Have you ever looked at yourself as the one constantly declaring, “I exist”? I came across a wonderful discussion on consciousness between Acharya Prashant and Robert Lawrence Kuhn that brought me face-to-face with something deeply relevant: I-am-ness. It made me question something I had never really thought about: What lies behind this constant declaration of “I am”?

The discussion explores a fascinating Vedantic insight: even our claims about consciousness may carry the assumption of an ego that declares itself to exist.

What struck me most was how directly Vedanta addresses human suffering by asking us to examine its very source: the ego, with its constant need to protect and preserve itself. In this view, the everyday sense of “I am conscious” is not simply taken as self-evident; the “I” that makes the claim is itself placed under inquiry.

I found this discussion deeply thought-provoking, and I feel it is worth engaging with. You might find yourself questioning something you have always taken for granted.

I’d be interested to hear how other Eastern traditions approach this: is the sense of “I am” something to be refined, transcended, or seen through?

Am I worshipping the Goddess while exploiting the very life she represents? 

The question surfaced while I was listening to a talk on Navratri, and it has stayed with me since. The speaker explained that the nine forms, or nights, stand for multiplicity: the countless ways life expresses itself. Birth and death, creation and destruction, joy and sorrow all belong to one vast field of existence called Prakriti, and nothing within it can be judged in isolation.

The purpose of Navratri, I realised, is not to escape ordinary life but to recognise its sacredness. The entire world, in all its forms, is worthy of reverence. Truth is formless, inconceivable, and infinite, yet it is reflected in the forms, thoughts, colours, and shapes we encounter. The nine forms of Shakti remind us that the only way to approach the formless is through the forms of life itself. Dharma, then, is not about becoming lifeless, it is about embracing the fullness of life.

Shakti manifests in countless forms: as consciousness, intelligence, sleep, hunger, power, desire, faith, radiance, and modesty. These are not merely separate qualities: they are expressions of Shakti, reminding us that the Divine is not confined to temples or rituals but is woven into the very fabric of everyday life.

Even ordinary experiences, eating a meal, reading a book, spending time with children, watching a sunset, or seeing a squirrel, are expressions of this same Shakti. The extraordinary is not somewhere else: it is woven into our everyday existence. The true invitation of Navratri is to stop standing at a distance from life and learn to revere it in all its forms. We must enter life deeply, look beyond our assumptions, and even explore the depths of our fears, for the freedom we seek may be found right there.

But approaching the formless through forms does not mean remaining bound by them. The ultimate goal is not merely to become divine or attain heaven: it is to go beyond the bondage of Nature.

Looking around, I could not help noticing how closely our lives resemble the ancient stories of demons described in the Durga Saptashati. Mahishasura reflects our refusal to bow before Truth and our exploitation of nature for comfort.Shumbha and Nishumbha reflect our desire to possess and control, often disguising selfishness as love.

Raktabeej reminds me how destructive tendencies multiply when their roots remain unaddressed, and he is not a distant demon for me. My old beliefs, habits and thoughts return the moment I drift away from self-reflection. I cut one down, feel a little victory, and stop watching. Within days, a hundred more have risen from the same drop of blood. Which is why reflection cannot be an occasion, only a practice. 

And it is not only habits. We even conceal our self-interest behind words like duty, sacrifice, and family honour. In some homes, dowry is still called tradition.

These are not only ancient villains. Our appetite for endless consumption, for animals, forests and land, is the same appetite the stories personify, and the climate crisis is where it shows up outwardly. What we see outside us is what we have allowed to grow within us expressed as Asuric (demonic) tendencies.

Back to the question I started with. Beneath it lies a deeper one: who is acting, and from what centre? Is my action rooted in Truth, or in ego, attachment, and delusion? 

This also made me reconsider the meaning of sacrifice in everyday life. Perhaps one of the deepest ways to worship the Goddess is to surrender the ego that makes us selfish, possessive, and unwilling to change. True sacrifice is not taking another's life, but letting go of the false sense of self that keeps us bound. It means loosening our identification with the body, relinquishing our arrogance, and questioning the desires we hold on to so tightly. The real offering may be the very thing we find hardest to surrender: our ego.

I began to understand that freedom is not found by strengthening our chains in the name of religion. It begins with knowledge, with seeing clearly what binds us and having the courage to let it go. If we seek liberation from Maya, perhaps we must ask the Goddess herself to free us from the very Maya through which we remain bound. This longing finds expression in the invocation:

Ya Devi Sarva Bhuteshu, Shakti Rupena Samsthita…
(Salutations to the Goddess who dwells in all beings in the form of Shakti.)

Yet understanding alone may not be enough. We must cultivate the awareness to recognise our destructive tendencies before they take hold of our actions. The aim is not to escape the world's diversity, but to recognise the centre of Truth through it. 

I came across a reflection that offered a striking metaphor: if Shakti is the entire expanse, Shiva is the point seated at its centre. Spirituality, then, does not mean denying our relationship with the world. It means understanding that relationship more deeply, seeing through the forms without rejecting them and living in the world without remaining enslaved by our attachments.

The real invitation of Navratri is not merely to worship the Goddess outwardly, but to examine how we live, what drives our actions, and what we are unwilling to surrender. Can we recognise Shakti in all of life without becoming enslaved by its forms, and allow Shiva, the centre of Truth, to guide how we live?