Resting in the Self

Janaka sat in perfect stillness, and when he spoke, his words emerged from silence.

"Master, I find myself resting in the Self. Not because I am practicing rest, but because there is nowhere else to be. The effort has fallen away."

Ashtavakra smiled. "Describe this rest."

"It is not like sleep, yet it is more restful than sleep. It is not like relaxation, yet it is utterly relaxed. It is not like doing nothing, yet there is no doing. I am simply here—fully, completely, without strain."

"And thoughts? Do they disturb this rest?"

"They come and go. But they are like birds flying across the sky—the sky does not follow them or resist them. They pass, and I remain. Sometimes there are many thoughts; sometimes few. It makes no difference. The rest is not dependent on mental stillness."

"What of activity? Can you rest while acting?"

"I have discovered this, and it astonishes me still. The body moves, speaks, decides. All activity continues. But the rest does not break. It is as if activity happens within the rest, not as a departure from it. The rest is the ground; activity is the dance upon it."

"You have found the secret that escapes most seekers," Ashtavakra said. "They think rest means cessation. They try to stop everything. But true rest accommodates everything. It is not fragile; it cannot be disturbed."

"I used to protect my peace," Janaka admitted. "I would avoid difficult situations, unpleasant people, stressful events. I thought my peace was something I had to guard."

"And now?"

"Now I see that what I was guarding was a mood, not peace. True peace does not need protection. It is the nature of awareness itself. Whether the situation is difficult or easy, pleasant or painful, peace remains. It was there before I recognized it; it will be there when this body is gone."

"How does this rest express in relationships?"

"I am present with others in a way I never was before. Because I am not defending a self, I can listen truly. Because I am not seeking anything from them, I can give freely. The rest has made me more available, not less—more engaged, not withdrawn."

"Some would say enlightenment creates distance from others."

"The opposite has happened. I feel more connected than ever. Not because boundaries have blurred, but because I see that there are no real boundaries. The same Self that rests in me rests in everyone. We are not separate beings resting separately; we are one rest, appearing as many."

"And suffering? When you witness suffering in the world?"

"Compassion arises naturally. But it is not the suffering of the suffering. It is the response of the Self to apparent pain in its own dream. I act to relieve suffering where I can, not out of agitation but out of love. The action comes from rest, not from restlessness."

"This is the great paradox," Ashtavakra observed. "Rest produces more effective action than restlessness ever could."

"Because restlessness is reaction; rest is response. Reaction comes from the contracted self, fighting to survive. Response comes from the open Self, flowing where it is needed. Reaction is noise; response is music."

"You speak like a sage, O King."

"I am not a sage. I am not a king. I am this rest that speaks through this form. If the words help anyone, good. If they do not, also good. The rest does not depend on being understood or appreciated. It simply is—and in being, it offers itself to all."

Ashtavakra bowed. "The rest has found itself in you. May all beings recognize this rest in themselves—not as something to attain, but as what they already are."