In the last segment, we looked at how visits from 1946-48 were marked by Bhagavan's warm recognition—such as welcoming GVS during the Telugu Upadesa Saram recitation and Nagamma's foretelling GVS's arrival.

In 1949 GVS played a major role in gathering rice for the Mahakumbhabhishekam of the Mother's Shrine, overcoming shortages and transport hurdles with unexpected help from old acquaintances and government officials. The consecration, graced by the presence of the Sankaracharya of Puri, filled the Ashram with lights, Vedic chanting, and puja. Bhagavan's smile of welcome and words of quiet kindness crowned Subbaramayya's lifelong service, uniting daily action with unwavering devotion.

During the next visit, Prof. D.S. Sarma asked if Bhagavan's life had followed the classical mystical path of purgation, illumination, and union, common among Western mystics. Bhagavan replied that he knew no such phases:

I never practised pranayama or japa. I knew no mantras and had no set rules for meditation or contemplation. Even after learning about such practices later, I remained uninterested. My mind still refuses to pay attention to them. Sadhana implies something to be gained and a method to gain it—but what is there to gain that we do not already possess?

In meditation, the task is not to think of anything but to be still. That stillness is our natural state—called by many names: moksha, jnana, atma. There was a time when I often sat with my eyes closed. But it wasn't sadhana. Even now I sometimes sit with closed eyes. If others call it sadhana, let them—it makes no difference to me.

People believe that by practising elaborate sadhanas, the Self will appear in a glorious form, and they will experience what is called Sakshatkaram. The Self is certainly sakshat—ever-present—but there is no karam in it. Karam implies doing, but the Self is realized not by doing anything, but by refraining from action, by remaining still, and simply being what we truly are.

Earlier in January 1947, Ramanatha Brahmachari, a beloved devotee, passed away. GVS proposed singing the Ramana Anubhuti hymn, but Nagamma noted it had already been sung by the Cuddalore devotees. She also voiced concern over Bhagavan's alarming emaciation. When GVS urged Bhagavan to take thicker buttermilk for nourishment, Bhagavan quipped, "So you want me to take thick buttermilk or curds—which would be even better! I too see the advantage. I'd be getting a writing-table free of cost!"—referring humorously to the potential belly bulge.

One afternoon, Bhagavan stood near the guest room, leaning on a walking stick, talking to two poor, motherless children. He called GVS over, pointed to them, and said with a tear in his eye, "These are also motherless children." This was a reference to GVS's children who were now motherless, a special moment where Bhagavan's human tenderness was unmistakably evident.

By October 1947, Bhagavan was suffering from a persistent cold and had drastically reduced his food intake. He would deflect concerns by saying he had been eating too much. GVS left the Ashram on 26th October, deeply troubled by Bhagavan's visible weakness.

The year 1948 began inauspiciously for GVS, who himself fell sick, struck by severe diarrhoea while at the Ashram. He remained bedridden for two days. Bhagavan noticed his absence from the Hall and sent word urging him to avoid the fruit-juice diet usually recommended. On the third morning, he was astonished to hear Bhagavan himself calling from outside the window. When GVS replied that he was slightly better, Bhagavan departed silently. That day, the Sarvadhikari, Chinnaswami, administered a native remedy—ayassindaram—and insisted GVS eat some rice. He soon recovered. That night, however, Bhagavan vomited and became ill, almost as though he had taken on GVS's condition.

Despite later reassurance from Balarama Reddy and others that Bhagavan's health had improved, disturbing reports continued. On 23rd January, R. Narayana Iyer shared Bhagavan's humorous comment:

Then I wasn't eating well. Now I am eating like a glutton. How much better I should be considered now!

On 18th January, Nagamma wrote of a beautiful change:

Because of the ever-increasing crowd of visitors, Bhagavan seat was shifted to the Jubilee Mantap, open on all sides, and was now giving darshan there. The almond and mango trees intertwined and looked like natural pillars, the fine cage behind and the little bathing-pool for the white peacock in front with the sparrows sporting in it formed a beautiful scene. Nagamma described how she once enjoyed the sight of Guru Ramana being attended by the white peacock on one side and a rainbow-coloured peacock on the other. The picture got imprinted on the screen of her heart. She wished that she were a great poet or painter to do justice to the celestial spectacle.

In May, GVS visited the Ashram with his son Sundararajan. They consulted Raju Sastri, a Vedic astrologer, who found the youngster's horoscope perfectly matched the prospective girl's horoscope and declared the ceremony must take place on 21st May due to "Guru palan." Initially hesitant, GVS was inwardly guided by Bhagavan's words:

What is destined must happen whether you intend or not.

GVS narrates:

I took Bhagavan's words as a hint that I must go ahead with the function. So, I wired to the girl's father and got him to the Ashram the third day. Sri Raju Sastri drafted the Lagna Patrika. It was corrected and approved by Bhagavan. Then Bhagavan told the bride's father and me: "Now you both can go, see the function through and come back with the couple."

The marriage ceremony went very well. On 10th June, the newlyweds visited the Ashram. Bhagavan fondly called the young bride a "bride of old times." GVS's daughter Alagamma recited Upadesa Saram in Sanskrit and Telugu before Bhagavan, who was at that moment correcting the Kumbhabhishekam Patrika for his mother's temple. Smiling, he handed it to her saying, Mother, this is your affair.

Cow Lakshmi
GVS remained at the Ashram after the group departed and witnessed a profoundly moving event on 18th June 1948: the passing of Cow Lakshmi. That morning, Bhagavan was informed she was nearing death. After breakfast, he visited the gosala, gently placed her head on his lap, and lovingly caressed her. As his eyes met hers, both were moved to tears, and the atmosphere grew deeply charged with emotion.

After some time, Bhagavan said in a soft voice:

Amma, Lakshmi, what do you want? I must now go to the Hall… but wherever I may be, I will never leave you.

At 11:45 a.m., Lakshmi breathed her last.

That day, Bhagavan composed a Tamil venba marking her liberation—an honour he had not extended even to his own mother—and later translated it into Telugu and Malayalam. That evening, she was buried with full honours beside the other animal samadhis. Bhagavan sat through the entire ceremony, offered vibuti before the grave was sealed. Puffed rice was distributed. His venba was inscribed on the samadhi:

The twelfth day in the bright half of the third month of the year Sarvadhari, Friday with the star Visaakha, declare it as the day when the cow Lakshmi attained V'imukti.

On 27th June, Nagamma wrote to GVS detailing the tenth-day ceremony. Bhagavan shared GVS's reply aloud. Verses by Bhagavan, Viswanatha Swami, G. Subba Rao, and Dr. Syed were read. Nagamma also met the grandson of Arunachalam Pillai—the man who had brought Lakshmi and her mother to the Ashram in 1926. He revealed that Lakshmi had first been cared for by Pasupati Iyer.

Lakshmi's passing and Bhagavan's sublime tenderness toward her embodied the highest truths: boundless compassion, Self-realization, and the transforming power of silent grace. It was a sacred moment, not of sorrow alone, but a luminous affirmation of Bhagavan's love for all beings—human or animal, without distinction.

The Shadow of Illness
But joy gave way to anxiety. Just before Mahakumbhabhishekam, a small growth on Bhagavan's arm had been surgically removed. A new tumour soon appeared. It was removed on 27th March 1949 and treated with radium. GVS could not visit due to his daughter Alagamma's illness. On 9th May, GVS received a letter from R. Narayana Iyer:

Bhagavan is well and improving... But doctors said amputation might be needed. Unthinkable! Tears were held back. Muruganar placed verses at Bhagavan's feet. The tumour is shrinking... When I mentioned your daughter's typhoid, Bhagavan said, 'Yes, otherwise he would be here.'

In June, as soon as Alagamma improved, GVS rushed to the Ashram. Bhagavan, seeing him at breakfast, immediately asked, "How is Alagamma?"

GVS felt blessed to be permitted to accompany Bhagavan to the cow shed, where Ranga Rao changed his bandage. The tumour was the size of a small cauliflower—blood-red and alarming—but Bhagavan kept laughing and joking, as if to ease the pain of these two close devotees.

Bhagavan had shifted to the temple hall and continued his routine. GVS served as interpreter during his interactions, though frequent bleeding and weakness were evident.

Another operation took place on 7th June. Balarama Reddy wrote the next day:

Doctors said the root of the malady was removed... Bhagavan is looking all right.

From September to November, Bhagavan's condition seemed stable. The Ashram resumed its publishing work, and GVS was asked to supervise reprints. But the relief was short-lived. In early December, a new tumour emerged above the old wound. On 19th December, it was surgically removed—the fourth operation.

On New Year's Day 1950, Bhagavan quietly shifted from the hospital to a small room opposite the New Hall. Many were unaware until redirected for darshan. Seated on a sofa outside the room, Bhagavan now gave daily darshan from there. Though the crowd was large, devotees were overjoyed be in proximity with Bhagavan again. Women were directed to sit in the coconut grove facing the room, and all rejoiced in this unexpected closeness.

Last Days
On 5th January 1950, Bhagavan's 70th Jayanti was celebrated with great fervour. Worship was elaborate, arati passed among devotees, and darshan was extended by two hours. That noon, an attendant brought GVS a message: Bhagavan wanted GVS to read his latest Telugu verses at 3 pm before the gathering. GVS narrates:

This act of compassion lifted my despair. As I stood before him reciting "The Cry of Devotees", my voice broke with emotion. Observers later said Bhagavan, visibly moved, shed tears.

On 14th January, as GVS prepared to leave, he was allowed to take leave of Bhagavan. Overcome with sorrow, he broke down. Bhagavan gently called him near, asked him to touch his afflicted arm and consoled him:

Don't worry. It will go. As it came, so it will go. The body is itself a disease—insentient matter animated only by Spirit. You people call it 'sarcoma', but in my view, there is no tumour at all.

By February, doctors still hoped for progress but soon reports told of a recurrence of the tumour. Despite this, Bhagavan continued his routine, though increasingly frail.

At the beginning of March, GVS hurried to the Ashram. The tumour was "the size of a coconut", bleeding often. With Sundaresa Iyer, GVS did pradakshina and offered prayers at the town's Durga temple. A sealed letter from his daughter Lalita, given to GVS for Bhagavan, was read silently and placed under his pillow. Bhagavan's body was weak, yet his face radiated serenity as ever.

Reports grew graver: blood loss, weak heart, fever, and worsening anaemia. On 18th March, Bhagavan collapsed, striking the tumour and vomiting twice. Yet he resumed darshan with astonishing poise. On 23rd March, R. Narayana Iyer wrote:

If this disease afflicted an ordinary man, he would scream in agony. But Bhagavan speaks no word of pain—his face shines with grace. Like a majestic Christ on the Cross, he radiates silent endurance.

By 29th March, Nagamma reported Bhagavan had stopped appearing on the veranda. Devotees could only glimpse him through raised screens. By 31st March, The Hindu reported Bhagavan was completely bedridden. GVS reached the Ashram the next day and joined the darshan queue. Reclining on his couch, Bhagavan's eyes shone with grace. Later, Rangaswami told GVS:

Bhagavan noticed your presence and said, 'See, our GVS has also come. Poor man! He must have seen yesterday's newspaper and rushed here. Go and greet him.'

Though the darshan was radiant, foreboding deepened. Many feared Bhagavan would leave on 2nd April. His kidneys were failing. Yet on that morning, to everyone's astonishment, Bhagavan was shaved, as is the custom on the full-moon day.

That same morning, while evaluating exam papers, GVS read students' essays on the Buddha:

That day being a full-moon day, the Lord had his share and bath. He then called his disciples and said, "When I am gone, Truth shall be your master."

GVS reflected:

Reading that line, with the image of Bhagavan quietly shaving in the adjacent room, sent a profound tremor through my heart.

Final Darshan and Mahasamadhi
On 4th April 1950, French photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson captured Bhagavan reclining on a raised bed, weak but luminous. Darshan was now restricted to morning and evening queues.

That night, as GVS prepared to leave, the gatekeeper Jayadevalal quietly asked, "Do you want to see Bhagavan?" On saying yes, GVS was ushered inside:
Bhagavan lay facing the entrance as if awaiting someone. As I prostrated and rose, he said, "Come in." I approached, and he asked, "What do you want?" With tears streaming, I replied, "I want abhagavan." His reply came instantly, overflowing with grace: "Saree, Icchanu!" ("Yes, I have given it"). Then he added, "Don't fear. As it came, so it will go." A great burden lifted from my heart. Touching his feet, I felt plunged into an ocean of peace and bliss. That moment remains eternally etched in my being.

(GVS later commented that Bhagavan's "it will go" was not a reference to the sarcoma, but to the body itself.)

Back home, worsening reports continued. On 9th April, Bhagavan's condition was critical: no food, weak pulse, hiccups. Yet when darshan queues were paused, he refused even water until devotees were admitted. That evening he sat upright, bearing all discomfort until darshan concluded.

By 14th April, his condition was dire. Early that morning, he grew still; many thought the end had come. Around 1:30 am he stirred slightly, but from then no more monitoring was done. He refused medicine, though he occasionally spoke, his voice retaining its resonance.

On 15th April, GVS heard the news by radio. Mahasamadhi rites would conclude by noon. Unable to find transport, he later wrote:
Perhaps it was part of the abhayam granted to me—that I be spared the anguish of seeing his lifeless form.

N. Ramachandra Rao reported:
Bhagavan disappeared last night at 8:47 pm. He has taken his place in the hearts of his devotees.

R. Narayana Iyer wrote:
Last night, sitting after dinner, I saw a brilliant meteor shoot from the southern horizon, arch northward, and vanish behind Arunachala. Instantly I felt it was Bhagavan. I ran to the Ashram. Doctors rushed in. The end had come. The river from which we drank with delight has emptied into the Ocean. I wept until my heart was dry. Now, only blankness remains. Though I could not be with him in life, I was present as his body was lowered into the Samadhi pit, staying until 9:30 pm last night. Today, I rest—surrounded by the stillness of the sepulchre.

Years later, in 1955, GVS dreamt vividly:
I saw Bhagavan and the Sankaracharya of Kanchi seated together on a hill-top choultry. My heart leapt with joy. The Sankaracharya asked about my Sanskrit learning. Bhagavan assured him it was sufficient. Then the Acharya recited a Vedic rik and asked me to translate it, which I did to his satisfaction. Tirtham was brought. Bhagavan sipped it and passed it to the Acharya, who in turn gave it to me to distribute among a vast crowd. As I finished serving, the last drop was gone. When I returned the empty vessel, the Sankaracharya asked if I had taken any. I replied "no". Bhagavan then said, "It does not matter. Distribution to others is prasad to oneself." After this, food was served. As darkness fell, I tried to switch on the lights. The first try failed, but on the second, the whole hall lit up—and then I awoke.

Writing about this dream in May 1956, GVS concluded:
Indeed, the foregoing reminiscences are the tirtham Bhagavan gave and sharing them is the prasad I have received.

He added:
As I wrote these final words at 10:05 am, my daughter Alagamma ran into my room with coconut water, saying, "Here is tirtham from Mother after worship."

So that is that. —(series concluded)

Without desire, resolve, or effort, the sun rises; and in its mere presence, the sun-stone emits fire, the lotus blooms, water evaporates; people perform their various functions and then rest. Just as in the presence of the magnet the needle moves, it is by virtue of the mere presence of God that the souls governed by the three (cosmic) functions or the fivefold divine activity perform their actions and then rest, in accordance with their respective karmas. God has no resolve; no karma attaches itself to Him. That is like worldly actions not affecting the sun, or like the merits and demerits of the other four elements not affecting all pervading space. — Who Am I? §17.

There are seasons in life when everything seems to unravel. Outer remedies fail and inner efforts feel powerless. Much of this distress, Bhagavan would say, does not come from circumstances themselves but from a heart that is overwhelmed. Through enquiry, we begin to see that the real logjam is not coming from outside but lies within. If we can make the time in our schedule and open the space in our heart to sit patiently with this inner congestion, knots loosen, clarity returns, and a natural flow can be restored.

What we are looking for is intrinsic to the Heart: the light that shines in the cave of every being, as the Katha Upanishad phrases it. Old impressions and unassimilated grief—accumulated over years or even lifetimes—clog the mind, giving the impression that something is badly broken. In such a contracted state, we live half-awake, ever ready to react and resist what the world brings us. The Heart's warmth, veiled by defences and fixed patterns, registers as an ongoing longing to come free of the burden and arrive at some new way of living centred on the hidden expanse within. Bhagavan clarifies:

What we call the Heart or mind is simply the meeting place of the elements of phenomenal existence, appearing as inner and outer. All phenomena of name and form are, in truth, nothing but mind. What seems outside is in reality within. The Vedas teach this by declaring that everything is of the nature of the Heart. And this Heart is none other than Brahman.¹

The Upanishads echo the same theme:

When the one Reality is directly known, the knot of the heart is untied, all doubts vanish, and the bondage of karma falls away. In that silent ocean of Being, all that is false melts away, and the Heart stands revealed as infinite grace.²

Manikkavachakar told how Lord Siva stole his heart with a single glance, showing that grace emerges when the longing is intense enough.

These reflections point to an inner process, a reality outside of time that indwells each of us, as if we were under the care of a personal, private deity who has as his or her singular directive to guide our steps toward destiny. As our longing congeals, as our attention steadies, the filters of karmic blockages begin to dissolve, revitalising body and mind. The radiance of the Heart rises as the most primordial condition—a force of nature propelled by the inexorable laws of the Divine, bringing about the mind's native clarity. Our spiritual efforts are therefore more a removal than an acquisition—a refining of our vision.

As healing softens the residues of sorrow and reintegrates them, we discover that nothing essential was ever lost: the radiant Heart is whole, pliant, eager to express its intrinsic qualities. Like a river wearing down a stone, the Heart's radiance causes thought to lose its compulsive edge. Unveiling the radiance of the Heart centres on simply removing what never belonged.

Grieving in Real Time
Tradition tells us that old deeds are eliminated by experiencing their results little by little.³ Such wearing away is realizable by allowing prarabdha to be known and felt directly in real time. Wearing away simply means being present to—grieving the unpleasantness that prarabdha causes us. Karmic burdens denied are complicated and made even less digestible by our non-compliance—the refusal to grieve what needs grieving, the refusal to process what needs processing.

The soul leads us down the path we are fated to follow, not giving us any say-so in the matter. Our suffering is not caused by the path itself, but by our resistance to it.

What is grieving in real time? It is being present to uncomfortable moments that come to pass during everyday life. We learn to acknowledge, identify and feel the full weight of occurrences—internal and external—as and when they arise. We acknowledge the distress they cause us but avoid shirking from the discomfort. This assumes that we have already enquired into earlier accumulated psychic material and assimilated it. Assimilation of past painful experiences comes about by enquiring into them and allowing their burden to be fully acknowledged. Sense indulgence is easier, but it does not give lasting results, and besides, brings further karmic difficulty.

Grieving in real time assumes that we are willing to enquire neutrally into every moment, day in and day out. If formerly we pushed things away through distraction, blame, shame, compulsion or addiction, we will have seen how prarabdha can become unworkable, accumulating in layers and taking on forms that are dense and unwieldy.

Bhagavan once said, 'suffering is the way'.⁴ This is because suffering highlights the places where accumulations are dense, where enquiry needed. When suffering arises, rather than pitting ourselves against it, we greet it head-on with every ounce of faith we can muster. When discomfort overwhelms us, we call on Bhagavan to give us strength. When we find ourselves spiralling into endless reactivity, rather than rejecting it or sweeping it under the rug, we enquire neutrally into it as a new moment to be noted, observed, and assimilated.

False Refuges
Grieving in real time invites us to avoid deluded mentation. We no longer need to deceive ourselves and thereby, we can remain attentive, avoiding the habitual escape routes of the mind.

In our age, the most beguiling refuge is thought itself. We come to treat the thinking mind as home—as if it were our very own self. Bhagavan narrates:

The mind should be made to rest in the Heart till the destruction of the ‘I’-thought, which is ignorance, is vouchsafed. This is jnana; this alone is dhyana.5⁵

Thought appears to us as a safe refuge but it is the realm of lotus-eaters, a place of gentle forgetfulness where we escape—at our peril—the small disappointments and larger sorrows of daily life. A few swipes on a device, and we are transported to distant, virtual lands, eluding the reality within.

Even spiritual aspirants are not immune. We may be prone to try and live our religious life from the outside in—efficient in practice yet thin in meaningful engagement. Our relationship to Bhagavan's teaching can turn mechanical, as if it were a program to be run rather than a call to be lived. To compensate for the missing warmth, we may exaggerate or embellish stories from Bhagavan's life—as if the truth needed dressing up. We may cling to outer forms of the Ramana path or turn to comparison, weighing Bhagavan's words against other traditions in search of subtle advantage. In doing so, we risk shrinking the universal vision into a sectarian claim, turning the all-embracing Ramana way into mere religious dogma—after all, other faiths are not rivals to Bhagavan's path but fellow expressions of the same timeless call to unity and truth.

When Striving Ends
Our lesser impulses arise from unresolved samskaras, reactivity to what is not yet whole in us. As samskaras mend, the Heart's innate radiance shines on its own—life-affirming, unburdened, relaxed, and free. Bhagavan comments:

Although it is described thus, the meaning of the word Heart (hridayam) is the Self (Atman). As it is denoted by the terms 'existence', 'consciousness', 'bliss', 'eternal' and 'plenum' (sat, chit, anandam, nityam, purnam), it has no polarities such as exterior and interior or up and down. That tranquil state in which all thoughts come to an end is called the Self. When it is realized, there is no scope for discussions about its location inside or outside the body.⁶

We often imagine that fulfilment is gained from outside. Yet true peace dawns when we discover that the only real need is turning inward. The early 19th century English poet Samuel Coleridge glimpsed this when he spoke of the Primary Imagination as:

The living power and prime agent of all human perception, a repetition in the finite mind of the eternal act of creation in the infinite I AM.⁷

Imagination, in this deeper sense, is not fantasy but the original awareness, prior to and sustaining all perception.

Bhagavan points us in the same direction. As striving subsides, the mind grows still and transparent. We stop trying to perfect ourselves or arrive elsewhere. We rest in the very conditions we once resisted, letting thoughts and emotions simply be. Paradoxically, such wholehearted acceptance lifts us beyond limitation. The Katha Upanishad likens this return to the discovery of a hidden treasure:

The Self, smaller than the smallest and greater than the greatest, is hidden in the cave of the heart. The wise, who restrain desire and still the mind, behold that glory and go beyond grief.⁸

When striving ceases, the Heart shines of its own, like a lamp on a windless night. As the compulsion to improve falls away, perception regains its innocence. We look at a tree or hear a birdcall without naming or measuring. Seeing is simply seeing; hearing is simply hearing. This is because there is no urge from within to comment on what is, no longer any need to bring an imaginary small self into the picture. Things are left to themselves because the most wholesome commentary we can make about our surroundings or the people in our midst is seeing them as they are from a quiet place within—pure and unmediated.

This is neither remote nor mystical but immediate and simple. The soul possesses all truth and needs only remember what it already knows. Bhagavan speaks of aparoksha-jnana—direct, non-mediated knowledge of Brahman where thought ceases, and the Self reveals itself as direct seeing (saksatkara). This is where knower, known, and knowing merge as one in Silence. Bhagavan explains with characteristic clarity:

All scriptures affirm that freedom lies in destroying self-conceit. Therefore, let the body remain like a corpse and refrain from saying "I." Ask instead, "What is it that rises as I?" In that enquiry, thoughts fall away and pure, limitless consciousness shines of itself.⁹

This work is gentle but exacting. When we notice the faintest contraction of the mind, we greet it with patience. We befriend what we fear, allowing the "crying babies" of unassimilated grief to be soothed rather than exiled. As veils thin, thought loses its compulsive edge, and something quieter than pleasure, more soothing than stimulation begins to take root. Bhagavan affirms that the silent Heart is not passive but dynamic:

When Brahman shines in the hearts of all souls as the Self, the name 'Heart' is given.¹⁰

Inquiry dissolves the fiction of a doer and its release frees us from myriad habits. Our longing is thus redirected from objects to Being; each sincere act of letting go reveals awareness as one's own nature—and with it, the peace sought in everything else.

The Heart's radiance is not an attainment but a return. When we cease to fight with the conditions of our lives and instead consent to reality, the Self reveals its intrinsic freedom: simple, whole, and unbound—the very image of the great I AM celebrated by the Upanishads and embodied in the lives and teachings of India's sages, not least of all, in that of the Sage Ramana. —

• 1 Self-Enquiry §8, Collected Works, p. 9.
• 2 Rephrased from the Mundaka Upanishad 2.2.8 and Katha Upanishad 2.3.15.
• 3 Anguitara Nikaya 4.195.
• 4 Talks §107.
• 5 Self-Enquiry §36, Collected Works, p. 31.
• 6 Shrihuai Instruction, chap II §9, Collected Works, pp. 58-59.
• 7 The Philosopher's Secret Fire, Patrick Harpur, p. 20.
• 8 Katha Upanishad 1.2.20.
• 9 Self-Enquiry §36, Collected Works, p. 6.
• 10 Self-Enquiry §9, Collected Works, p. 10.