Tag: Advaita Vedanta

The Quarrel with the Present: Human Love, Pleasure, and the Flight from Being Merely Human


Does human love — the love one person feels for another, sometimes unreturned — help or hinder liberation? This dialogue begins there and refuses the usual escape routes: no sublimating the beloved into the Beloved, no dissolving the particular person into metaphysics. It stays with the scandalously particular: this laugh, this handwriting, this way of falling silent mid-sentence. Along the way it separates the two strands entangled in every love — the ego-dismantling that cracks our solipsism, and the pleasure-seeking that certifies our lack — and examines the precise mechanics by which seeking rains on the parade to liberation: the misattributed ananda, the rented ego-death of sex, the anxiety of separateness managed rather than investigated. Krishnamurti’s “understanding is the action” and Ramana’s summa iru frame the inquiry, but the conversation turns its own weapon on itself at the end: isn’t liberation-seeking the final quarrel with the present? Why flee the human that Brahman itself created? Zorba the Greek enters, dancing on the beach after the mine collapses — and the dialogue discovers that the end-state looks embarrassingly like ordinary life fully inhabited, with one difference: no proprietor left behind experience, filing claims against it.

Quit


“Life is not a battle worth fighting. Quit.” The word is a deliberate stumbling block. What is to be given up is not the body or the life, but the fighter — the ego whose founding myth is that life is a war to be won. Camus answered the question of life’s worth with revolt; Advaita takes the path he never considered: neither suicide nor defiance, but the dissolution of the one who asks. Quit the way a fist quits clenching. The battle is optional because the soldier is fictional. What remains is life itself — neither fought nor fled.

The Epistemology of Love: From Lust to Truth


Two aphorisms, one teaching. “Love is one way to conquer lust” — a claim Spinoza would recognize instantly: an emotion cannot be destroyed by reason alone, only by a stronger contrary emotion. Willpower against lust is thought fighting affect, a losing battle; love against lust is affect against affect. Augustine goes further — lust is not love’s opposite but love disordered, energy awaiting redirection. The Sufis made it doctrine: ishq-e-majāzī, human love, is the bridge to ishq-e-haqīqī, the divine. And the second aphorism — “to begin to understand love is to begin to understand the truth” — finds its natural home in Advaita, where ānanda is not an attribute of the real but its very nature. Every love, as Yājñavalkya taught Maitreyī, is love of the Self, misaddressed. To trace love to its source rather than its objects is vicāra itself. Love conquers lust because love is veridical and lust is hallucinatory — one sees, the other hallucinates its own hunger.

Summa Iru: On Desire, Ignorance, and the Vicious Cycle That Isn’t — What I Wrote to My Kalyana Mitra and Claude’s Critique of It


What is Vedanta’s final instruction, once the four yogas, the scriptures, and the practices are stripped away? Summa iru — be still. But if stillness is the goal, why does the mind refuse it? This letter traces a four-link chain — ignorance, desire, thought, action — to argue that the “obstacles” of Buddhist Abhidharma’s kleshas are symptoms of desire, and desire itself is a symptom of the deeper ignorance that we are body-mind alone. A companion critique examines the circularity this seems to create, and asks whether stillness must be achieved through effort, or simply uncovered by inquiry.

When Feelings Turn into Strangers: Purity, Compassion, and the Loosening of Worldly Bonds


In isolation, even once-intense emotions can begin to feel like strangers seeking attention — a sign, if genuine, that one’s bonds with the world are loosening. But this loosening is not an end in itself: its authenticity is tested by what remains. Where being is pure, feelings coalesce into compassion alone; where the ego persists, they remain self-serving, whatever else they resemble. Drawing on the Bhagavad Gita’s vision of the sage who sees a Brahmin, a cow, and an outcaste with equal eyes, this piece explores why true compassion is never particular — and how to tell purity apart from mere numbness.