Brihadaranyaka Upanishad Ch.2 4.1-5 Lecture 61 on 22 August 2026

Full Transcript (Not Corrected)

Opening Invocation

ओं जननीं शारदां देवीं रामकृष्णं जगद्गुरुं, पादपद्मे तयोः श्रित्वा प्रणमामि मुहुर्मुहुः.

Oṃ jananīṃ śāradāṃ devīṃ rāmakṛṣṇaṃ jagadguruṃ, pādapadme tayoḥ śritvā praṇamāmi muhurmuhuḥ.

ॐ पूर्णमदः पूर्णमिदं पूर्णात् पूर्णमुदच्यते

पूर्णस्य पूर्णमादाय पूर्णमेवावशिष्यते

ॐ शान्तिः शान्तिः शान्तिः

OM PŪRṆAMADAḤ PŪRṆAMIDAM PŪRṆĀT PŪRṆAMUDACYATE PŪRṆASYA PŪRṆAMĀDĀYA PŪRṆAMEVA VAŚIṢYATE OM ŚĀNTI ŚĀNTI ŚĀNTIH

OM That Brahman is infinite, and this universe is also infinite. The infinite proceeds from the infinite. Taking the infinitude of the infinite universe, it remains as the infinite Brahman alone.

OM Peace, Peace, Peace be unto all.

Introduction: The Dialogue of Maitreyī and Yājñavalkya

So we are studying this most marvelous dialogue between Maitreyī and Yājñavalkya. Even if somebody does not study any other Upaniṣad but only the Bṛhadāraṇyaka — not even the entire Bṛhadāraṇyaka, but only this particular section called the Maitreyī Brāhmaṇa — that is more than sufficient.

So we have seen; we must recollect the story. Maitreyī had become a disciple and wanted to follow her guru, Yājñavalkya. Following does not mean going anywhere. Sannyāsa is not going anywhere; sannyāsa is not putting on any particular dress. Sannyāsa is a particular state of mind in which a person remains completely identified with God and God alone, with Brahman alone. Yājñavalkya, as we have seen, was a person who remained identified completely with Brahman, with God, whether in the waking state, the dream state, or the dreamless state. For a realised soul, realization never changes; his knowledge that "I am Brahman" never disappears, and at the same time, as a jīvanmukta, he can also perceive this entire creation. But then his way of looking at it is just like we look at a wax garden.

The Wax-Garden Analogy

We have two kinds of knowledge there. There are many varieties of trees, plants, creepers, animals, birds, etc. There may even be some houses, but they are all different from one another. So what is the cost of a house or a tree? It is not valued as a brick house, a silver house, or any other variety — it is valued only as wax, as one kilogram of wax. That is its value. That means one has the knowledge that this is merely an object, but that it is actually nothing but wax with a particular form and a particular name. That is a Brahmajñānī. If he becomes a jīvanmukta, that is, if he uses the body and mind by the will of Brahman, then he sees everything as Brahman, and at the same time enjoys everything as līlā.

It is like watching the most horrible things on a cinema screen or in a drama, but knowing that it is all a play, not reality. And when something is not real, anything goes; the most horrible crimes can be committed, and the more exquisitely a role is played, the more enjoyable it becomes. For example, in the Rāmāyaṇa drama, two people act as Rāma or as Rāvaṇa. We do not give awards according to the character, but according to how well a person has played that particular role — that is what draws the attention of the judges. Even in cinema, awards are given, and certain actors and actresses are recognised as superb in a particular film or drama. But these are all for the sake of enjoyment. Since nothing is real, there is no one killed, no one else is the killer, no one is the doer, no one is the enjoyer.

And that is the knowledge a person has during the three states, because if a person is a jīvanmukta, one cannot say he is in samādhi; he will be going through all the three states, knowing well, "aham sadā brahmāsmi" (I am always Brahman), no one else. And that is the goal to be reached; it is the only goal to be reached by everybody and anybody, even a mosquito, even a clod of earth. In course of time it becomes organic, it evolves, and one day it realizes it.

The Story of Nārada and the Brahmajñānī Insect

There is a beautiful story in our Purāṇas. Once Nārada came across a small, minute insect, and it was a jñānī of Brahman; only, it used to call that Brahman as Nārāyaṇa. Nārada took pity on it and said, "May you become a jñānī of Brahman." The moment those words escaped his mouth, the insect fell down dead on the spot, instantaneously. Nārada was troubled, because he himself was a Brahmajñānī. But if I or you were present, what type of yogi would we be? We would only think: he uttered some words, and this poor fellow, at least, was alive; now it is dead. And once something is dead, we are blind; we have no eyes to see what happens to it afterward. And the same condition applies with regard to ourselves also. That is why we are afraid; death means, "as if I may not exist henceforward."

That is why Bhagavān Kṛṣṇa assures us:

य एनं वेत्ति हन्तारं यश्चैनं मन्यते हतम् । उभौ तौ न विजानीतो नायं हन्ति न हन्यते ॥

ya enaṃ vetti hantāraṃ yaś cainaṃ manyate hatam, ubhau tau na vijānīto nāyaṃ hanti na hanyate.

So we have to understand this beautiful concept. It is not a concept, it is the reality; it is the only reality. "Somebody is dead, somebody is the killer" — this is not the reality.

So, as Nārada watched, he saw that insect immediately die and become a bird, and then, as soon as it was born, it died again, and then it became an animal. And then it died and became the lowest of human beings, that is, a Śūdra, so to say. And then it instantaneously became a Vaiśya, then a Kṣatriya, then a Brāhmaṇa, then a brahmacārī, then a householder, then a vānaprastha, then a sannyāsī, and it became realized in the twinkling of an eye. It became a realized soul.

So it is the grace of a Brahmajñānī. The grace of a Brahmajñānī is none other than the grace of God, because there is no question of his being apart from Brahman. So, when Holy Mother says, "Whosoever's responsibility I have taken up, that person is bound to get mukti at the last moment," she used to say it is like a person who is carried in darkness. He was asleep, but somebody carried that cot, and when he woke up, he found himself in a completely new place. Like that, an ordinary person becomes a jñānī of Brahman by the grace of any one of these Brahmajñānīs. Remember, a Brahmajñānī is never different from Brahman.

Everything is Brahman: The Six Rejections

That is the goal, and that is why Yājñavalkya concludes and says: nobody loves anybody. Why? Because there is nobody other than me. It is as if everybody, every mind, is a mirror, and I am looking into so many mirrors. But every mirror is made up of a different material, so the reflection appears different, depending upon the opacity, the colour, and the dirt, etc. That is what we have seen: everything is allowed for the sake of the Self.

To make this point clear, Yājñavalkya again teaches Maitreyī that if anybody — let me quote here:

ब्रह्म तं परादाद्यो ऽन्यत्रात्मनो ब्रह्म वेद ।

brahma taṃ parādād yo 'nyatrātmano brahma veda.

Here "brahma" [means] a Brāhmaṇa — the word "Brahma" should not be mistaken for "Brahman"; it is a Brāhmaṇa. If anybody thinks, "I see a Brāhmaṇa, he is different from me," then, instantaneously, that object also turns him into an object. A subject means pure consciousness; object means without consciousness — an object is inert. That is the truth. So, if we consider that there is something, even one single thing, apart from us, separate from us, then instantaneously we become finite. Infinity does not mean a collection of many finite things. Infinite means:

एकमेव सत् इदमग्र आसीत् एकमेवाद्वितीयम् ।

ekam eva sat idam agra āsīt ekam eva advitīyam.

There is no variety, and this "variety" in the Upaniṣads has been expressed as threefold. First of all, there is what is called differentiation between two species, vijātīya bheda. Then, there is a difference even between the parts of one single object; for example, a man and a tree are different, but within the man there are hands, legs, face, and so many parts, and every part is different. The name for the entire collection of every single part is called the body, śarīra. This is the difference within, sajātīya bheda. But within oneself, too, there is difference; our mind is different at different times, the body is different at different times — there is infinite variety within oneself, so to say, and this is svagata bheda. So: vijātīya bheda, sajātīya bheda, svagata bheda — and Brahman is bereft of all three of these differentiations. That is the definition of infinity, the infinite.

So, if somebody, while claiming to be Esikara Brahman, has to practice — whatever practice we see, that practice starts with, first of all, "my mother is Brahman," then "my father is Brahman," "my teacher is Brahman," then "everybody is Brahman." But there is a point to remember: unless, first, I look upon myself as Brahman, I will not be able to look upon anything as Brahman. So I put on the lens of Brahman, and then only will I be able to see Brahman reflected through that lens of time, space, and causation. That is what spiritual progress means: progressively removing the differentiation and achieving unity.

And if anybody does not succeed in it, then we have to say immediately, an object makes a subject also into an object, and several examples are given. I told you, six examples are given, six rejections are given: if a person rejects a Brāhmaṇa, the Brāhmaṇa rejects him — it is not that he is rejecting; I myself am making him separate from me. So, I am doing the same thing with the Kṣatriya, and with the entire world, all the gods, every being in this world, living and nonliving. And then, in the end, he concludes:

सर्वं तं परादाद्यो ऽन्यत्रात्मनः सर्वं वेद ।

sarvaṃ taṃ parādād yo 'nyatrātmanaḥ sarvaṃ veda.

So everything has to be completely made one with oneself, because everything is Brahman. This fact may escape our attention; that is why Yājñavalkya now concludes: why should I not look upon anything else as separate from me? Because:

इदं सर्वं यदयमात्मा ।

idaṃ sarvaṃ yad ayam ātmā.

The Wax and Ornaments: Names and Forms

Taking the example of the wax garden, children may look at this tree, this plant as different from every other tree, every other plant, every other insect, every other animal, every other human being, every other house, etcetera. But a person who knows that everything is made up of only wax — what is the value of this one? Wax. Now substitute the word "wax" with "Brahman": everything is Brahman.

What is the nature of Brahman? Saccidānanda. The person is always bliss; he does not obtain bliss, he does not experience bliss — he says, "I am bliss." When I am bliss, the experience is continuous, constant. Whenever we use this word "experience," we have to remember there are two meanings: the external meaning and the internal meaning. When we say, "I am experiencing another person, another object," it means that my knowledge of that object is different, and it is only the knowledge of one particular object. In this creation, there are millions of such objects, and the moment I say, "this object is different from me," I lose my subjectiveness and become an object myself, because when I look at you, you are an object; when you look at me, I am an object.

So, Yājñavalkya wants to emphasise:

इदं ब्रह्म इदं क्षत्रम् इमे लोकाः इमे देवाः इमानि भूतानि इदं सर्वं यदयमात्मा ।

idaṃ brahma idaṃ kṣatram ime lokāḥ ime devāḥ imāni bhūtāni idaṃ sarvaṃ yad ayam ātmā.

So he says, at last: this Brāhmaṇa, this Kṣatriya, these worlds, these gods, these beings, and the entire creation — all this is the Self, I am the Self. It is nothing but the Self. Because of my ignorance, I am helplessly seeing everything as different from myself. And what is the result?

द्वितीयाद्वै भयं भवति ।

dvitīyād vai bhayaṃ bhavati.

It is only from the second that fear comes; fear always comes from the second. Very interesting examples can be given to make this point crystal clear. Suppose I am very much attached to my money in the bank; then, if that money becomes less for whatever reason, or if somebody hacks my account and empties it, for whatever reason, I feel depressed — I feel I should commit suicide. Many people commit suicide because they think they are nothing but their property: if property is not there, I am not there; if property is there, I am there; if less property is there, I am less there; only when there is more than what I can count, then only am I there. I am my property. Similarly, I am my family; similarly, I am my religion; similarly, I am my body; similarly, I am my mind. These are all wrong notions we have to understand.

But Yājñavalkya says: why should anybody not think everything else is Brahman? Because that is the truth:

सर्वमेतदयमात्मा ।

sarvam etad ayam ātmā.

He concludes; he summarizes his six rejections into one, "sarvam" — the whole creation is nothing but Brahman. And for that, logic is also employed. What is the logic? An effect cannot be different from its cause, because, whatever number of objects are there in that example of the wax garden, everything is nothing but wax only. When we say "wax garden," we see so many things; they are called forms and names, and we have seen in the Chāndogya that it is nothing but words — words trap us, that is all. So the reality is that it is only one. Kāraṇa and kārya — cause and effect — there is absolutely no difference between them. The only difference is nāma and rūpa, name and form.

Gold and ornaments — what is the difference? The weight of the ornament is the weight of the gold; the substance of the ornament is the substance of the gold. It is not separate from gold. And therefore, what is this earring, nose-ring, anklet, bangle, necklace, waist-belt made of? Gold. I have seen — my mother had one; it was so heavy, I don't know how much it weighed, one-fourth of a kilogram or whatever it was, and extremely costly even in those days; nowadays the price has gone through the roof. But it is all nothing but nāma-rūpa. There is no object called "ornament"; it is only gold in a particular form, and to separate it, to distinguish it from other ornaments, we give it a name. Every form is only for a particular utility — you cannot wear a waist-chain made of gold around your neck, only a necklace. That is what Yājñavalkya wants to teach: there is no Brāhmaṇa, Kṣatriya, Vaiśya, Śūdra — we have to add those words, they are not given here — everything in this world is the manifestation of Brahman, and it is nothing but Brahman. The quality, the nature of Brahman, is only manifesting as this creation. This is what we have seen before.

Scripture and Reason

Then, how do we understand, how do we realise the relationship between Brahman and this creation? Creation is the manifestation of Ātman, or Brahman. So how do we know? One important point we have to keep always in mind is that these things are not evident to our normal, ignorant mind; we have to have faith in scripture — no reasoning works there. As I mentioned earlier, what is the relationship between scripture and reason? Reason does not make the scripture real and true; no, the reasoning process is there to help us, to aid us, so that we can understand the scripture in a better way, that is all. Reason never made anything real; reason is only there to remove the "stuff" called untruth from the truth. It is just like when there is a stain: you apply the reasoning medicine, which is called the stain remover, and when you apply the stain remover, it does not make something different — it just reveals what was not so clear because of the stains, outer coverings, etcetera. This is śāstra-sammita tarka, logic sanctioned by scripture. Logic is always used by everyone; pure scripture, of any religion, uses logic only to help us understand scriptural truth properly. That is what we have to know.

The Three Examples: Drum, Conch, and Vīṇā

Now, to make this point clear, remember always: the greater the teacher, the clearer will be their teaching, and just as Śrī Kṛṣṇa gives plenty of similes and examples to make his listeners understand things, he used many, many instruments for making a point clear: sometimes bhajanas, sometimes explanations, sometimes examples, sometimes logic, etc. So, Yājñavalkya wants to make the understanding of Maitreyī clearer, and what does he do, how does he do it? He gives three examples, and it is interesting that through these examples also we can know what we can know. When an example is cited by an author in a book, we have to understand that that particular object existed even then. So here, three examples: a drum, a conch, and a vīṇā. So there must have been drums, there must have been a conch — we see in the Bhagavad Gītā, in the very first chapter, that Arjuna had his own conch, Kṛṣṇa had his own conch, the Pāṇḍavas had their own conches, and Duryodhana, Duḥśāsana, Bhīṣma, Droṇa, each one had their own named conches. That means conches were being used to make this sound, and even today all of these are available. The vīṇā is there — the vīṇā is especially popular in South Indian music, Karnataka music. That means even in those days the vīṇā was there, the flute was there, and many other instruments were also there, and this vīṇā is a marvelous thing — how beautifully one can bring out different bhāvas.

Music, Rasa, and the Nine Emotions

By the way, Indian music is divided so as to be a vehicle to express nine types of emotion, called navarasa. Romanticism, or separation, or humor, or heroism, or terribleness — bhīṣaṇa — all these are the emotions that have been, are, or will be experienced by any human being. They are all classified into nine rasas, called rasa. What does "rasa" mean? Happiness. Why is it called happiness? Because, as you all know, when somebody tells a beautiful joke, then everybody enjoys it. But suppose a painter paints a very painful picture: an old man without eyes, without limbs, suffering from a cancerous condition, or what is called leprosy, his limbs falling off, insects eating his live flesh, and the person in terrible agony. When you look at the picture, what happens? It makes you feel it is so real, and it makes you feel like weeping. So there are some songs — these are called, when two lovers are separated, the song of separation; that is the main theme in Vaiṣṇava literature, Vaiṣṇava songs. Union — first comes separation, viraha, then comes union, milana, then comes Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa. So an expert musician, a great musician, can bring out effortlessly nine types of feelings, and every one of these feelings brings tremendous joy. That is why music is called next to spirituality; music is the greatest thing, because you can experience, even in spirituality, all these things.

Art as Līlā: The World as Divine Sport

What is the connection between kalā, the art, aesthetic enjoyment, and Brahmānanda? The sāmya, or similarity, is that it is not reality, it is only a depiction of reality. A drama, a poem, a sculpture, a bhajana, a song, a piece of literature — these are all nothing but expressions of different bhāvas, different emotions. But when we study them, when we experience these feelings, they all end up giving us indescribable joy. How is it that, even when there is such a tragic drama, like the Shakespearean dramas, etc., they can give joy? Because they are dramas, they are cinemas — they are not real. They bring us the aspect of reality. And by the way, why has this kind of art developed? It is to bring our mind to a higher spiritual point: everything is a drama, everything is a cinema, everything is a līlā. What is līlā appears terribly real, but is not real. Perhaps I should not have used the word "terribly real," because only some bhāvas are painful; some bhāvas are the opposite, very positive — hāsya rasa. Nobody thinks that a joke will not produce what is called joy; if a joke does not bring out that joyful laughter, not forced laughter, but joyful laughter, then we know that it is not real, it is a joke.

So, in this whole world, the whole creation is Bhagavān's joke. Is Bhagavān joking with us? No — do not mistake this: you do not exist; Bhagavān is joking with himself, and that is the greatest spiritual practice we have to develop. If only we can objectify ourselves and ferret out all the foibles, all the defects covering our eyes — "I am great, everybody is not so" — but if we can look at our own foibles... As some sage had said, if we can only look at ourselves, we will never lack entertainment. But only a spiritual person can look at oneself and then say all these things. So, according to Hindu scripture, the whole creation is a joyous sport, and in this creation there are tragedies, there are comedies, so many other things are there.

These are just a little bit of introduction, but from now onward, in these three mantras, Yājñavalkya is going to describe how, or what is, the relationship between cause and effect, and for that, a beautiful example is given, and it requires a little bit of thought for us to understand it.

Sound and Modification: The Analogy of the Flute

Let me first give an example. When sound is coming through a flute, let us say, then it is a flute sound; there is one sound, what is called sāmānya śabda, a general sound, because the sound that comes from a flute and the sound that comes by beating a drum, or by playing a vīṇā, are quite separate. Flute sound is separate: the moment you hear the flute sound, immediately you understand it is a flute. If you know the vīṇā a little bit, you understand — "yes, that is a vīṇā." Violin — "yes, it is a violin sound." Tabla — "yes, it is a tabla sound." So here, "drum" can be taken to mean the tabla sound, whatever it is. So, a drum, a conch — in India, conches are extensively used for temple purposes, for any celebrations, any maṅgala karma, even weddings; they are used, and when a sādhu visits a devotee's house, this conch is blown as a sign of a very special celebration.

So just imagine a sound is coming from a flute, and that sound, we can say, is the sound of a flute. But then the flute is played according to what are called the sapta svara, the seven notes: sa, ri, ga, ma, pa, dha, ni. And there are the upper seven notes, the middle seven notes, the lower seven notes. Everybody should be familiar with these seven notes, and every note is considered as a goddess, a devatā — that is why they have very special names also. The second note, for example, is called Ṛṣabha; the fifth note is associated with the call of the koel bird. Like that, every note has its own special name, and every note modifies the general sound in a particular way.

So, as I was giving the example: when "sa," the first note, is played on a flute, you hear the normal flute sound, the natural sound, sāmānya śabda. But the moment it goes up, the pitch becomes a little higher, and it is altered; and if you go to the third note, it becomes higher-pitched, and like that, higher still, and by the time you reach "ni," the seventh note, it becomes high-pitched. Now, what I want to convey is: whenever you hear a flute being played, you have two types of knowledge. One is the general cognition, "this is a flute sound," and then that flute sound is expressed in different ways, and the combination of these things is what makes a rāga such a beautiful Indian composition. The same thing applies to any instrument, even vocal music.

As you all know, Indian music is divided into southern Indian, Karnataka music, and Hindustani music — one is Hindustani music, called bhāva-pradhāna, in which emotion is given more importance, and South Indian music is called laya-pradhāna, in which rhythm is given a little more importance; but bhāva is present in both, though they developed in totally different ways. But what Yājñavalkya wants to say is that there were, first of all, drums prevalent, conches prevalent, and the vīṇā was also prevalent — how many thousands of years back was Yājñavalkya teaching this? — that means the vīṇā was already present then.

So, as I was explaining, when we hear the sound of a flute, there is a general sound, and soon that general sound is modified to come out at a higher, and still higher, pitch. But still, we have that general knowledge along with the specific knowledge — the general sound expressed through seven different notes. So what is the point? The point is: we are aware, first of all, "this is the sound of a flute"; second, "this is the third note of the flute sound," "this is the fifth note of the flute sound," "this is the seventh note of the flute sound," etcetera. So, in and through, there is what is called a normal sound, normal to the flute, and a special sound, when the flute sound is modified.

So, take the harmonium: there is a harmonium sound, and as you go on, you can hear a harmonium sound being played, a piano sound — there is a general piano sound, and there is a played piano sound. So, in everything that we see, this difference is there. But let me give you one more example. Suppose you are very fond of sweets: sweetness is the very normal, general type of taste, as opposed to salty, bitter, sour, etcetera. But what is it that makes the difference between various sweets? Some are mixed with fragrant spices, etc. — cloves, or what we call elāchī. Like that, there are an infinite number of varieties of sweets, and how do we distinguish them? Because every sweet is expressed in a different way; some prefer one type of sweet, others a different type. Sweetness is the general taste, and its variation is the special taste.

So, this same principle applies with regard to everything in this world. Take another example: a friend is a human being, and this human being, as a human being, is the normal, sādhāraṇa, that is, the very common knowledge. But this person may be a smiling person, a frowning person, an angry person, a happy person — the same human being in different expressions. But we never forget who it is: how do we know we are not forgetting, whether it is the angry person, etc.? So I hope I have given you this idea of the normal expression and the same, general sound implied in different, modified ways — but we are aware of both. That is the first point. The second point is: first, we are aware of the normal sound, then only are we aware of its modified sound.

So, in spite of there being a flute being played, a tabla being played, a harmonium being played, somebody singing — there may be more than a hundred or five hundred instruments in a concert — we can distinguish every instrument from every other instrument by its normal sound, natural sound, and the variations in that natural sound. Through this, what does Yājñavalkya want to convey? Brahman is the very natural, normal existence, Brahman as existence, and then there are the modifications: modified in the form of a cat, it is Brahman in the form of a cat; Brahman modified in another way as a rat; Brahman as a tree, Brahman as a rock, Brahman as water. To revert to our normal understanding: Brahman as ākāśa, space; Brahman as vāyu, air; Brahman as agni, fire; Brahman as jala, water; Brahman as earth — everything is nothing but a manifestation of Brahman. So the existence is common.

Brahman as the Common Substratum

Another way of looking at it is that, even from a modern scientific point of view, anything that we experience in this creation can be reduced — first they reduced it to atoms, then they reduced it to electrons, protons, etcetera, then to particles, and now to certain concepts. But whatever it is, let us take atoms as an example: here is a man, here is a dog, here is a tree, here is a rock — reduce these different living creatures, they are all atoms; reduce the non-living, inert things, like a rock, etc., they are also reducible to only atoms. Everything is an atom; that is the common ground. I am using the word "atom" instead of saying "the concept in the mind," "the idea in the mind." A great scientist said that the whole universe is nothing but an idea, a thought in our mind — he hit the target, as it were; that is the highest truth. Even the concept of Brahman is only a thought in our mind. Whatever we are experiencing is only a concept; "concept" means different thoughts in our mind, that is all, nothing else. Because, when we cease equating, seeing everything as separate, then we ourselves disappear — there would be nobody to say, "I exist."

Śrī Rāmakṛṣṇa expressed this beautiful idea: suppose there are ten pots full of water, out in the open, under the sky, and there is one real sun and ten reflections. You go on breaking one pot after the other; finally, there is only one pot with water, one reflected sun. Break that tenth one also — how many suns will there be? And some clever devotee said, "only one sun." Śrī Rāmakṛṣṇa corrects him: "No — even when you say there is one sun, that is only when you have the reflected sun. But once that reflection disappears, there would be nobody to tell who that reflection is. You, who are answering the question, are that last reflection."

So, through these three examples, Yājñavalkya wants to convey the idea that everything is nothing but Brahman, and Brahman is reduced to sat, existence. And what we experience is called existence: not only am I experiencing the existence of the external world, I am also experiencing the existence of my own self, the subject. So what is the great difference between the existence of an object and the existence of a subject? From the existential point of view, the point of view of existence, there is no difference. That is the idea. That means:

सर्वं खल्विदं ब्रह्म ।

sarvaṃ khalvidaṃ brahma.

Having said this — "sarvam idam ātma" —

सर्वमिदमात्मा ।

sarvam idam ātmā —

instead of "Brahman," Yājñavalkya used, in this Bṛhadāraṇyaka, the word "ātman" more than the word "Brahman." But ātmā is Brahma, Brahman, and Brahman is nothing but ātmā — we have to keep this in mind.

Conclusion

We will discuss these three examples tomorrow, but if you have grasped what I have tried to express, then it should be a walkover in tomorrow's talk.

Closing Prayer

ॐ जननीं शारदां देवीं रामकृष्णं जगद्गुरुम् ।पादपद्मे तयोः श्रित्वा प्रणमामि मुहुर्मुहुः

Om Jānānāṃ Śāradāṃ Devīṃ Rāmakṛṣṇaṃ Jagadgurum Pada Padme Tayo Śṛtvā Praṇamāmi Muhur Muhuh

May Rāmakṛṣṇa, Holy Mother, and Swami Vivekānanda bless us all with Bhakti.

Jai Rāmakṛṣṇa!