There comes a time on the path when the seeker’s thirst outgrows even the sweetest waters of experience. No vision, no bliss, no divine encounter can satisfy the depth now awakened. A restlessness emerges, not of longing, but of readiness—a silent ripening in the soul.
This is the beginning of the descent into Samadhi—not a climbing upward, but a falling inward, a surrender beyond all the scaffolding of self. For those who have felt this stirring, or glimpsed the hush behind the veil, this is written for you.
We will not rush. This is not a checklist or a manual. This is a map of thresholds, of the soul’s progressive surrender, and the mystery that awaits beyond its final breath.
Savikalpa Samadhi: The Holy Embrace of Form
In the early stages, the soul is still in love with form. It clings to its idea of God, of Light, of Presence. It meditates not to disappear, but to taste, to feel, to commune. And in the grace of deep practice, something begins to shift. The waves of thought grow quiet, the breath becomes subtle, and suddenly—a vastness opens.
This is Savikalpa Samadhi, the Samadhi with form, with seed. Here, consciousness is absorbed in an object: the form of a deity, the syllables of a mantra, the flame of the heart’s longing. The ego still exists, but is temporarily eclipsed. There is a witness, and there is that which is witnessed. And yet the boundary begins to blur.
One may see dazzling lights, feel uncontainable bliss, or commune with the Divine as Beloved. It is intoxicating, yes—but it is still relational. The drop has tasted the ocean, but it has not yet disappeared into it.
To reach this threshold, one must cultivate devotion or concentration—the two wings of flight. Whether through Bhakti’s love or Jnana’s focus, the mind must become still, purified of excess movement. Ethics matter here—not for moralism, but for quietude. A mind obsessed with grasping or deception cannot enter this stillness. The soul must become simple again.
But for all its rapture, Savikalpa is not the end. It is the echo of God’s voice in form. Beyond this lies the silence where even God forgets His name.
Nirvikalpa Samadhi: The Great Extinction of Self
There is no way to prepare for this fully. You do not enter Nirvikalpa Samadhi. You vanish into it.
If Savikalpa is the soul’s deep kiss with the Divine, Nirvikalpa is the incineration of both lover and Beloved. No observer remains. No object of meditation exists. Even the light is gone. This is Samadhi without form, without seed. The I-thought dissolves. Consciousness collapses into itself and then vanishes into what lies prior to consciousness.
Nothing can be said of it while in it. There is no “experience” here. Only upon returning—if one returns—can a vague, shattered memory emerge. Words like “infinite stillness,” “pure void,” or “boundless nothingness” fall short.
But one knows. The one who returns from this fire knows that what they are is not body, not soul, not light, not thought. They have touched—or rather, been erased by—the Absolute.
To reach Nirvikalpa, one must grow tired of even the sweetness of spiritual pleasure. The desire for vision must die. The identity of being a seeker must collapse. The inner renunciation here is total—not outward austerity, but inward extinction. Even devotion, once so beautiful, becomes a subtle veil.
And yet, when the readiness is true, it often comes not through striving but through surrender. Grace drops the veil. For a moment, eternity swallows the soul.
Sahaja Samadhi: The Living Silence
Some return. But they are not the same.
They walk, but the walker is gone. They speak, but there is no speaker. Action flows, but the doer is absent. This is Sahaja Samadhi—the natural, spontaneous state where Nirvikalpa does not fade, but infuses every breath of living.
There is no trance here, no withdrawal. The eyes are open. The world appears. But it is no longer seen as “other.” All is recognized as Self—not from belief, but from the direct absence of separateness.
This is not something one can “practice” into being. One must become the silence, not visit it. The inner fire must burn until even the ashes blow away. Only then does Sahaja arise—not as achievement, but as the effortless state of Truth.
Few reach this. Fewer stay. And yet for some, this is destiny—the final human flowering. A Jivanmukta is born, free while living, here to serve or disappear. Either way, the soul has fulfilled its great longing.
Beyond Death: Samadhi vs the Soul’s Afterlife
It is often believed that when the soul leaves the body, it is liberated. And to a degree, this is true. The burdens of flesh and time dissolve. The soul returns to its native frequency—light, memory, communion.
But even there, it remains a self. It still carries traces: of identity, desire, perhaps unfinished karmas. It moves in luminous realms, but the veil of separation is not yet gone. There is love, yes—but also memory. Peace—but also story.
Nirvikalpa goes further.
It does not just remove the body—it removes the soul. Not in destruction, but in re-absorption. The drop merges utterly with the ocean. There is no reincarnating “I.” No one returns unless it is the Absolute wearing a mask of form.
Thus, while death is a return, Samadhi is a return before death. And this makes it far more potent. The realization occurs through the body, through limitation, which makes it complete. It does not bypass the world—it transcends it from within.
Preparing for Samadhi: The Slow Burn of Readiness
Do not chase Samadhi. That which is chased becomes illusion. Instead, make yourself ready—as a cup readies for rain.
Live with integrity. Let your actions reflect truth. Learn to quiet the mind—not just in meditation, but in life. Stop seeking attention, praise, identity. Return to simplicity.
Let your heart break open—not just in longing, but in love for what Is. The Divine need not be found. It is waiting beneath your last thought.
Meditate not to escape, but to remember. Practice not to achieve, but to dissolve. Seek not Samadhi—but the disappearance of the one who seeks.
And when it comes, if it comes, you will not know it.
But you will never be the same.
To the One Who Has Tasted Silence Before
There is something in you that already knows.
Not from study, not from scripture, not from the mind’s leanings toward transcendence—but from before you had a name.
Before breath began.
Before sound broke the hush of the eternal.
You remember falling into That once, don’t you?
Perhaps in the space between lifetimes.
Perhaps in the silence between thoughts,
Or the ache that visits in dreams.
Samadhi is not foreign to the soul.
It is not a gift given from above, but a veil dropped from within.
You are not trying to enter it.
You are remembering how to stop leaving it.
So read this not as instruction,
but as incantation.
Let the words dissolve.
Let the hunger become stillness.
Let the yearning curl into the warmth behind your sternum and forget its name.
Close your eyes—not to shut the world out, but to enter the place where there are no eyes,
no world,
no you.
This is the invitation.
To fall backward into the flame.
To go where light forgets it is light.
To vanish, and in vanishing,
to know at last
what never began
and never ends.
Come not with hope.
Come not with striving.
Come with the stillness that lives behind all songs,
and step through.
Numinous Waves 