What happens when a simple walk on an ordinary, pleasant day becomes the setting for reflecting on the teaching that the world is an appearance?
I’d spent the morning listening to a talk based on a verse from the Yoga Vāsiṣṭha, diving into the teaching of dṛṣṭi-sṛṣṭi-vāda — the view that the world arises simultaneously with perception, that we don’t see the world and then react to it, but that seeing is the world’s arising.
This led me into some verses from Dṛg-Dṛśya-Viveka, especially Verse 1:
rūpaṁ dṛśyaṁ, locanaṁ dṛk;
taddṛśyaṁ dṛk tu mānasam |
dṛśyā dhī-vṛttayaḥ sākṣī,
dṛk eva na tu dṛśyate ||
A quick rendering: Forms are seen by the eyes. The eyes are seen by the mind. The mind is observed by the witness. The witness alone sees, but is not itself seen.
That afternoon, I stepped out for a walk. It was one of those unexpectedly warm London days. The sun was doing its thing. People were out. There was chatter, traffic, a queue at the bakery. I got myself a sandwich and some crisps.
And while all this unfolded, I remembered the classic line from Advaita:
brahma satyaṁ, jagan mithyā, jīvo brahmaiva nāparaḥ
Brahman alone is real. The world is mithyā. The jīva is none other than Brahman.
Only — nothing about that moment felt unreal. The sandwich was delicious. The breeze was cool. Life felt good. This jagat didn’t seem mithyā to me.
So then, where am I?
I’ve heard that the world is not absolutely real — not in the way Brahman is. I understand that the mind is just another object, seen by something deeper. I’ve read Verse 20 of DDV too:
asti bhāti priyaṁ rūpaṁ nāma cety aṁśapañcakam |
ādya-trayaṁ brahma-rūpaṁ, tato dve jagad-rūpam ||
This verse breaks down all experience into five aspects: existence (asti), shining/awareness (bhāti), love (priyam), form (rūpa), and name (nāma). The first three are said to be the nature of Brahman; the last two are attributes of the world. So yes — the world appears and is named, but the real substratum is the changeless three.
It makes sense… until it doesn’t. Until you’re standing on the street with lunch in your hand, feeling quite content in this dualistic, embodied life.
So I wondered: what if both are true, depending on the level of inquiry?
When suffering is present, Vedānta speaks with immense clarity. But when life feels light and sweet, where does that leave me? I’m not burning with a desire for mokṣa right now. I’m not ready to renounce the sandwich or the sunshine. But I’m not chasing the world either. Vedānta remains central — not as a tool to reject life, but as something shaping how I see it.
Where does that put me?
Probably where the tradition might describe as a madhyama adhikārī — someone in that liminal space between knowledge and assimilation, between listening and living. I’m not forcing it. I’m not pretending to “see everything as mithyā.” But I’m not dismissing it either.
This is how I’m walking with the teachings right now. Not with urgency. Not with apathy. Just with an openness to what they reveal in real time.
Sometimes the insight is clear. Other times, it’s just a question that lingers while I eat my crisps.
Simply Vedanta 