In an earlier post, I explored the possibility that my conviction (mananam) felt shaky and my longing for liberation (mumukṣutva) weak. That reflection opened something — not a solution, but a more honest question: if I’m not driven by pain or pulled by some lofty goal, why am I still walking this path?
This post emerged as a response to that opening. It’s not an answer. It’s just the shape of things right now — a small gesture of alignment, without urgency or agenda. Just a quiet step forward.
For a while, I thought the problem was faulty mananam.
Somewhere between hearing the teachings and living them, something wasn’t landing. Doubts lingered — not loud, but present. Conviction flickered. I could articulate things, even write about them, but in the actual moment of reaction or avoidance, the teachings felt like background noise.
So I called it “shaky mananam.”
And then I added “weak mumukṣutva” to the list — not out of self-critique, but just noticing: there wasn’t some burning urgency to be free.
No desperation. No ache. Just… a low hum of spiritual interest, alive but unhurried.
I wondered if this meant something was broken.
Was I too comfortable? Was I just habituated to certain identifications?
Was I afraid of disappearing, clinging to some softened version of no-self that didn’t really threaten anything?
These are good questions.
They’re still here.
But something clarified itself this week — not as a breakthrough, just a small settling.
I realised: I’m not chasing liberation.
But I also don’t want anything else.
I’m not doing this inquiry because I’m stuck in unbearable bondage.
Nor because I want some exalted transcendent state.
I’m doing it because… nothing else makes sense anymore.
I’m not motivated. I’m drawn.
This project — this sādhana, this writing, this daily leaning back into the teachings — is not solving anything. It’s not helping me get anywhere.
And that’s what makes it real.
It’s no longer a strategy.
It’s not even a practice in the way I once thought of “practice.”
It’s just… the most honest thing left.
The mananam still feels shaky at times. The mumukṣutva still doesn’t burn.
But I’m here. Not because I must be. Not because I should be.
But because, somehow, I already know I don’t want to be anywhere else.
That feels like enough.
At least for now.
Maybe later I’ll see this was just another plateau — another subtle resting place in disguise.
Or maybe, this is where the real walking begins.
I honestly don’t know.
But I’ll keep walking.
P.S. Reading this back, I can see the temptation to frame it as a journey from confusion to clarity. But that’s not what this is. There’s no clean arc here. It feels more like a loop — a soft spiral, with fog and sunlight coexisting.
What Simply Vedanta seems to offer — if I had to name it — is a small pause in that loop. A space where the teachings and the lived mess don’t have to stay in separate rooms. That alone feels valuable.
Even if I end up circling back to the same questions again.
Simply Vedanta 