The Practice of Immortality by Ishan Shivanand

You see, we naturally perceive the world in duality – which means we see the different things in the world as different from one another.

The chair is different from the sofa, the sofa is different from the TV, the TV is different from me, and so on.

This is the world of differences: different things that are different from each other.

But look deeper in these things, what commonalities do you find?

Educated by modern science we know that at the atomic level, all things are made up of the same 118 elements, and those things differ from each other by the composition and configuration of those elements in the thing.

Further down we know that the elements themselves are made up of three subatomic particles – protons, electrons and neutrons – and it is the configuration of the particles that makes one atom different from another.

Go further down still and you find that even subatomic particles – protons and neutrons – are made up of quarks – and it is the direction of the quarks (up or down), and the valence that makes the proton different from the neutron.

Go further down still and you find that quarks are made up of excitations in the six fundamental quark fields.

And perhaps one day in the future we will see the discovery of even more fundamental fields.

As science has progressed we have realised that what we used to consider fundamental had previously unseen substructures.

In truth, there is only an apparent difference, only a perceived difference, between things – science has shown what we previously considered duality and difference was in fact joined and unified at a more fundamental level.

Beyond the scientific, however, there is another logical perspective to consider when thinking about non-duality.

All things, as different as they might be from one another, will always have the most fundamental thing in common: they all exist.

Existence is what unites this carnival of differences we see around us.

In the Indian tradition of Advaita Vedanta it is said that Brahman is the ground of all existence – it is not a thing that exists but rather is the fact of existence of all things.

Brahman is the ground from which all things emerge, similar to how quarks and anti-quarks emerge from excitations in quantum fields. And Brahman is the ground in which all things merge back, similar to how quarks and anti-quarks combine to annihilate each other.

Everything is change. The furniture you see around you was once wood, which itself was once a seed, sunlight, and water. And in the future, the same piece of furniture will likely become ash or wood shavings as its useful life ends and it is repurposed to some other end. You can imagine several such examples of going back and forth in time.

Form after form, change after change – but underneath it’s the same ongoing fact of existence. The seed changed into the tree, which then changed into a chair, which then changed into ash – the forms changed, but the fundamental fact that “something” existed remained.

Whatever has existed, whatever exists today, and whatever can exist – all three must emerge from this fundamental thing that never changes – existence itself.

The infinite, fundamental substrate myriad shapes and forms arise and dissolve back into, but which itself continues on indefinitely.

Which is to say that your real nature – consciousness (or awareness) – is not a thing that exists in this vast universe but rather is the very fact of existence, the same thing as Brahman.

And because the universe exists, which means it is part of Brahman, means that it is part of you as consciousness.

Considering your true nature as consciousness, you do not exist in the universe, rather the universe exists in you.

In the Advaitic Vedantic sense, the most fundamental thing that can exist – existence itself – is the same as consciousness.

Objects don’t “gain” consciousness when they arise; rather, they appear in consciousness (like waves in water). And it is said that when things get sophisticated enough they may start to “reflect” this fundamental consciousness pervading existence and thus become self-conscious – and that is what happens with human brains.

This reflected consciousness, deluded by Maya, starts to think that “I am this body, and this mind, and this is all I have and am.”².

Particularly, it does not realise that the mind it is experiencing at that moment is a mere vessel reflecting it, and that in reality it is everywhere and everything. Like electricity thinking it is the fan and not knowing the fan works because of it.

Further, it is the same consciousness, not different kinds of consciousness, that is “powering” other minds – fundamental as it is, and the same as existence, it cannot be any other way.

Different minds = different experiences. But the same experiencer.

The fact of your own existence is the only thing you can ever be sure of – as Descartes famously said with cogito ergo sum.

If you think that the brain is the seat of consciousness then consider that it is sealed in a vat (your skull) in pitch black darkness.

To experience anything of the outside world, it needs your sense organs. And even then it does not experience those things directly – as we learned in the Field Note on A Brief History of Intelligence by Max Bennett, the brain constructs a simulation of the world for “you” and you always live inside this simulation.

Incoming sensory input is compared to the simulation and in case of disparity, the simulation is adjusted to match incoming data – that is why during absence of sensory data, such as sleeping, your simulation can run wild which you experience in the form of fantastical dreams.

Once upon a time on a high mountain peak, a master was teaching his disciple. The disciple was having trouble meditating on the concept of existence as consciousness.

He could clearly see all of the other mountains around him, and the birds, and the plants, and the trees, and the wind blowing. But he could not see, no matter how hard he tried, this thing – consciousness – that his master was calling the most fundamental thing.

The disciple asked, “If it were truly fundamental, then shouldn’t consciousness be everywhere, all the time?”.

The master replied, “Look straight. Tell me what you see in front of you?”.

“This cliff we’re on, its few shrubs and grass.”, replied the disciple.

“And what exists beyond that?”, the master pressed on. “The bushes at the edge of the cliff”, came the reply.

Master: “And what exists beyond that?”.

Disciple: “The fence marking the edge of the cliff.”.

Master: “And what exists beyond that?”.

Disciple: “The cliff drop and the deep valley.”.

Master: “And what exists beyond that?”.

Disciple: “Another mountain, and after that, even more mountains.”.

Master: “And what exists beyond that?”.

Disciple: “The great plains I suppose, and the smorgasbord of cities”.

Master: “And what exists beyond that?”.

Disciple: “The vast ocean, I am told.”.

Master: “And what exists beyond that?”.

Disciple: “Well, I suppose the Earth would curve underneath so I’d be in outer space. That is to say, among the other planets of the solar system.”.

Master: “And what exists beyond that?”.

Disciple: “Beyond the solar system I am told there are other stars in the galaxy ‘Milky Way’.”.

Master: “And what exists beyond that?”.

Disciple: “Other galaxies, and then galaxies upon galaxies, countless.”.

Master: “And what exists beyond that?”.

Disciple: “Beyond all galaxies? The blackness of the universe I think.”.

Master: “And what exists beyond that?”.

The disciple closed his eyes and meditated on this thought for hours, searching for the thing that still existed beyond the Earth, the galaxies, the universe, even the blackness beyond the universe, and suddenly it dawned on him as he exclaimed: “Why, it’s me!”.

Upon realising this, the disciple gained enlightenment.

The way of Devotion

Known as Bhakti Yoga, it is about worshipping a higher universal power, God. Instead of worshipping the individual pieces of creation – such as other men and women, or natural phenomenon like the weather, or natural awe-inspiring wonders like Mt. Kilimanjaro or the Grand Canyon – the Bhakta worships the Creator itself.

They see all this awesome creation around them – the natural cycles of birth and death, how nature stays in balance, how a tsunami wave rises and falls, how the sun rises like clockwork – and develop deep reverence and awe for the majesty of the one who would have created all this in the first place. Oftentimes, the Bhakta will revere the Creator in manifest form, like a Krishna statue or an image of Rama, or in symbolic form like the Shivling.

Very much like romantic love – where one cannot help but think about their beloved at every moment, see their beloved in the most mundane things – that is how life is like for the Bhakta.

From the way of devotion it’s a very short journey to the way of action, a.k.a. Karma Yoga – should the Bhakta decide to engage with the world.

You see, when they fall in love with the divine, the devotee can fall into one of two extremes.

They can completely withdraw from the world and focus all their energies into pure devotion, worshipping the image of their God, or they can decide to engage with the world still very much devoted to the Lord, but now seeing in every being an image of the Lord.

This is the way of selfless (or righteous) service, this is the way of unattached service – where one serves for the fact of serving and not what that serving can get them in terms of material gain.

Known as Jñāna Yoga (”Jñāna” is pronounced as “Gyana”).

This is the path where the person uses their intellect to discriminate between the changing and the unchanging – developing dispassion (Vairagya) towards the changing.

Jñāna Yoga is considered one of the harder paths to enlightenment. 

When a child asks, “Daddy, why is there so much suffering in the world?”, they are asking the same question that has flummoxed humanity for as long as it has considered itself humanity.

Different traditions and religions give different answers to this question, but as far as the book is concerned, there is just one answer. The root cause of suffering is perceived duality.

The feeling of “I am different from the world.”. This feeling morphs into the twin brothers called Raaga and Dvesha, i.e. desire and aversion.

The being that perceives duality, that sees “me” different from the “other”, must naturally develop the desire towards things that it thinks lead to its growth, and aversion from things that it thinks lead to its decay (Abhinivesh).

1. The first one is “I am this body.” or “I am this mind.”. This leads to attachment when we think that we are a limited body-mind complex. Then we try very hard to sustain the body-mind complex, doing all kinds of things that we feel, we will help us sustain this body mind complex – from trying to make lots of money, sometimes at the expense of others and the planet, to trying all sorts of bio-hacks.
2. The second delusion is “What is in front of me is the only truth.”. This delusion keeps us trapped in the world, especially the immediate world that we see, and we never venture outwards beyond me appearances. Think of the man who is hyper tuned to the 24×7 news cycle, following various events in his neighbourhood, community, and country – such a man may be well informed about the current state of his world, but such a life also means that he will never find the time to go beyond these news stories. He will continue to be swept up and down with the news, feeling happy when favourable news is announced, feeling dejected when unfavourable news is announced – his emotional state is not unlike a ship in a storm that is thrown high in the air with one wave and plunges deep below with another. Finding peace in this way is very difficult.
3. The third delusion is “The goal of my life is to fulfil my senses.”. As you will know, this is the hedonic treadmill. A person chases after one pleasure or the other one shiny thing or the other. Always running towards the next object that will gratify his senses. Whether that is food, or sex, or drugs, or entertainment, or any of the myriad ways you can serve your desires. Such a person becomes a slave of their own senses. In the Bhagavad Gita, it is said that the body can be considered like a chariot, where the horses are the senses. For a person who thinks that the goal of life is gaining pleasure, avoiding pain and gratifying senses – such a person is like the passenger on the chariot who allows the horses to go wherever they want, taking the chariot here or there, into the bushes or over a boulder. The horses who are supposed to be the servant of the passenger have become the master.

Therefore, ignorance is the root cause of all suffering. Indeed, per the Hindu tradition, not only is it the root cause of all suffering – it is the root cause of everything that exists.

What happens is this:

• A being perceives itself as different from the rest of the universe because of ignorance, i.e. Avidya.
• Out of this ignorance is born the ego, Asmita.
• Out of ego comes the desire, Raaga, for certain things that lead to the continuation and growth of the ego, and aversion, Dvesha, from things that lead to the ego’s decay and death.
• Thus, the being acts, but this is not mere action – It is action motivated due to desire or aversion – Karma is created.
• For every action, there is a reaction – thus starts the cycle of birth and death, Samsara. The egoistic being does something, which leads to a reaction somewhere else in the universe – one thing leads to another that leads to another, like dominos toppling – and the machine of existence spins up. Things come into being, they stick around for some time, and then they go out of being but the machine rumbles along.

From that lens, the world exists (or, more technically, appears to exist) because of ignorance.

Normally, when we ask why, we’re tracing cause → effect: why is the glass broken? → because it fell.

But if you keep asking why long enough, you eventually run out of causes. You bump into the uncaused cause, something that “just is”.

The question “Why does anything exist at all?” is asking about that ground. It’s not asking about things within the chain of cause and effect—it’s asking about the chain itself.

Why did the chain of cause and effect itself start? This question cannot be answered the way we are used to – causally.

So, humanity tried alternate approaches – such as, “there is no first cause” (Buddhism), or “a great being created himself and then created us in his image” (Christianity), or “we exist because someone ran us” (Simulation hypothesis) – each with its pros and cons.

The Hindu tradition has had its own approach – Leela – the divine play. Existence exists for the joy of expressing itself. Creation is an outcome of the playful nature of the divine

What is the reason a toddler plays? The reason they spontaneously develop games out of the most mundane things. Are they looking for recognition that they can play the “best” game? Are the looking to impress? No, the reason they play is because … they want to play.

The act of play is causa sui, autotelic (its own end), similarly the Hindu tradition considers existence as an act of divine play – Leela – which is causa sui.

In other words, how do you realise your true, “immortal” nature, and act accordingly – that is what this book is about.

Shivanand states: “When I speak of immortality, I am not speaking of some mythical state; I am speaking of an attitude.”.

The book contains practices from a larger program Shivanand has devised called Yoga of Immortals.

These practices taught in the program helps one experience their (which is also the universe’s) ultimate nature.

Of course, this is just one approach, just one path, just one yoga, to the same destination – enlightenment.

Yoga of Immortals itself emerged from a spiritual movement, started by Ishan’s father Avdhoot, called Shiv Yog.

It presents itself as a householder-friendly path (which makes it an easier one to follow than some other more paths), it blends elements from Vedanta, Tantra (especially Śrī Vidyā), mantra sādhanā, kundalinī/energy work, and bhakti.

In Shaivism, Shiva represents the Absolute Consciousness — the unchanging, infinite ground of existence.

Not a person, but the infinite ground of existence in which all things arise and dissolve.

This pure consciousness needs Shakti to manifest. Shakti is the dynamic power – the universe, energy, movement, change – it is understood to be the feminine counterpart to Shiva.

Together: Consciousness (Shiva) + Energy (Shakti) = All of Existence. The individual being (Jiva) is, in essence, Shiva. But through ignorance, beings identify only with body, mind, ego, forgetting their true nature. The spiritual journey is about recognising (not becoming) that you are already Shiva. Liberation (Moksha) comes not by escaping the world, but by realising that the world itself is the play (Leela) of Shiva-Shakti.

Everything then, even mundane daily life, is a form of divine manifestation.

Why does it matter so much?

Because the mind is fickle. Left to its own devices, it drifts with moods, desires, and distractions. A saṅkalp (vow) holds you steady when your emotions or circumstances shift.

• In worldly life: the same principle applies. Athletes, entrepreneurs, writers—anyone who has achieved mastery—did so by taking a vow of sorts: to show up, to repeat, to persist through the pain.
• In spiritual life: the vow ensures that practice becomes a channel, not a hobby. It creates the conditions for depth, for ripening. Without the vow, the practice remains casual and the results, shallow.

Anuṣṭhān saṅkalp also has a subtler power. By declaring, “I will commit,” you signal to the subconscious that this practice matters, and you signal to the universe that you are ready. Tradition holds that such commitment draws grace.

A related concept is the one of the living Sanjeevani Arts. One may treat yoga like a gym routine: something they “do” for 30 minutes and then shelve until the next day.

The Sanjeevani Arts flip that completely, they say:

• Every breath is practice. Prāṇāyām isn’t an exercise block, it’s how you relate to breath all day.
• Every interaction is practice. Seva (service), speech, and even conflict are opportunities to see divinity in others.
• Every thought is practice. Gratitude, mindfulness, mantra—each reframes ordinary mind chatter into spiritual alignment.

Respecting and managing this energy is critical for the seeker, as Shivanand underscores “Wherever your prana flows, that is what will manifest.”.

In Shaivism, Kundalinī is your personal Śakti (energy), resting at the mūlādhāra chakra, waiting to unite with Shiva at the crown of your head (sahasrāra chakra).

Chakras are energy centres in the body.

As it “ascends”, each chakra (energy center) in your body “opens,” expanding awareness from survival → creativity → power → love → expression → intuition → unity.

At culmination, Kundalinī unites with Shiva at the crown, representing enlightenment—the individual recognising itself as inseparable from the Infinite.

Prāṇa is the working fuel: Kundalinī doesn’t ascend because of belief alone. It rises because prāṇa—the life-force—has been conserved and directed.

Wherever prāṇa flows, consciousness follows.

Besides Chakras there are Nāḍīs and Granthis.

• Nāḍīs: Energy Pathways. Yogic texts describe 72,000 nāḍīs (subtle channels) in the body. The three most vital are
  • Iḍā (moon, left channel, cooling)
  • Piṅgalā (sun, right channel, heating)
  • Suṣumṇā (central channel, balance)
  • For spiritual awakening, prāṇa must be balanced in Iḍā and Piṅgalā so it can enter Suṣumṇā.
• Granthis: Energy Knots. Along the Suṣumṇā lie three “knots” (granthis)—psychological-energetic blockages that bind us to limited existence. If the chakra is the door to a higher plane, then a granthi is the jammed hinge — the stubborn knot of fear, ego, or attachment that keeps the door from swinging open. Each granthi “traps” prāṇa in worldly concerns. As the seeker purifies mind and body, prāṇa begins to loosen these knots.
  • Brahma Granthi (at the base of the navel): tied to survival, security, material attachment.
  • Viṣṇu Granthi (at the heart): tied to emotional entanglement, relationships, devotion.
  • Rudra Granthi (at the forehead): tied to ego, intellect, and the desire for power.

But for most of us, this window is dirty—clouded with dust, streaks, and grime. Instead of seeing the world clearly, we see a distorted reflection of ourselves, our biases, our fears, and our unexamined patterns.

The practice, then, is simple but not easy: clean the window. Gratitude, repetition, and consistency are the cleaning agents that clear the mind.

• Gratitude shifts our attention from lack to abundance, breaking the cycle of endless craving.
• Repetition builds grooves of stability in thought and action, redirecting the restless mind towards clarity.
• Consistency—the most overlooked but most essential ingredient—makes the polish effective, for nothing is difficult with consistency, and nothing of worth can be achieved without it.

Interestingly, this same principle has been echoed by modern writers like James Clear, Charles Duhigg, and Cal Newport, who have shown how habits, systems, and focused work shape lives. But Shivanand’s point goes deeper: what is at stake is not just productivity or achievement, but our very ability to perceive reality as it is, free from the distortions of ego.

Awareness & Mindfulness — Live now

What it is: Training the mind to rest in present-moment contact (body, breath, sense data, task-at-hand), rather than ricocheting between replay (past) and preplay (future). In Shivanand’s terms: wherever attention goes, prāṇa follows—so present-centering is prāṇa hygiene.

Why it works:

• Present attention switches the system from rumination loops to sensory contact, which downshifts anxiety and clarifies perception.
• Moment-to-moment awareness interrupts the “autopilot → habit loop,” letting you respond instead of react.
• Consistent present attention steadily polishes the window of mind; less self-reflection, more reality-contact.

How to cultivate:

• One-breath reset: 3–5 times a day, pause → exhale fully → feel the body’s weight → soften jaw/eyes → attend to one full in-breath and out-breath. Name the next action aloud.
• Single-task consecration: Before any task, whisper: “This, only this.” Work for 10–25 minutes with phone away; then rest.
• Body as anchor: Keep subtle awareness in a live area (nostrils, heart, belly, soles). When mind drifts, return kindly—no commentary.

Telltales you’re “in now”: more sensory detail, wider peripheral awareness, slower inner narration, kinder choices.

Vairāgya – Dispassion

What it is: Dispassion for things that do not take you further on your spiritual journey. It helps you focus on the things that do matter. You still care; you simply don’t cling.

Why it works:

• Clinging ties prāṇa into tight knots (granthis as we discussed) and narrows perspective. Dispassion unlocks energy, making action cleaner and perception less distorted.
• It converts “results-seeking” into duty-seeking (Karma Yoga): full effort, light hold.

How to invite:

• Memento-mori, gently: Daily 30 seconds: “This, too, passes.” Not to depress—just to release the chokehold.
• Open-hand practice: Before/after a key effort, unclench both hands and say, “I offer the fruits.” Feel the softening in chest/face.
• Deliberate constraints: Small vows (anuṣṭhān saṅkalp) reduce option-addiction and teach sufficiency (e.g., one platform, one time-window, one metric).
• Give something you want to keep: A tiny, regular act of generosity breaks the spell of possession.

Guardrails: If you feel numb, you’ve drifted into apathy. True vairāgya feels clear, tender, and energized, not dull.

Satsaṅg

The presence of wise company is a force multiplier on the spiritual path, and finding the right company makes treading the path a lot easier.

Why company matters: You entrain to the nervous systems you sit with. Satsaṅg (wise company) accelerates trait-level change. As Angela Duckworth said in Grit, the fastest way to become a grittier person is to join a gritty culture, same logic here.

How it helps:

• State → trait: Being held in a coherent field lets your system taste clarity; repetition makes that taste native.
• Shortening error cycles: Mentors and seniors in a group correct subtle drifts you can’t see from inside your story.
• Accountability with compassion: Loving pressure sustains consistency when inspiration flags.

How to find:

• Persons with humility, transparency, clear boundaries; points you back to your own direct knowing. Teaches methods, not dependency.
• Lives the teaching (ordinary kindness, integrity) more than they market it.

No satsang nearby? Curate a “digital” sangha (alive books/lectures). Who you sit with—physically or digitally—you become. If you want my recommendation, it would be this.

Shivanand is clear that conscious surrender—the alert letting-go of ego’s grip—is qualitatively different from unconscious resignation.

One yields to the higher current, and in that yielding, practice becomes less “what I do” and more “what moves through me.”

This reminds me of a quote from the book The Great Work of Your Life by Stephen Cope:

We work first because we have to work. Then because we want to work. Then because we love to work. Then the work simply does us.

Shivanand emphasises prati-prasava, the “reverse birth,” as a structured process: retracing patterns to their root, consciously re-experiencing them in safety, and then releasing the emotional charge they hold. Without this inner archaeology, the same buried imprints keep surfacing in disguised forms, sabotaging relationships and practices alike.

The yogic tradition also speaks of the “two wolves within” — both born of the mind (mānas-putra), neither imported from the outside. One is fear, greed, anger; the other is love, compassion, clarity. The one you feed is the one that thrives. Knowing this is liberation: the enemy is not “out there,” but an inner offspring.

And then there is apasmāra — the dark passenger, the inertia that drags the seeker down, making him small. Instead of demonising it, yogis bow to it as a teacher. Its very resistance forces vigilance, discipline, and humility. In the book, Shivanand himself realises that his aparmāra was not evil, it was merely following its own dharma. To see your own apasmāra is to begin the path of mastery: not by suppressing it, but by honouring it without obeying it. In this way, clearing becomes less a battle and more a purification ritual — a constant turning of soil so the roots can breathe again.

But beware – the ego is a shape-shifter: it can wear the robe of a saint as easily as it can wear the suit of a king. Even the child of a siddha is not immune to its disguises – Shivanand recalls his own time as a youngster when he started to “… look down on everybody …” – and it took him dedicated effort to overcome he own ego. The true master knows how sneaky ego can be and keeps humility as his shield.

Mystical experiences (sākṣātkāra, direct glimpses of the Infinite) may arrive like lightning — visions, bliss-states, insights beyond words. But they are not the destination. They are mileposts, reminding the traveler that the road is real. To mistake the signpost for the arrival gate is to stall on the path. True mastery uses these moments as encouragement, not as identity.

Thus, the siddha is not defined only by her powers (siddhis) but also by sobriety. Not just by visions, but by vigilance too. Mastery looks ordinary from the outside, but inwardly it is oceanic calm — ego-controlled, vision-clear, life-aligned.

In the path of practice, the seeker constantly wonders: How do I know if this is real, if progress is happening?

Yogic traditions answer: through anubhava — direct lived experience. This verification is not stamped by any external authority, but by the texture of one’s own being.

• The first sign is in speech. Language that was once noisy and compulsive begins to slow, deepen, and refine. One moves from vaikharī — the outer talk of the tongue — toward parā, the silent knowing where word and meaning are one. Speech becomes economy: fewer words, greater weight.
• Second, the mind-window clears. Gratitude, repetition, and awareness polish it until less dust remains. The result is simple but profound: one finds oneself more often in present-time living. The gap between stimulus and reaction stretches. Anger cools faster, cravings loosen, service and compassion flow more naturally — not as ideals to live up to, but as spontaneous expressions of clarity.
• Finally, the samādhi glimpses arrive. In these rare but unmistakable moments, the mind dissolves into no-mind, the window disappears entirely, and one is bathed in the Infinite. Words fail here; the sages describe it only as Bliss (Ananda). Not the pleasure of senses, but the joy of being itself.

Thus, verification is not in external applause or even in siddhis. It is in the inner shift: when speech carries power, when life feels clear, and when silence itself overflows with truth.