The Silence That Liberates

Yoga Vasishta - Mumukshu Vyavahara Prakarana - Sarga 13:

The wise who have seen their true Self
walk this earth with clarity in their eyes.
They live among us — like great ones risen again,
rooted in deep inner vision, untouched by outer noise.
Their presence is not flashy.
But like dawn's first light — it clears the fog.

They don't grieve the past.
They don't crave the future.
They don’t beg for blessings or fear curses.
They act in the world like any of us —
yet carry the stillness of one who does nothing.
A parent feeding a child — effortless, unpossessed.
That’s their karma.

They stay pure — not by effort, but by nature.
Whatever they touch becomes clearer.
They don’t chase or reject —
no likes, no dislikes.
Settled fully in themselves,
they are like clear water:
needing nothing, flowing peacefully.

They come, yet they don’t.
They leave, yet they remain.
They act — yet it's like silence in motion.
They speak — yet no ego speaks.
It’s like a flute playing through them.
They're present — yet free of all doing.

Ambitions, opinions, ideas, beliefs —
all melt away when the supreme truth is realized.
Nothing to gain, nothing to drop.
They’ve reached that space where even wisdom rests.
Like ice melting in sunlight,
the mind's noise slowly vanishes.

Once all worldly attachments are let go,
the mind turns sweet like moonlight.
Such a person stands calm — like the full moon in a clear sky.
They find joy everywhere, in everything.
No longer pulled by craving or fear,
their happiness doesn’t depend on the world —
it simply is.

Their mind no longer starts spinning new thoughts.
No restless planning, no scattered excitement.
Their joy springs from within — not from outer drama.
Like a healing herb hidden in moonlight,
their peace is silent, deep, and nourishing.

They don’t play mind tricks.
They don’t chase pleasures.
The child-like impulsiveness is gone.
They shine from within —
like a grown tree that no longer bends with every breeze.
Mature, still, settled.

These qualities don’t come from outside.
Not from lectures, books, or rituals.
Only by truly seeing the Self —
by turning in and facing it fully —
can this inner revolution happen.

So, one must seek the Self — again and again —
through deep thinking, not blind devotion.
Till the last breath,
make Self-inquiry your focus.
Don’t get distracted chasing other goals.
This is the goal.

When your experience, the scriptures, and the words of a true Guru all match,
and when you keep reflecting on them consistently —
then the Self becomes visible, like a clear reflection in still water.
It’s not a one-time realization.
It takes repetition.
Truth reveals itself when lived, not just heard.

Never compare yourself to fools
who mock the scriptures and ignore the wise.
Even if they seem happy, even if you suffer,
their path leads nowhere.
Don’t envy them — they're lost.
Stay firm in your truth.

No disease, poison, or calamity
harms a person like ignorance does.
It sits inside, wrecking everything silently.
Mere foolishness causes more suffering
than a thousand disasters from outside.

This scripture — even a little of it —
burns away ignorance like fire melts ice.
There is no medicine greater than this for a refined mind.
Nothing else even comes close.
The Yoga Vasishta isn’t just teaching —
it’s a cure.

This scripture is a joy to hear,
full of vivid metaphors that stick in your mind.
And it’s consistent — no inner contradictions.
Every idea flows from the last,
like pearls strung on the same thread.
It doesn’t confuse — it clarifies.

Even the worst disasters and the tiniest missteps
all sprout from one root — ignorance.
Like a thorny tree that stabs from every direction,
foolishness gives birth to pain again and again.
You don’t need enemies.
Your own dullness is enough to wreck your life.

Better to be a beggar with a bowl,
wandering filthy lanes with dignity,
than to live with a mind broken by ignorance.
At least the beggar knows he is poor.
The fool thinks he is fine — and that’s the real curse.

Even a blind worm crawling in a pitch-dark well
has it better than a man trapped in ignorance.
Worms face darkness.
But the fool becomes the darkness itself —
a creature lost not just to the world,
but to himself.

Whoever glimpses this inner light —
this path to liberation —
never returns to that blinding fog of delusion.
Once the truth is seen,
even the most confused mind
can’t go back to the same old lies.

Desire keeps the lotus of human life closed tight.
It binds, suffocates, and clings.
But when the sun of discernment rises —
when clear understanding dawns —
that lotus opens.
Only wisdom melts the knot of craving.

For freedom from the grinding pain of this world,
walk alongside seekers like me, O Raghava.
Know your true self —
not through fantasy, not through guesswork,
but by anchoring yourself in the guru's word and the scriptures.
This is not a solo quest;
it is a pilgrimage with the wise.

Live like the gods —
like Vishnu, like Shiva, like the ancient seers.
Even while alive, they walk the earth
free from bondage.
Do the same, Raghava.
Move through life untouched, unshaken, unburnt.
Be a flame that neither flickers nor devours.

The world holds endless sorrow —
and pleasures? They’re like grass blades and dust motes.
Don’t lock your gaze onto things that shine
only to drag you back into pain.
Pleasures that bloom with chains are just well-wrapped traps.
See clearly. Stay free.

The supreme state — effortless, endless,
the true treasure of life —
that is what the wise man must strive for.
It’s not luxury. It’s not ease.
It’s clarity that liberates.
Work for it with all your strength.
Because once reached, nothing more is left to seek.

They alone are the true heroes,
the vessels of life’s highest purpose —
whose minds have dropped every fever,
who lean toward the Ultimate
as naturally as a river finds the sea.
Not the strong, not the rich —
but those free from the burning of craving.

Those who feel content just by eating well,
or ruling over kingdoms —
their minds are corrupted, darkened by dull joy.
Know them, O Rama, as frogs
dancing in a filthy pond,
mistaking the mud for bliss.
Their pleasure is not peace — it is ignorance perfumed.

Some run after pleasures even when
they come through wicked, twisted ways.
They bow to enemies in disguise,
trust the cunning, praise the selfish.
Their hearts beat for pleasure alone.
No truth, no purity — only blind craving.

Such fools tumble from one pit to another —
from one fear to the next.
From pain into deeper pain.
From a burning world into blazing hells.
Their minds, heavy with delusion,
cannot rise.
They are slow, drunk on their own confusion.

True good never grows
from the urge to defeat or destroy another.
O Rama, this life —
its joy, its sorrow — is like lightning.
Bright for a moment,
then gone.
Don’t anchor your soul to such flickers.

Those rare ones —
dispassionate, radiant, wise like you —
they are the ones to bow before.
They alone hold both worlds:
enjoyment without entanglement,
freedom without escape.
They live in the world,
but they belong only to truth.

Take shelter in sharp discernment,
live in the practice of dispassion —
only then can one cross
this dreadful river of samsara.
It roars with attachment,
it swells with desire.
Only the wise row with effort,
not float with laziness.

The thinking one must not sleep
under the spell of worldly illusion.
This maya — sweet at first —
ends up giving fever and fainting spells.
Stay awake, O seeker.
Laziness is poison here.
Awareness is your breath.

He who faces this blazing world
and dares to stay unbothered,
is like a man lying peacefully
on the roof of a burning house.
Such ignorance isn’t peace —
it’s madness in disguise.

There is such a state,
where once you arrive,
you never turn back,
never grieve again.
That is the Supreme —
the essence of wisdom.
It exists.
No doubt about it.

If it doesn’t exist, what harm
in searching through right inquiry?
But if it does —
and it does —
you will rise from the ocean of birth.
Why delay the crossing?

The moment a man begins —
truly begins —
to inquire about the path to liberation,
he is already called liberated.
Not after he gets there.
Not when chains fall off.
But the instant he turns inward
with burning intent.

That permanent peace,
that fearless health of soul,
that clarity without fog —
none of it is found in
any of the three worlds
unless one becomes centered in the Self.
Whole. Still. One without second.

Whether one reaches the supreme or not,
he suffers no sorrow in the journey.
Wealth can't help,
friends won’t carry you,
not even your dearest family.
Liberation is solitary.
But it's not lonely.

You don’t need to walk,
you don’t need to travel far.
No need to punish your body,
or chase shrines in the hills.
Freedom is not a pilgrimage —
it's a conquest
of the silent inner land.

The Supreme is reached
not by rites or rituals,
but by one thing —
mastery of the mind.
Slay the inner restlessness,
burn the seeds of craving,
and you stand at the gate of Truth.

Only one thing is needed —
Viveka.
When a man, determined in inquiry,
drops the web of grief
as a snake sheds its skin,
he steps into that realm
which thought alone can open,
and no ritual can touch.

He who, seated in peace,
thinks for himself —
not blindly, not borrowed —
touches the state where sorrow dies.
Once he reaches That,
he is not born again.
No more crying in the womb.
No more circles.

The wise know it —
That which is the very tip
of all happiness.
Beyond bliss.
Beyond motion.
A silence without boredom,
a stillness that heals.
They call it:
The Supreme Elixir.

Once you've exhausted all notions of identity,
both heaven and earth feel hollow.
Even Swarga has mirage-water.
Don’t chase it.
Real joy doesn’t bloom
in the illusion of reward.

So focus on conquering the mind.
That’s the true treasure.
With it comes peace,
and contentment,
and the endless embrace
of eternal joy.
A joy not borrowed,
not begged —
but earned in silence.

Whether standing, walking,
falling, or wandering —
whether you're a demon, a god,
a man or monster —
it doesn’t matter.
No being is barred
from the Supreme Joy
that waits silently within.

That ultimate bliss —
where the mind is calm,
like the quiet blooming of a rare flower —
is the fruit
growing atop the tree of clarity
with roots deep in peace.
You won’t find it in drama,
only in stillness.

Even one immersed in action,
who handles many tasks —
like the sun standing still in the sky —
remains untouched.
He neither clings nor desires.
He shines.
That’s all.

The mind at rest —
crystal clear,
totally at ease,
free from confusion and craving —
neither clutches nor rejects.
It’s like the sky:
vast, untouched, serene.

Now, listen, O Raghava.
At the gate of liberation
stand certain guards.
To enter, one must hold fast
to even one of them.
Just one.
And the door opens.

This scorching desert of samsara—
its mirages of pleasure,
its storms of pain—
loses its burn
when the cool rays of wisdom shine.
Like moonlight soothing parched earth,
peace touches the soul
and calms the wanderer’s fevered heart.

Shama—inner calm—
that alone leads to the Highest.
It is liberation.
It is Shiva.
It is true peace.
It is the sword that cuts illusion.
Where calm is,
there the Ultimate dwells.

One whose heart is cooled by calm,
whose thirst has been quenched by inner stillness—
even his enemy becomes his friend.
Because when your heart radiates peace,
even hostility bows down in surrender.

In whose hearts the moon of shama shines bright,
in them rises a purity
as rich and full
as milk and nectar stirred together.
It’s not ordinary goodness—
it’s divine clarity, undisturbed.

Those whose heart-lotuses blossom
with the pollen of peace,
whose minds are seated in shama
like Lakshmi on a lotus—
they are true saints,
twin-lotuses in the pond of Hari’s heart.

Those whose faces gleam with the spotless moonlight of peace,
those born of noble mind, not just noble birth—
they are the true royalty.
They have conquered their senses
not by force, but by beauty—
the beauty of contentment.
Such beings are to be worshipped.

Even the wealth of all three worlds
pales in joy beside the treasure of peace.
Shama is the true empire,
a kingdom within,
where no invasion reaches,
and no sorrow reigns.

All the world’s miseries,
every cruel craving,
every fearsome affliction—
they vanish
in the heart that is calm,
like darkness melting
before the rising sun.

The mind of the calm person
brings joy to all beings—
even more than the soothing moonlight.
For unlike the moon,
this coolness touches hearts,
and kindles delight
in everyone who meets it.

In the heart of one who is peaceful,
kind to all creatures,
gentle by nature—
truth itself shines forth,
like a lotus blooming on its own,
needing no prompting,
no struggle.

Just like a child finds safety
in the lap of a gentle mother—
all beings, both fierce and tender,
instinctively trust the one
who lives in peace.
Even the wildest hearts
rest easy near the calm.

No elixir,
no embrace of wealth or beauty,
can give the joy
that peace offers the mind within.
It’s a nectar
that flows without taste,
yet fills the soul.

O Raghava!
This mind, trembling with illness,
bound by the tight cords of craving—
bathe it in the nectar of shama.
Let it breathe again.
Let it rest.

Whatever you do,
whatever you eat—
do it with the cool light of peace in your mind.
Then even the simple becomes divine.
Without shama,
even the sweetest fruit tastes bitter.

When the mind is soaked
in the nectar of peace,
a deep stillness dawns.
Even if the body is broken,
the soul heals.
O Raghava, I say—
shama revives limbs
cut by the blade of suffering.

Even ghosts, demons,
or deadly foes—
even tigers and serpents—
cannot bring themselves
to hate the one
who is steeped in peace.
Such is the silent aura
of the soul anchored in shama.

Clothed head to toe
in the armor of inner peace,
the sage walks untouched.
Sorrows try their arrows—
but they shatter,
like glass on diamond.
He does not bleed.

A king on a golden throne
in the grandest palace—
even he does not shine
as much as a man
whose mind is steady,
whose thoughts are clear,
whose soul is at peace.

No one gets as much joy
from seeing what they love—
as they do from seeing
a peaceful person.
True peace stirs the soul
of even the restless.
It blesses by mere presence.

He who walks in the world
with peace as his conduct
and equanimity as his stride—
that one lives, truly lives.
The rest merely pass time.
He is loved, blessed,
and remembered.

He moves through the world
with a calm, humble mind,
doing good without pride.
And nature herself smiles.
Birds, beasts, people, even the winds—
all bless his every action.
Such is the fragrance of true peace.

He hears praise and insult,
touches silk or stone,
tastes nectar or bitterness—
yet he does not leap in joy
or sink in sorrow.
He stays undisturbed.
This is peace.

He sees a friend in all,
desires nothing in excess,
clings to nothing.
Having mastered his senses
through steady effort,
he rests in equanimity.
This one is called truly peaceful.

Within and without,
his actions are pure.
Even when he’s touched by the world,
he’s not stained.
He moves as light does—
clear, illuminating, yet untouched.
That is true peace.

His mind shines
like the full moon in winter—
cool, clear, and calm.
Even amid death, celebration, or war,
he stays steady.
This man doesn’t just act peaceful—
he is peace.

He may be sitting among many,
but it’s as if he’s not even there.
He does not rejoice,
he does not get angry.
His mind is like deep sleep—
calm, untouched, whole.
That one is truly called shanta.

His eyes drip nectar.
To all beings, his gaze
is full of affection,
like a mother’s soft glance.
Even without words,
he makes hearts blossom.
This one is called shanta.

Inside, he’s cool like moonlight.
Emotions rise and fall around him,
but they don’t drown him.
He lives in the world,
yet doesn’t get lost in it.
His clarity never blurs.
That is shanti.

Even when disaster strikes—
as great as the end of an age—
his mind doesn’t shrink.
He never says, 'I am nothing'.
He stands tall,
calm like a mountain.
That is the mark of a peaceful soul.

Like the sky—vast and empty,
his mind stays spotless
in the midst of all action.
Nothing sticks.
Nothing clouds.
This is true shanti,
the jewel of the wise.

Among sages doing penance,
among the learned who’ve mastered scriptures,
among priests, kings, warriors, and the wealthy —
one who holds shama shines above all.
Even with great strength and skill,
it's the quiet heart that truly glows.

In the minds of the great —
those rich in virtue and immersed in peace —
shama rises like moonlight,
cool and white,
shedding quiet joy.
Their inner calm becomes a glow
others long to bask in.

Shama is the crown of all virtues,
the finest jewel of manhood.
When fear storms in,
when trouble clutches the throat —
it’s peace that wears the crown.
Dignified, composed — it stands untouched.

O Rama, noble son of Raghu!
The great ones — the seers, the sages, the wise —
held on to shama, that royal nectar,
hidden in the heart of the noble.
They followed it, step by step,
and reached the highest truth.
You too — take that path.

Ramaswamy Sastry and Vighnesh Ghanapaathi