At the heart of Nisargadatta Maharaj’s dialogues lies a single, striking invitation: wake up to the ever-present “I Am.” That bare sense of being, he insists, is not a label for body or mind but the pure ground of awareness itself. Rather than chasing after identity in roles, memories or ideas, probing into the simple “I am” cuts through the clutter like a hot knife through butter.

Self-inquiry takes center stage. By turning attention inward and repeatedly asking “Who am I?” any imagined boundary between observer and observed begins to dissolve. Thoughts, emotions and sensations are revealed as passing phenomena, like clouds drifting across a blue sky. What remains is that vast openness—unchanging, timeless, free of stories.

Detachment isn’t about cold indifference but about recognizing every object of perception as a guest in one’s own house of consciousness. Clinging to pleasure here or fleeing pain there only deepens the sense of separation. Learn to rest as the silent witness and the world’s ups and downs lose their power to unsettle.

Another gem: the mind is a fantastic servant but a lousy master. When preoccupied with its endless chatter—social media trends, next-year goals, the latest tech gossip—the real Self gets sidelined. In today’s swipe-obsessed era, this advice feels eerily prescient. Apps promising mindfulness hint at it, yet Nisargadatta goes straight to the source: awareness itself, no frills attached.

Finally, bliss isn’t some far-off reward for future saints; it’s the natural fragrance of pure being. Once identification with “this” or “that” loosens its grip, that underlying joy shines through, unmistakable and immediate. No rites, no dogmas—just a willingness to look directly and let the truth reveal its own face.