We live in an era dominated by an intense, hyper-masculine energy—one that has become untethered from the Divine. As we watch this imbalance unfold, it is easy to feel adrift, falling into cycles of fear and hopelessness. However, the universe operates in rhythmic cycles. The pendulum that has swung to a jagged extreme is already beginning its inevitable arc back toward the center.

Beneath the surface of our chaotic modern landscape, a quiet awakening is taking hold. There is a burgeoning understanding that we are not separate entities, but parts of a singular whole. This shift marks the resurgence of the Divine Feminine—the energies of unconditional love, compassion, and intuitive kindness. In time, these enlightened frequencies will rise to the surface, allowing humanity to once again ascend toward a higher state of awareness and truth.

There is perhaps no greater story to usher in this transition than that of Madalasa from the Markandeya Purana. Celebrated as the quintessential enlightened woman and mother, Madalasa represents the perfect integration of worldly duty and spiritual realization.

The Queen and the Cradle Song

Madalasa was the daughter of the Gandharva king Vishvavasu and the queen of King Ritadhvaja. While she moved through the halls of royal power, her heart remained anchored in the Absolute. She is most famous for the way she nurtured her children. Instead of singing traditional lullabies of worldly attachment or ego-reinforcement, she sang to her infants of their true, stainless nature.

As she rocked her babies, her voice carried the weight of ultimate truth:

“Shuddhosi Buddhosi Niranjanosi Samsara Maya Parivarjitosi Samsara Svapanam Tyaja Moha Nidram”

“You are pure, you are enlightened, you are stainless. You are beyond the illusions of this worldly existence. Abandon the dream of this world and this sleep of delusion.”

Having been bathed in the truth of the eternal Self (Atman) from birth, her first three sons—Vikranta, Subahu, and Shatrumardana—developed a natural detachment from the material world. Recognizing the ephemeral nature of the palace, they chose the path of the ascetic, leaving home at a young age to seek the Infinite.

However, King Ritadhvaja grew anxious for the future of his lineage. When their fourth son, Alarka, was born, the King pleaded with Madalasa to raise at least one child to become a king. Madalasa agreed, but she did not abandon her wisdom. Instead, she adapted it. She raised Alarka to understand Dharma (right action), teaching him how to be an enlightened leader who could rule a kingdom with total effectiveness while remaining internally detached. She proved that the Divine Feminine does not just produce monks; it produces conscious leaders.

The story of Madalasa is more than a myth; it is a blueprint for the spiritual evolution of our species. It reminds us that the method of nurturing—how we speak to the next generation and what truths we whisper into their ears—shapes the consciousness of the world.

As the pendulum swings back toward the Divine Feminine, we are called to be like Madalasa: to stand firmly in our power, to recognize the “dream” of the world for what it is, and to lead with a heart that is both compassionate and detached. By reclaiming this sacred balance, we ensure that the future is ruled not by fear or ego, but by the quiet, unshakable realization of our own divinity.

Below is a complete text of the Song of Madalsa:

Verse 1: The Awakening

Sanskrit:  शुद्धोऽसि बुद्धोऽसि निरञ्जनोऽसि संसारमाया परिवर्जितोऽसि ।संसारस्वप्नं त्यज मोहनिद्रां मन्दालसोल्लपमुवाच पुत्रम् 

Transliteration:  śuddhosi buddhosi nirañjanosi saṃsāra-māyā parivarjitosi |saṃsāra-svapnaṃ tyaja moha-nidrāṃ madālasollapamuvāca putram 

Translation: You are ever pure, you are enlightened, you are stainless. You are beyond the illusions of this world. Abandon this dream of worldliness and this sleep of delusion. Thus, Madalasa sang to her son.

Verse 2: The Illusion of the Name

Sanskrit: शुद्धोऽसि रे तात न तेऽस्ति नाम कृतं हि तत्कल्पनयाधुनैव ।पञ्चात्मकं देहमिदं न तेऽस्ति नैवास्य त्वं रोदिषि कस्य हेतो 

Transliteration: śuddhosi re tāta na testi nāma kṛtaṃ hi tat-kalpanayādhunaiva |pañcātmakaṃ deham-idaṃ na testi naivāsya tvaṃ rodiṣi kasya heto

Translation: My child, you are ever pure! You do not have a name. A name is only an imaginary label recently imposed upon you. This body made of five elements is not you, nor do you belong to it. This being so, why do you cry?

Verse 3: The Source of Sorrow

Sanskrit: न वै भवान् रोदिति विक्ष्वजन्मा शब्दोयमायाध्य महीश सूनूम् ।विकल्पयमानो विविधैर्गुणैस्ते गुणाश्च भौताः सकलेन्द्रियेषु 

Transliteration: na vai bhavān roditi vikṣvajanmā śabdoyamāyādhya mahīśa sūnūm |vikalpayamāno vividhairguṇaiste guṇāśca bhautāḥ sakalendriyeṣu 

Translation: The essence of the universe does not cry in reality. This “crying” is just a sound, a trick of Maya, O Prince! The various qualities you imagine to be yours belong only to the elements that make up the senses.

Verse 4: Growth and Decay

Sanskrit: भूतानि भूतैः परिदुर्बलानि वृद्धिं समायान्ति यथेह पुंसः ।अन्नाम्बुपानादिभिरेव तस्मात् न तेऽस्ति वृद्धिर् न च तेऽस्ति हानिः 

Transliteration:  bhūtāni bhūtaiḥ paridurbalāni vṛddhiṃ samāyānti yatheha puṃsaḥ |annāmbupānādibhireva tasmāt na testi vṛddhir na ca testi hāniḥ 

Translation: The elements of the body grow with the addition of more elements (food and water) and weaken when they are taken away. This growth and decay belong to the body, not to You. You have neither growth nor loss.

Verse 5: The Body as a Garment

Sanskrit:  त्वं कञ्चुके शीर्यमाणे निजोस्मिन् तस्मिन् देहे मूढतां मा व्रजेथाः ।शुभाशुभौः कर्मभिर्दे हमेतत् मृदादिभिः कञ्चुकस्ते पिनद्धः 

Transliteration: tvaṃ kañcuke śīryamāṇe nijosmin tasmin dehe mūḍhatāṃ mā vrajethāḥ |śubhāśubhauḥ karmabhir-deham-etat mṛdādibhiḥ kañcukaste pinaddhaḥ 

Translation: You are within this body which, like a jacket, wears out day by day. Do not fall into the delusion of thinking you are this body. This garment is fastened upon you by your own past good and bad deeds.

Verse 6: The Relativity of Roles

Sanskrit:  तातेति किञ्चित् तनयेति किञ्चित् अम्बेति किञ्चिद्धयितेति किञ्चित् ।ममेति किञ्चित् न ममेति किञ्चित् त्वं भूतसङ्घं बहु म नयेथाः 

Transliteration: tāteti kiñcit tanayeti kiñcit ambeti kiñciddhayiteti kiñcit |mameti kiñcit na mameti kiñcit tvaṃ bhūtasaṅghaṃ bahu ma nayethāḥ 

Translation: One person calls you “Father,” another “Son,” another “Mother,” and another “Wife.” Some say “You are mine” and others “You are not mine.” These are all just references to this collection of elements; do not identify with them.

Verse 7: True vs. False Happiness

Sanskrit:  सुखानि दुःखोपशमाय भोगान् सुखाय जानाति विमूढचेताः ।तान्येव दुःखानि पुनः सुखानि जानाति विद्वन्न विमूढचेताः 

Transliteration: sukhāni duḥkhopaśamāya bhogān sukhāya jānāti vimūḍha-cetāḥ |tānyeva duḥkhāni punaḥ sukhāni jānāti vidvanna vimūḍha-cetāḥ 

Translation: The deluded person thinks that sensory enjoyments bring happiness by removing misery. But the wise clearly see that the same object which brings “pleasure” now will eventually become a source of pain.

Verse 8: The Chariot and the Rider

Sanskrit:  यानं चित्तौ तत्र गतश्च देहो देहोऽपि चान्यः पुरुषो निविष्टः ।ममत्वमुरोया न यथा तथास्मिन् देहेति मात्रं बत मूढरौष 

Transliteration: yānaṃ cittau tatra gataśca deho deho-pi cānyaḥ puruṣo niviṣṭhaḥ |mamatvam-uroyā na yathā tathāsmin deheti mātraṃ bata mūḍharauṣa

Translation:  A vehicle moves on the ground, and the body sits within it. Similarly, the True Self (Purusha) resides within the body. How foolish it is to think, “I am this body,” when the owner is distinct from the vessel!

About twenty-five years ago, I had a definitive spiritual experience that left me both transformed and profoundly confused. In Rinzai Zen, a student is often given a koan—a seemingly contradictory statement—to ponder until it forces an opening in perception. In much the same way, I was left to live inside a mystery I couldn’t yet comprehend.

Like many who have near-death experiences, I didn’t speak of it for years. I lacked the language to make it make sense to others, and at times, it felt easier to dismiss it as a vivid dream. While the experience was an awakening, it was initially just a crack in the fabric of my consciousness—a crack that would, in time, cause my entire worldview to collapse. It simply would not allow false belief structures to remain.

The Mountain and the Thunderbolt

It happened on an ordinary morning. I had been reading about the renowned sage Sri Ramakrishna and felt a wave of despondency. I perceived a tremendous chasm between my own state of consciousness and the enlightenment he described. It seemed as though a vast, insurmountable mountain lay before me, one I had no capacity to ascend.

Then, suddenly, I was struck as if by a thunderbolt.

Waves of energy began coursing through me, and a profound “knowing” washed over me: I was perfect, complete, and whole—and I could never be anything else. I burst out laughing. I laughed at all the effortful spiritual practices I had endured, and at the years of angst and anxiety I had spent trying to “fix” or change myself. The joke was on me: I was already there.

The Return of the Clouds

Over the following days, the initial elation drifted away. I felt almost back to where I started, though my consciousness had shifted; when I sat to meditate, I could drop into stillness instantly. Yet, the old mental patterns—the “dust” of the mind—returned and refused to vanish.

In the years since, I have come to view this experience through two distinct lenses:

Devotional: One could say that God perceives us exactly as we were created: perfect and complete. We are “made in the image of God,” the recipients of an unending fountain of unconditional love, regardless of our perceived failings.

Vedanta: This was a “crash course” in non-duality. We are what Vedanta calls the Atman, the Self that is identical to Brahman. We are Purnam (Fullness) and Ananda (Bliss).

Breaking Identification

The most vital lesson I learned is that the thoughts that trouble us are not us. We simply need to stop identifying with them, and they will lose their power.

Ramana Maharshi taught a direct path to realizing the Self:

“The thought ‘I am this body’ or ‘I am these thoughts’ is the source of all trouble. Stop identifying with the ‘I-thought,’ and the real ‘I-I’ (the Self) will shine forth.”

Ramakrishna used a beautiful analogy for this process:

“The heart of the devotee is like a mirror. If it is covered with the dust of worldliness, it cannot reflect the light of God. But when the dust is wiped away, the light shines forth.”

We are already the perfection we seek. We are not the dust; we are the mirror. We are not the flickering movies; we are the screen. Time may be required for the “dust” of old habits to settle, but the light itself is already present. You are already THAT.

Meditate upon the pure crystal, for it serves as a profound mirror to your true nature and the underlying fabric of reality.

The Sacred Order of the Lattice

A crystal’s beauty is not merely a surface phenomenon; it is the outward expression of a highly ordered, repeating arrangement of atoms. At the microscopic level, crystals are organized into a perfect, geometric lattice. They are the physical embodiment of order—a structure that grants them their immense strength and distinct shape. Even if a crystal is buried in the earth or remains unpolished, that internal geometry remains pristine.

Our “True Nature” is similar; it is not something we must construct or invent. It is the “Spiritual Lattice” already present within us. Just as a raw crystal may appear jagged on the outside while maintaining a perfect internal blueprint, the underlying structure of the Self remains untouched by the “mud” of daily worries or the perceived chaos of our lives. This lattice represents the Dharma—the divine order and purpose that supports the universe and every event within our individual journeys.

The Mirror of Clarity

A high-quality crystal can be so clear it becomes almost invisible, or so polished it acts as a perfect mirror. This represents the Sattvic mind. When the mind is “dusty”—clouded by rajas (restlessness) or tamas (inertia)—it obscures the light. However, when the mind is polished through meditation and spiritual practice, it reflects the light of the Atman without distortion. It becomes a vessel through which the Divine sees itself.

The Unchanging Witness

Imagine a perfectly clear, multi-faceted crystal resting in a vibrant room. As various objects pass by—a red rose, a blue silk cloth, a flickering candle—the crystal appears to change. For a moment, it seems red; then a deep blue; then a glowing gold. To the casual observer, the crystal has “become” these colors. But upon closer inspection, we realize the truth: the crystal itself has never changed. Its nature remains transparent, colorless, and utterly pure. It merely witnesses the passing show of the world without being stained by it.

Our thoughts, emotions, and the roles we play are like those colored cloths. They cast their shadows and light upon us, leading us to the mistaken belief that “I am angry” or “I am sad,” much like saying “the crystal is red.” In reality, the “I” that observes the anger is not angry; the “I” that observes the aging body is not old. The Self is the silent, perfect backdrop—the Unchanging Reality that allows every experience to be reflected within it while remaining exactly as it has always been.

The Microcosm of the Infinite

In science, the smallest unit of a crystal lattice—the “unit cell”—possesses the exact same geometry as the entire cluster. Whether the crystal is a grain of sand or a mountain, the blueprint is identical.

As Vedanta teaches, though we may perceive ourselves as small or limited, we are essentially of the nature of the unlimited and eternal Brahman. This is the essence of “Tat Tvam Asi” (Thou Art That). The “small” lattice of the individual soul (Jiva) is identical in structure and substance to the “infinite” lattice of Universal Consciousness. We are not merely “made in the image” of the Divine; we are the very fabric of the Divine itself.

“That which is luminous, subtler than the subtle, in which are centered all the worlds and those that dwell therein—that is the imperishable Brahman.” Mundaka Upanishad, 2.2.2

Just as the Mundaka Upanishad describes the Truth as ‘subtler than the subtle,’ we find that our True Nature is the microscopic blueprint of the Infinite. When we realize the ‘unit cell’ of our own consciousness, we simultaneously realize the structure of the entire Divine architecture. We are the grain of sand that contains the desert; we are the crystal that contains the Light.

There is no higher teaching than non-duality, because in one stroke it informs us about the nature of self, others, and the world in which we live. It is a formula that opens up a fountain of understanding.

It teaches us that our essential nature is not different from the essential nature of anything that we perceive. In other words, Oneness is the truth of reality.

Though nothing could be more simple, it is not easy to grasp at first. Or rather, it can be easily grasped in an intellectual sense, but making it a living reality that has the power to transform your personality is still a challenge.

In my studies of non-duality I came across a book entitled The Lost Writings of Wu Hsin, which the modern author Roy Melvyn presented as a translation of an ancient Chinese sage, said to have lived during the Warring States Period (roughly 403–221 BCE), about a hundred years after Confucius. His name literally translates to “No-Mind.” However, there is significant evidence and consensus among scholars that Wu Hsin is a fictional character. Melvyn framed himself as the “translator” of ancient texts of Wu Hsin, but no historical record of Wu Hsin exists, and no original Chinese manuscripts have ever been produced.

Regardless of the source of this material, The Lost Writings of Wu Hsin is worthy of contemplation. Below I have copied some of the content from the book, with commentary.

The inherent nature of mind is to process thought.

To attempt the cessation of thought goes against what is natural.

The goal, therefore, is not the cessation of thought.

The goal is cessation of identification with thought.

Commentary: This frames the issue that every meditator faces when trying to quiet the mind. The thinking mind is clearly an obstacle, but how to deal with thoughts? Having the thought “I must quiet the mind” is itself a thought. However, the Witness—the real You—is prior to thought. Recognizing that the thoughts are not “you” and allowing yourself to be a passive observer of them is the key to realizing the real You, eventually allowing the mind to naturally settle into its own quietness. 

The end of questioning is the same as the end of seeking.

Further and further explanations do not provide that which is sought.

Additional information does not provide that which is sought.

Drop these activities and rest in what is prior to all mental activity: Awareness.

Commentary: The spiritual neophyte has many questions. This is natural, as one must have an intellectual understanding of practices and the goal. However, questions and answers alone will not take you where you want to go. You must go within and learn to find and absorb yourself in the presence of your real Self; in doing so, you will find that the “need” for answers dissolves as the seeker itself disappears into the Source. 

When here becomes everywhere and

Now becomes always,

Then One has succeeded.

and…

Chasing after the things one yearns for

Is inferior to chasing after the source of the yearning.

Commentary: The mind is always projecting into the future, assuming that external experiences are necessary for happiness. There is a persistent feeling of incompleteness—a void that needs to be filled. However, all fulfillment is contained within the Self. Once you realize that the source of the yearning is the Self itself, the outward chasing comes to an end. On an absolute level, there is nothing that must be done or experienced to be “more” than what you already are.

What has been clung to as myself

Disappears in the course of time.

Yet, what has been steady throughout

 Is overlooked.

and…

There is no forest,

There is no cave,

There is no mountaintop

Where one can hide

From oneself.

Commentary: What we normally think of as ourselves—our bodies, thoughts, and emotions—are constantly changing and are not who we are. Our true Self is the Consciousness that remains the constant and unchanging Witness. It is so obvious that it is easily missed, but the delusion that consciousness is merely a byproduct of the brain is the source of tremendous confusion. You cannot hide from yourself because you are the very ground upon which all experience happens.

What begins as a crack

Becomes a window

Then a door

Until the entire structure vanishes.

Wu Hsin call this

The unfolding of awareness.

Commentary: Deep-seated ignorance is rarely overcome in a single flash. It takes time for cracks to form in the conceptual structure of the ego and for light to enter. Even then, it takes patience for the entire structure to come tumbling down. Still, even while the walls are standing, we can experience powerful glimpses of the light through those openings, until finally, there is no “inside” or “outside” left.

René Descartes’ famously declared, “Cogito, ergo sum”—“I think, therefore I am.” This suggests that the proof of existence lies in mental activity. But if the self is defined by thought, what happens when the mind goes quiet? In deep sleep, anesthesia, or moments of intense flow, the “thinking” stops—yet existence remains.

The argument “I am because I am aware” suggests that awareness is the stage, while thought is merely a performer. The performer can leave the stage, but the stage doesn’t vanish.

The Great Debate: Anatta (no-self) vs. Atman (self)

Centuries before the Enlightenment, the East grappled with this same tension. Their debate provides a sophisticated framework for understanding why awareness might trump thought. 

Buddhism argues that we are a process, not a permanent self. By dissecting what we consider “me” into five aggregates (form, sensation, perception, mental formations, and consciousness), it claims that nowhere can a permanent “I” be found. If you strip away your thoughts, memories, and physical sensations, what is left? For the Buddhist, the search for a permanent “thinker” behind the thoughts is like peeling an onion—eventually, you find there is no core, only layers of process.

Advaita Vedanta, conversely, identifies a “witness-consciousness” (Sakshi) that observes this flux. It argues that for change to be perceived, there must be something changeless against which to measure it. To say “I am because I am aware” is to claim that consciousness is ontologically prior to thought.

The Self-Shining Light

According to Adi Shankara, awareness is the only thing that doesn’t require a second thing to prove its existence. It is Swayamprakasha—self-shining. In the Atma Bodha (Knowledge of Self), Shankara uses a beautiful analogy to explain why awareness doesn’t need “thinking” to prove it exists:

“Just as a lamp illumines a jar or a pot, so also the Self illumines the mind and the sense organs… But a lighted lamp does not need another lamp to illumine its light.”

Think of your thoughts as furniture in a room. Awareness is the light in that room. The furniture changes, is moved, or is taken away, but the light remains constant; it is the only reason you know the furniture exists at all. Shankara’s logic follows a specific line of reasoning: The Seer is not the Seen. Because you can observe a thought, you cannot be the thought. You are the subject doing the observing; your thoughts are merely objects of your perception.

The Silent Witness

When we move from “I think” to “I am aware,” we move from a state of doing to a state of being. We stop identifying with the turbulent surface of the ocean (thoughts) and start identifying with the depths of the water (awareness).

Descartes looked at the activity of the mind and saw a creator. The Eastern traditions looked at the same activity and saw a passing cloud. If we define ourselves by our thoughts, we are as fragmented and volatile as the weather. But if we define ourselves as the awareness in which those thoughts arise, we find a sense of self that is:

Continuous: It doesn’t disappear when you stop thinking.

Unchanging: The awareness that watched your childhood dreams is the same awareness watching your adult anxieties.

Fundamental: It is the “primary ground” of all experience.

By moving away from Descartes’ “I think,” you move away from a definition of yourself that is exhausting and unstable. Shankara’s “I am aware” provides a ground that doesn’t shift. Your true nature is not a result of your mental activity, but the requirement for it. You don’t have to “do” anything to exist; you simply are the silent, self-shining witness to the dance of your own thoughts. You are the eternal in a world of constant flux.

“The Sun of Knowledge, rising in the sky of the heart, destroys the darkness of ignorance… it shines and makes everything else shine.” — Atma Bodha, Verse 67