Why the Monk should not have sold his Ferrari

Because the two are one and the same thing!

A decade ago, I reached that stage in life when, instead of doing something sensible like changing the batteries on the smoke detectors or organizing the photos on my phone, I spent my time studying Advaita Vedanta. I figured if I didn’t achieve “liberation” soon, I might have to come back and do this all over again. The prospect of having to sit next to Sally David in 5th grade, writing college entrance examinations, and opening a new account on TikTok in my next life was enough to make me read the Upanishads until my eyes watered.

I’m here to tell you all about it today.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Bruv, I’d rather listen to a four-hour podcast on the history of the lumber industry in Oregon than hear about ancient Indian philosophy.” And that is exactly why I am writing this. I am a man globally renowned for explaining things that absolutely no one asked for.

I realize you’re just trying to enjoy a chai and a samosa in peace while you read this. But bear with me for a New York minute.

Advaita Vedanta may, quite possibly, be the most profound idea humans have come up with other than figuring out how to stuff cheese inside the pizza crust.

Wait, Come Back. Don’t leave.

The word “Advaitam” literally means “not two.” This is just a fancy way of saying that everything in the universe - the stars, the trees, the annoying beeps your neighbor’s car makes when he is backing out of the house, and that aggressive squirrel that keeps eating all my pomegranates - is the same thing.

According to the ancient sages (who never had to deal with rush hour traffic at the Silk Board junction), there is only one ultimate reality, called Brahman. The illusion that there are many things - the guy talking on the speakerphone in public, bad haircuts, IRS - instead of just one thing - Brahman - is just a very elaborate cosmic stage play called Maya.

In other words:

The Bad News: Your bank balance is an illusion.

The Good News: Your mortgage is also an illusion.

The Confusing News: You are actually the same thing as the bank, the money, and the guy who sent you a Late Fee Notice.

As an expert on this subject - having once sat cross-legged in meditation until my foot fell completely asleep - I will tell you that the hardest part of Advaita Vedanta is the “Non-Duality” bit.

We think we live in a world of Duality. Which is to say we think there is a “Me” and a “Not Me.” For example:

1. Me: The person who wants the last slice of cake.

2. Not Me: Someone else who randomly ate the last slice of cake without asking.

Vedanta says this is a huge misunderstanding. I am the cake. The person who ate it is also me. Technically, I HAVE eaten the cake. This appears to be a comforting thought until you realize you are still hungry.

We have to talk about the wave and the ocean thing.

To explain this to “laypeople” (what we experts call people who do useful things), the aforementioned sages used the analogy of a wave and the ocean. The wave thinks it’s a special, individual and amazing wave named “Srinivasan,” until it crashes into the shore and returns to the body of water named Bay of Bengal and - boom - it realizes it was just water the whole time.

Profound Thought of the Day: It’s like looking at a photo of a sunset and thinking you see sky, clouds, and colors, when in reality, you’re looking at a billion tiny pixels, all made of the exact same light. The experience of plurality - the idea that there are billions of separate things - is just a trick of the resolution. Reality is one single, infinite stream of light (consciousness).

I once tried to explain this to my wife when she was looking for a movie to watch on Netflix. I said, “Girl, why worry about what movie when the actors, director, music director, light boys, you and me are all part of Brahman?” She looked at me with a level of “duality” that suggested I should contemplate “oneness” from the guest room.

The thing about realizing you are Brahman (Aham Brahmasmi) is that it doesn’t actually help you find your car keys. Truth be told, we spend our lives worrying about a bunch of things.

For example, a person (me) may craft a profound post about Advaita Vedanta, only to have people read it and... then do nothing. No like. No comment. No share. For a Vedantin, this is the ultimate test of patience. If I and the lurker are one, then I have essentially just ignored myself. It’s the sound of one hand not tapping ‘Like’ on a touchscreen, and the other reaching for a glass of whisky in sadness.

Have you ever watched Kamal Hassan speak? He is so magnificently incoherent that you cannot understand a single thing. For all I know, he might be explaining Advaita Vedanta or just complaining about his cook. This is what we call Maya. It looks and sounds like something very important is happening, but the “meaning” is as elusive as a greased pig at a county fair.

These frustrations are all hallmarks of Samsara.

Samsara is the cosmic equivalent of being stuck in a revolving door at the airport while dragging six bags and wearing high heels.

Let’s talk about stuff that isn’t funny. Death. Grief. That hollow feeling when someone you love is hurting. As an expert, I’m supposed to tell you that “death is an illusion.” But when you’re grieving, that feels like a slap in the face.

The poetic truth is that grief is the price of admission for being able to love. It is the soul’s way of realizing that the “other” person was so much a part of “us” that their absence feels like losing ourselves. These painful things - the anxiety we feel for our kids, the sadness of saying goodbyes, knowing you’ve hurt someone you love - are the Universe’s way of cracking us open.

As we all know, there is “space” inside a pot. And there is space outside it. The pot thinks, “I am a very unique, individual container holding a very specific, high-quality batch of space.” It worries about its looks. It worries about being dropped. It worries about a lot of things.

What happens when the pot finally breaks? The space “inside” the pot simply merges with the space “outside.” They were never different to start with. There was only an arrangement of clay that made it appear so. When we lose someone, the container may be gone, but the “space” (consciousness) doesn’t go anywhere. It was already everywhere.

These are the moments that force us to put down our phones and ask: “Who is the ‘I’ that is hurting?” The Universe is a drama queen. She insists on teaching us lessons through poetry and tragedy rather than a simple text message.

People often ask me, “Bruv, why Vedanta? Are you okay? Why not pickleball?” The answer is simple: Pickleball requires me to do many things. Advaita requires me only to exist, which I was planning to do anyway.

Listen, the waves of life are going to crash and occasionally knock your sunglasses off. But beneath the surface, the “real you” is still, blissful, and completely fine.

You’re going to wake up someday and realize that every person you ever loved, every person who cut in front of you in the queue, was just Brahman talking to itself in different accents.

Honestly? The sooner you realize everyone you know is the same Brahman, the easier it’s gonna get for you to like and share this post with everyone.

Have a great weekend!

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