Yoga Vasistha sketches the ego as a clever storyteller, weaving an “I” out of shifting thoughts, memories and sensations. That little voice claiming “this is mine” gets its power from identification—grasping at transient images and labeling them “self.” Sage Vasistha shows how every layer of the ego’s narrative—from personal likes and dislikes to grand cosmic roles—rests on a misunderstanding. It mistakes reflections in a mirror for the mirror itself.

Prince Rama learns that the real “Self” isn’t the fleeting thoughts or the body’s dramas; it’s the ever-present awareness behind them. Imagine watching a movie: the screen remains untouched no matter how intense the plot becomes. According to Vasistha, pure consciousness behaves the same way—unchanged by any character or storyline that arises. Thoughts and emotions play out like actors on stage, while the Self is both the spotlight and the audience.

A striking dialogue compares the mind to a blank canvas splashed with colorful paint. Ego traits—pride, jealousy, ambition—are the brushstrokes that obscure the canvas. Once they’re recognized as mere colors, not the canvas itself, clarity returns. Awareness dissolves the ego’s solid-seeming walls, revealing boundless spaciousness. No wonder current mindfulness trends, from meditation apps to neuroplasticity research, echo these ideas: the brain’s “default mode network” lights up wherever the ego chatters on, and stillness quiets it.

Yoga Vasistha even likens the ego’s grip to a magician’s illusion. When the trick is seen for what it is—nothing but smoke and mirrors—it loses its hold. That awakening moment feels like stepping off a treadmill that’s been running nonstop. Peace replaces the itch to “do” and “be” in prescribed ways.

Modern seekers resonate with this ancient wisdom. Non-dual retreats from California’s redwood groves to Himalayan foothills all celebrate the same insight: self isn’t a thing to be found, managed or improved—it simply is, shimmering beneath every passing thought.