nature, rather than to God per se. Other upāyas (methods) within Patañjali’s Yoga Sūtras consist of varying methods of one-pointed meditation, where the object is employed to concentrate the mind, ultimately absorbing the mind into the object, and eventually into the subjective presence aimed at through inquiry.
A bhakti yogī may wish to savor the play, or līlā, of “lover and beloved,” while other aspirants may aim to dive headlong into the depths of one’s self and merge with the Self. Be it as it may, the current of divine love for THAT will sweep all these God-intoxicated lovers along in its current, into the fathomless ocean of love.
Ātma-vicāra (Self-Inquiry)
The path of Ātma-vicāra is sometimes considered to be different from that of traditional yogic meditation (dhyāna), in that dhyāna requires the practitioner, as the subject, to meditate on an object. This seems to imply a dualism in the nature of meditation practice. Self-inquiry, on the other hand, is considered to be a non-dual practice at its root. It places emphasis on inquiry into the subjective experience of the “pure I-sense,” tracing this
“I-sense” back to its source, into the spiritual heart or center of one’s being, where it is dissolved into the Self. Intense effort is made to hold onto the subjective presence at the exclusion of all other thoughts.
Another form of inquiry such as was taught by the modern sage Niṣargadatta Mahārāja was to hold constantly to the thought “I am That.” This is no different than that revealed in the biblical verse “I Am that I AM.” Self-inquiry isn’t intended to be a repetitious chanting of this I AM as a mantra per se, but rather to first remember “I am,” and then drop in even deeper, sensing one’s very essence of being, or as a felt sense of pure existence-being.
The sage Sri Ramana Maharshi would often suggest that the one fundamental truth that all people can agree upon is that we all feel that we exist. He would constantly hammer home the point that we should first seek “from where did this ‘I’-thought arise?” and to trace it back to its source. He would instruct aspirants to inquire deeply into the question “Who am I?” To quote Ramana, “The thought ‘Who am I?’ will destroy all other thoughts, and like a stick used for stirring the burning pyre, it will itself in the end get destroyed. Then, there will arise Self-realization.”
When we examine this practice of self-inquiry, we can see that holding closely to this question “Who am I?” and even more subtly, the thought of the singular “I” or the feeling of “I am” or “existence-being” as a felt sense, must at first start with a thought. In the initial phases, holding a supportive thought such as “I am” or “Who am I?” implies an subtle object of meditation, but also suggests an aim of non-duality as the ultimate realization, which is the heart of Advaita Vedānta.
The Comparison of Yogic Meditation and Inquiry
Both of these methods of practice need a certain degree of foundational support in order to stabilize the mind. In the most basic sense, dhyāna uses an object, be it gross or subtle, while self-inquiry uses a more subtle, subjective thought as a pointer, such as remembering “I am That,” which takes the aspirant deeper into a felt sense of beingness, stillness, or presence. Eventually, this pointer thought dissolves and one merges deeper and deeper into that intrinsic awareness.
Ramana would often teach that to hold onto this “I”-thought is very difficult and requires a great degree of concentrative ability that can effectively be cultivated through the practice of dhyāna, japa (repetition of sacred syllables), prayer, or worship. When he was pressed to offer a technique, he would often direct devotees to the practice of Ātma-vicāra. Yet, he would often encourage seekers that came to be in his presence to simply sit in silence and to receive the subtle teaching that emanated from his very presence. He knew that just being still and silent was somewhat ineffable for those with a restless and distracted mind, so he would compassionately offer other practical methods aligned with the nature and inclinations of the seeker. If devotees already had a strong connection to some particular practice, then he would encourage them to continue with it.
When we compare these paths of self-inquiry and yogic meditation, we can see that both practices are supported initially by an object, be it a subtle object such as the breath, inner light (laya) or sound (nāda), cakra, mantra, deity, or symbol, to the more subjective leaning thought “I am That,” or the probing question “Who am I?”
Even though the aim of inquiry is not objective in nature, the suggestive pointer such as a singular “I”-thought is still needed, like a rope used to climb a cliff face—and once at the top, no rope is needed. At first, it is difficult for many practitioners to grasp hold of a subjective presence, but over time, and by whichever method is chosen, a spaciousness arises naturally as a result of persistent practice. In fact, it isn’t gained afresh—it has always been there—and we are simply remembering who we are.
In yogic meditation, there arises a point where the pure “I”-thought alone becomes the object of meditation at the level of sasmita-samādhi. Here the pure ahaṁkāra or “I”-thought alone shines in the mind and is the bridge between the lower levels of samādhi with knowledge (samprajñāta-samādhi) and the higher levels beyond knowledge (asamprajñāta-samādhi). Here is where both approaches converge on the path of self-knowledge and self-realization.
To contrast the two different approaches, one removes the external idea of God and attempts to streamline all thoughts to the unarguable reality of this existence-being that each and every individual experiences, as plain as his or her own breath. This removes any doubt created by a belief in an absolute Godhead, but does not at all deny the existence of God as Īśvara, or a divine intelligence that permeates and pervades the entire creation as the Self of all.
The postulation that Ātma-vicāra is a non-dual practice is rooted in the underlying emphasis that the ultimate reality or the Self we seek is no other than our own true nature. Yet it still requires that proverbial stick that stirs the pyre spoken about earlier—the inquiry into who or what we are, from where it arises, and ultimately, its utter surrender into the great Self or the spiritual heart.
My guru would say that techniques are like a walking stick—once you get to the top, you can discard it. He would also say, “Yoga is a bundle of tricks—but important ones.” This may have been to remind us that we already are what we seek, and that all the practices of yoga—or any path for that matter—are to wear down the mind, until it becomes transparent, and our thoughts start to lose their validity; hence, we become less interested or compelled to be carried away by them.
One Mountain, Many Paths
The ultimate point here is that as long as we understand that all paths lead up the mountain, we can choose a path or practice that most compels us, or shepherds us into the present moment. Surrendering completely into the presence of God, Self, or Buddha-nature will require everything of us. This is described in the way a doll made of salt goes to measure the depths of the sea and dissolves in the process, never to return.
Ultimately, we are THAT, have always been THAT, and any attempt to merge with THAT will lead us to our true nature or Self. All words along the way will need some concession, and the duality of this world-existence can and should be appreciated. Life is a gift, and the play of duality is an integral step in the dance. It is a līlā, or dream, that for a time—just as our dreams during sleep—appears as real, and when we wake up, we realize they were unreal, a play of light and shadow on the screen of the mind.
~Vishnu Dass