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Introduction

Social media feeds feel like storm warnings—flashing red, relentless. In every scroll, 2025 is cast as a cursed year: wildfires that won’t die, wars without pause, economies tilting, systems cracking. The world feels brittle, on edge, like something is about to give. And everywhere, people are asking: What is happening this year?

News comes faster than breath. One crisis overlaps the next. A headline in the morning is an afterthought by night. In June, a Boeing 787 crashed seconds after takeoff in Ahmedabad, India, killing all on board, except one. This spring saw South Korea ravaged by its worst forest fires in history, claiming dozens of lives and displacing tens of thousands. In early April, global markets plunged following sweeping U.S. tariffs—sparked by trade wars—bringing back echoes of the 2020 crash. Across the Mediterranean, Israel’s conflict with Iran and Gaza triggered fears of oil‑market shocks and global inflation. Every scroll feels like a new tremor. And still, the world keeps turning—one viral hashtag, one emergency alert at a time.

It’s easy to feel buried under the nonstop flood of headlines and social media updates. The news can stir up strong emotions—worry, anger, frustration, dread—and it’s easy to get caught in thoughts about how wrong things are or how they should be different. These responses are deeply human and don’t deny the real suffering that many of these events involve. The world can seem more terrifying than ever. However, the view of the world is different for those who have a nondual vision. As Joan Tollifson mentions in her article, “Everything Goes Together – Nothing Can’t Be Pulled Apart”, June 21, 2025:

When we see the wholeness of everything, it eases the anxiety of that vulnerability, for we know that the whole is unborn and undying, endlessly dying and birthing in every instant, endlessly changing shape, and yet always being this one bottomless moment that never moves away from right here, right now. We see that horrible things can have beautiful outcomes, and that beautiful things can lead to horrible ones. We see that apparent polarities cannot be pulled apart. We can’t have up without down. And we see that no one (not me, not you, not God, not any world leader) is in control. We are all doing the only possible. Nothing could be other in this moment than exactly how it is.

Many people assume that enlightenment somehow shields a person from the harsh realities of life. In a way, it does—but not in the way we often imagine. Enlightened people can still fall ill, face loss, endure accidents, or experience emotional upheaval—at least from the outside. But what sets them apart is their way of seeing. Through the lens of non-duality, they are no longer bound by the push and pull of opposites. Pain and pleasure, success and failure, gain and loss—these no longer grip the mind as they once did. In nondual spiritual traditions, this state is often described as spontaneous samadhi.

The word samadhi, commonly associated with deep yogic trance, comes from Sanskrit: sama- meaning “equal” or “balanced,” and -dhi, from the root dhā, meaning “intellect” or “awareness.” Put together, samadhi suggests a mind in balance—a consciousness no longer tossed by the waves of duality. This is not a trance-like state but an enlightened seeing that shifts our relationship to world events. They may still be painful, but they no longer unseat us in the same way. There’s a steadiness that comes from recognising that everything, even the chaos, belongs to a single, inseparable whole.

In this article, I want to explore this paradoxical clarity of enlightenment—a state of mind that perceives perfection and wholeness even in the apparent imperfection and chaos of the world, with the hope that such an exploration can inspire people to seek the same vision and ultimately free themselves from suffering.

The Zenith of Enlightenment in Non-Dual Traditions

In Mundaka Upanishad, Verse 2.2.11 says:

All this before is immortal Brahman; certainly all behind is Brahman; all to the south and to the north; all below and all alone stretched out, i.e., extended, all this is certainly Brahman, the highest.

Shankara’s Commentary on this reads:

The statement, Brahman alone the light of lights is true and that all else is only its modification, a matter of speech is a mere name and falsehood first made and logically demonstrated at length (afterwards) is affirmed again as a conclusion by this mantra. That which is before us and which, in the eyes of the ignorant, appears to be not Brahman is certainly Brahman. Similarly what is behind us; so, that to the south; so, that to the north; so, that below, and that above and all that is extended everywhere in the form of effect, appearing otherwise than Brahman and possessed of name and form. Why say much? All this vast universe is Brahman certainly. All perception otherwise than as Brahman is mere ignorance, just as the perception of a serpent in a rope. The declaration of the Vedas is that the one Brahman alone is really true.

Nāgārjuna, a foundational Mahayana Buddhist philosopher, wrote in his seminal work, the Mūlamadhyamakakārikā (Fundamental Verses on the Middle Way). In Chapter 25, verses 19–20, Nāgārjuna writes:

“Samsara does not differ
Even slightly from nirvana.
Nirvana does not differ
Even slightly from samsara
The ultimate nature of nirvana
Is the ultimate nature of samsara;
And between these two, the slightest difference,
Even the most subtle, is not found.”

The verses above from the two non-dual traditions of Advaita and Buddhism are not simply asserting that “samsara is nirvana” in an ontological sense, but rather that there is no ultimate distinction between the two when seen through the lens of non-duality. From the ultimate perspective, the boundaries we draw between samsara and nirvana are conceptual and do not hold up under ultimate analysis. This is considered one of the most profound teachings in non-duality.

What is Nirvana or Brahman? It is knowledge that reality is unborn. Things, events, people – collectively called Dharmas in Buddhism – seem to arise, transform and dissolve from the perspective of the ignorant. They see the endless cycle of birth and death of forms, passing through the six modifications, which, as per Advaita are:

• Asti (अस्ति) – Existence: This refers to the initial state of a thing being. Before anything else, it must simply exist. This is the stage of its initial presence.
• Jayate (जायते) – Birth/Emergence: After existing, the entity comes into being, or is born/produced. This is its manifestation as a distinct form.
• Vardhate (वर्धते) – Growth/Increase: Once born, the entity undergoes growth, developing and increasing in size, complexity, or other attributes.
• Viparinamate (विपरिणमते) – Change/Transformation: Over time, the entity undergoes transformations, modifications, or alterations in its nature or form. This is the stage of evolution or adaptation.
• Apakshiyate (अपक्षीयते) – Decay/Decline: After reaching its peak, the entity begins to decline, wither, or decay. This is the process of degeneration.
• Vinashyati (विनश्यति) – Destruction/Death: Finally, the entity ceases to exist as a distinct form; it undergoes dissolution or death.

However, from the perspective of nonduality, this ever-shifting drama of life—the births, deaths, gains, losses—is ultimately an appearance, not a fixed reality. In truth, nothing is ever truly born, and nothing ever really dies. As Joan Tollifson puts it, “the whole is unborn and undying, endlessly dying and birthing in every instant, endlessly changing shape, and yet always being this one bottomless moment that never moves away from right here, right now.”

In this article, I won’t be diving into the complex philosophical arguments that non-dual traditions use to arrive at this insight. Instead, I want to offer a simpler way—one that looks closely at how we habitually label life events as good or bad, right or wrong, perfect or flawed. These judgments may seem obvious, but under the surface, they’re far more fragile than we think. As Tollifson also notes, “we see that horrible things can have beautiful outcomes, and that beautiful things can lead to horrible ones.” My hope is that by examining these everyday assumptions, the reader might begin to sense how fluid reality really is—and perhaps feel moved to explore these teachings further, not as abstract philosophy, but as a path toward freedom from suffering.

The Story of the Chinese Farmer – The Illusion of Control and Certainty

The wisdom of nonduality is not just a concept, but something deeply practical. When we stop dividing life into tidy categories of good and bad, gain and loss, we begin to see through the illusion of control and certainty. What seems tragic in one moment may reveal unexpected grace the next. What looks like success may quietly carry seeds of suffering. From the nondual view, life doesn’t play by our mental scorecards. It simply unfolds—fluid, unpredictable, whole.

To illustrate this, there’s an old story that captures the heart of this perspective more clearly. It’s the tale of a Chinese farmer, and his calm, simple word—maybe—says more about nonduality than a thousand definitions.

The same sense of paradox is expressed in Peter Brown’s early book, Dirty Enlightenment: The Inherent Perfection of Imperfection:

Participant: I like your analogy of the ripples in a pond—you set something into motion, and you have good intentions, but you can’t know ALL the effects that will follow on your actions

Peter: Of course. Say you’re walking by a stream and see an innocent child who’s drowning, so you run in and save its life. But that child might turn out to be the great-grandfather of a horrible tyrant who’s going to cause the deaths and torture of millions of people. How can you know?

Participant: So, do you suggest we shouldn’t save the child?

Peter: No, not at all. I’m suggesting that whether or not you save the child has more to do with how the energy of reality that is appearing as YOU is functioning at the moment you pass the stream, than with whether or not there’s an objective situation that you can know anything about. In other words, you WILL do what you WOULD do in those circumstances, including whatever stories you’re telling yourself about why you’re doing it. And what you WOULD do is subject to constant revision as the energy flow that constitutes your being constantly develops from one moment to the next.

—Peter Brown, Dirty Enlightenment, p 89

As Peter explains, realising the nondual nature of reality doesn’t mean we become passive or stop responding to life. It means that every action we take—every response that arises—happens exactly as it must, shaped by our conditioning and by the vast web of causes and conditions that make up the universe in that moment. Not only this, our actions do not promise or guarantee unequivocal success as per our conceptions.

Advaita teaches, understanding the nondual nature of reality doesn’t mean the body-mind stops acting or responding. Rather, it’s recognised that all action is the play of the gunas—sattva (clarity), rajas (activity), and tamas (inertia)—arising in prakriti, the field of nature/web of causes and conditions. The individual, or jiva, is not the true doer. Actions unfold according to the momentum of past conditioning (vasanas) and the interplay of the gunas in any given moment. From the standpoint of the Self (Atman), which is pure awareness and untouched by activity, all doing happens naturally, without personal authorship. Just as the wind blows or fire burns, the body-mind moves as it must, shaped by countless causes—but the Self remains still, silent, and free.

According to nondual traditions, the way out of suffering doesn’t lie in trying to control life through action. Every action we take arises from an unfathomable web of causes and conditions—far too complex to predict or fully grasp. We can’t truly know what any outcome will lead to, nor can we control the ripple effects of what we do. As Alan Watts reflects in his comments on the story of the Chinese farmer, “The whole process of nature is an integrated process of immense complexity, and it’s really impossible to tell whether anything that happens in it is good or bad—because you never know what will be the consequence of the misfortune; or, you never know what will be the consequences of good fortune.” And that is why the Bhagavad Gita exhorts the seeker to work without bothering for consequences, when it says in Verse 2.47

“You have the right to perform your prescribed duties, but you are not entitled to the fruits of your actions. Never consider yourself the cause of the results of your activities, nor be attached to inaction.”

~ Bhagavad Gita, Verse 2.47

Seeing Inaction in Action and Perfection in Imperfection

If actions do not guarantee any success or perfection, one may be tempted to withdraw from action, assuming that would keep one safe from the maelstrom of consequences of actions. Total inaction may emerge as an enticing candidate for a state of perfection. In fact, quite a few spiritual philosophies veer to this form of inaction through ascetism and trying to achieve yogic trance states.

However, nondual traditions – see the Bhagavad Gita quote above – do not advocate withdrawal from life or rejection of action. The issue is not action itself, but the mistaken belief in personal authorship and the pursuit of outcomes as a path to freedom. In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna does not tell Arjuna to avoid the battlefield. True nondual insight doesn’t stop action; it dissolves the sense of separation behind it. What remains is spontaneous, choiceless movement arising from the whole, not from the illusion of an isolated individual trying to manage reality. Just as every wave is inseparable from the ocean, there is no separate self apart from the whole to have or not have free will.

We may still find ourselves making choices, setting goals, or moving toward certain outcomes—but we’re no longer driven by the chase for some perfect, imagined state. We’re simply living, moment by moment, doing what we’re naturally moved to do. Our plans and ambitions still arise, but we see them for what they are: part of the vast movement of life itself. Desires, thoughts, emotions, preferences—all of it flows from a much larger whole, not from a separate self in control. We begin to make peace with the messiness of it all, knowing that outcomes won’t always match our intentions. As Peter’s book suggests, there’s a kind of quiet clarity in recognising the perfection within imperfection. It’s a deep kind of peace—not the kind that depends on everything feeling calm or resolved, but the kind that accepts even restlessness. It’s the peace of being exactly as we are, without needing anything to be different.

Like a wave on the ocean, we rise, move, and fall according to forces we do not direct. Yet the wave is never separate from the ocean—it is the ocean in motion. In the same way, our lives are the unfolding of the whole, and peace comes not from controlling the wave, but from knowing we’ve never left the ocean. The following verses from the Ashtavakra Gita sum it up befittingly:

Verse 2.25. How wonderful! In me, the shoreless ocean, the waves of individual selves, according to their nature, rise, strike each other, play for a time and disappear. ​ ​

Verse 2.4 : As waves, foam and bubbles are not different from water, so the universe emanating from the Self is not different from It. ​ ​

Verse 3.3 : Having known yourself to be That in which the universe appears like waves on the sea, why do you run about like a miserable being?

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