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| A dark Śrī Yantra, almost hidden in the void, with a single flame burning at the bindu — the final summit where Dharma’s house has dissolved and only the rhythm of Reality remains. |
There is a line that echoes through the shastras:
dharmaḥ rakṣati rakṣitaḥ
“Dharma protects those who protect it.”
For the beginner, these words feel like the first taste of safety after years of wandering.
Here is a road.
Here is a map.
Here is the invisible order that holds the world together.
Dharma is said to nourish and fulfill every need:
to feed, to teach, to guide, to transform, to lift you up.
It is the great tree that shades you,
the fortress that guards you,
the mother that shelters you when storms rage.
And Dharma comes with a map of priorities:
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First, the living words of the Guru and his writings.
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Then the scriptures of your lineage.
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Then the wider Agamas, Tantras, commentaries.
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Then the great sea of Vedas, Puranas, Itihasas, Upanishads.
For the sādhaka, this is wonderfully reassuring:
a complete spiritual architecture,
a clear order of trust,
a way to know which voice is higher, which text to follow when they conflict.
It is the cozy house of Dharma — every stone in its place.
But every promise carries a shadow.
The same voices whisper:
If you guard Dharma, Dharma will guard you.
If you do not — you are on your own.
This is where Dharma becomes not only the path but also the gatekeeper:
your shelter is conditional, your safety earned by staying inside the lines.
And so along with the comfort comes a subtle fear:
What if I fail? What if I step outside? What if I am no longer protected?
This is a powerful motivator.
It keeps you close to the fire, focused, obedient.
But a question begins to smolder underneath:
Is this protection coming from Dharma itself,
or from my belief in it?Is Dharma the deepest ground,
or only the shadow of something deeper —
a rhythm that needs no guarding at all?
Cutting Through — The Shocker Before the Blade
The cozy house of Dharma feels eternal — as if its walls were built by God Himself.
But Abhinavagupta gives us a thunderclap:
iti | sā cā aprabuddhān prati sthitir bhavet — iti prabuddhaiḥ kalpitā |
bālān prati ca kalpyamānāpi ca teṣāṃ rūḍhā vaicitryeṇaiva phalati |
ata eva vaicitrya-kalpanā-deva sā bahuvidha-dharmādi-śabda-nirdeśyā |
prati-śāstraṃ prati-deśaṃ cānyānya-rūpā ||“This whole system is a standing support for the unawakened,
imagined (kalpitā) by the awakened.
Directed toward the immature, once it becomes established in them,
it bears diverse fruits.
And therefore, from this very diversity of imagining,
it is designated by many words such as ‘Dharma,’ etc.,
taking on different forms according to each scripture and each region.”
(Parātriṃśikā-vivaraṇa)
This is the first great shock:
Dharma is not eternal — it is a compassionate invention.
A work of genius by the awakened to give the unawakened a structure to grow within.
A ladder imagined by those who already stand at the summit.
What felt like God’s final word is revealed as a deliberate design —
a nursery, a greenhouse, a sacred playpen.
And suddenly the walls feel different:
not prison walls, but training wheels.
Beautiful, necessary — but not the end.
Only then comes the blade:
tyaja dharmaṃ adharmam ca
ubhe satyānṛte tyaja |
ubhe satyānṛte tyaktvā
yena tyajasi tat-tyaja ||
Abandon dharma and adharma.
Abandon both truth and untruth.
And having abandoned them,
abandon even that by which you abandon. (Parātriṃśikā-vivaraṇa)
This is no polite suggestion.
This is the teacher taking away the crutch.
The very framework you leaned on is now thrown into the fire.
Not because it was false —
but because it has done its work.
And what you feared as death turns out to be freedom.
The ladder falls away,
and you find that you are already standing in the open sky.
Cracks in the House of Dharma
At first the house of Dharma feels flawless — warm, protective, unshakable.
But every perfect house hides its own earthquake.
The first cracks are small: one śāstra contradicts another, two Gurus clash, the map of priorities flickers. Tradition offers a patch:
When in doubt, trust your Guru. His word is pramāṇa.
For a while this soothes you. The contradictions don’t matter. You can breathe again.
Then the real crack splits the wall.
The Guru you built into an embodiment of Dharma — whose word felt like Law — suddenly stands exposed in his humanity. Perhaps scandal erupts, or perhaps you simply see with your own eyes that his conduct and his teaching do not match.
And the house shudders.
This is not an intellectual puzzle. It is a thunderclap in the chest.
No quotation, no hierarchy of pramāṇas can plaster over this breach.
The fortress no longer feels safe — it feels airless, haunted.
And the question strikes, unstoppable:
If even the Guru can fall —
what is Dharma, really?
What is it that never falls?
Dharma as Invention
And just when the dust is still settling,
when you are reeling from the fall of the one you trusted,
Abhinavagupta delivers a line that shakes the ground even more:
iti | sā cā aprabuddhān prati sthitir bhavet — iti prabuddhaiḥ kalpitā |
bālān prati ca kalpyamānāpi ca teṣāṃ rūḍhā vaicitryeṇaiva phalati |
ata eva vaicitrya-kalpanā-deva sā bahuvidha-dharmādi-śabda-nirdeśyā |
prati-śāstraṃ prati-deśaṃ cānyānya-rūpā ||“This whole system is a standing support for the unawakened,
imagined (kalpitā) by the awakened.
Directed toward the immature, once it becomes established in them,
it bears diverse fruits.
And therefore, from this very diversity of imagining,
it is designated by many words such as ‘Dharma,’ etc.,
taking on different forms according to each scripture and each region.”
(Parātriṃśikā-vivaraṇa)
This is the real bomb:
Dharma is not eternal — it is an invention of the awakened.
Not a divine prison, but a compassionate design.
The saints themselves built this house,
brick by brick, to give the unawakened something to lean on.
And because it is imagined, it is many-colored,
taking different forms in every scripture, every country, every age.
What you thought was the granite floor of Reality
is suddenly revealed as sacred scaffolding.
Beautiful scaffolding, yes —
but scaffolding all the same.
The house of Dharma was never meant to last forever.
It was meant to ripen you until you could walk out of it.
Abandoning Dharma and Adharma
And then, with perfect timing, the blade descends:
tyaja dharmaṃ adharmam ca
ubhe satyānṛte tyaja |
ubhe satyānṛte tyaktvā
yena tyajasi tat-tyaja ||Abandon dharma and adharma.
Abandon both truth and untruth.
Having abandoned both,
abandon even that by which you abandon. (Parātriṃśikā-vivaraṇa)
This is no gentle advice.
This is the Guru taking the house keys from your hand,
stripping you naked,
and pushing you into the night.
Drop Dharma, drop Adharma,
drop your very notion of “I am renouncing.”
Throw the ladder on the fire —
because you are already at the summit.
The law that once felt like an external fortress
now surges through your veins as your own pulse.
There is no “protection,”
no “obedience,”
no “each for himself.”
There is only the current —
fierce, tender, unstoppable —
and you are no longer separate from it.
Ṛta — The Ground Beneath Dharma
When the house of Dharma falls away,
what remains is not chaos — but something older, wider, more alive.
The Ṛg-veda — the most ancient layer of the Vedas —
sings again and again of Ṛta.
Older than Dharma, older than every śāstra and sect,
Ṛta is the cosmic rhythm that even the gods uphold.
Mitra and Varuṇa are praised as its guardians;
the rising of dawn is called its daily victory.
Ṛta is not moral, not prescriptive.
It does not say do this, avoid that.
It simply is —
the order by which the rivers flow,
the seasons turn,
the sacrificial fire never fails to flare.
And this is precisely how Abhinavagupta describes the state
at the heart of Kaula:
nāsmin vidhīyate kiñcin na cāpi pratiṣidhyate |
vihitaṃ sarvam evātra pratiṣiddham athāpi ca ||
(Tantrāloka 4.217)“Nothing here is positively enjoined, nor is anything forbidden;
everything is at once prescribed and proscribed.”
This is Ṛta through the eyes of Tantra:
a state where nothing is commanded and nothing is outlawed,
where Reality flows in perfect equilibrium —
beyond “should” and “should not.”
But Abhinava does not leave us in anarchy.
He gives the one injunction that matters:
kiṃ tv etad atra deveśi niyamena vidhīyate |
tattve cetaḥ sthirīkāryaṃ suprasannena yoginā ||
(Tantrāloka 4.218)“Only this, O Goddess-of-the-gods, is laid down with strict insistence:
the yogin, mind made crystal-clear, must steady his awareness in Reality.”
This is the heart of the path:
no external commandments, no threats, no rewards —
only the fierce, tender work of holding the mind steady in the Real
until it becomes as clear as a mountain lake.
Dharma dissolves here, not because it is false,
but because it has delivered you to what it was always pointing toward.
The rhythm of Ṛta carries you now.
You do not follow it — you are it.
When Devi Breaks the House of Dharma
Dharma protects those who protect it —
but only until its work is done.
The saints themselves built this house,
imagined its walls for the sake of the unawakened.
And by the mercy of the Devi,
the cracks will appear.
She will not let you stay hidden forever,
even behind the holiest mask.
She will tear away every disguise,
even the one called “I am Dharma personified.”
And when you cling to the gatekeepers,
when they insist:
“Dharma is the Law!”
She will show you — fiercely, tenderly —
that it is not an eternal law
but a temporary crutch,
imagined by the awakened for those still learning to walk.
And when your hands are empty,
when every mask has been burned,
Abhinava’s blade will flash:
Abandon Dharma and Adharma.
Abandon both truth and untruth.
Having abandoned them,
abandon even that by which you abandon.
Then the house burns,
the ladder falls away,
and what remains is Ṛta —
the rhythm that never needed your protection.
Nothing is enjoined, nothing forbidden.
Only this is laid down with strict insistence:
Steady your awareness in the Real,
with a mind made crystal-clear.
And when you do,
there is no longer any “protection”
because there is no longer anything to protect.
You are not guarded —
you are the guard, the law, and the path itself.
The current carries you because you are the current.
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