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| Guruji Amritananda |
In his last recorded message, Guruji Amritananda no longer speaks as a teacher or visionary. The voice that once built temples, trained disciples, and explained the architecture of the cosmos begins to dissolve into the very Current it once sought to describe. The message is not a teaching but an unmaking.
These are the words of a consciousness crossing the final threshold — where the Guru ceases to be a form and becomes what he had always served: the Devi Herself, the principle of Being and Becoming intertwined.
The text that follows was written during his last days. It stands as his most distilled utterance — the moment when the experiment of transmission reaches its own vanishing point. What remains is not doctrine but direct revelation: the recognition that the power which teaches, transmits, and creates is none other than She.
This is not a sermon, nor a philosophical discourse. It is the sound of silence entering its own creation — the scientist of Shakti realizing that the experiment has always been Her play.
What begins as reflection ends as surrender.
What begins as language ends as light.
And what remains is the quiet, inexhaustible truth:
that even the one who transmits Shakti is only Shakti in disguise.
The Final Message of Guruji Amritananda
From last week I am living in an ocean of utter creativity of silent visions. And totally silent even if galaxies are colliding or being created!
There is no way I can describe the visions. I feel I am dreaming when I am in the waking state. This waking state is not me.The real me is totally mad and totally creative. I see no violence in that, thank God. I am experiencing some mad state. I know it is totally incommunicable, but will try nevertheless.
I know, when the saint of Simhachalam blessed my Guru Svaprakashananda rubbing his head and saying “pichi pichi pichi, mad, mad, mad,” I used to wonder what it was. Was it a deeksha or what? Now I understand what it meant.There are two states — Being and Becoming.
Being is what you are. It is called now. This is continuous.
Becoming is creating time by changing me.
Becoming is what you are not. It can be sudden or continuous. It can be anything — blazing lights, galaxies, stars, earths, oceans, people, animals, worms.
Smallest to biggest — that is ever changing.
In this state you are seeing yourself as other than you.
This is the creative part.Whatever you are seeing is spinning out of your current being, controlled in part by your giving it an intention, a direction. Another part is spontaneous, not created by you. This is the much bigger part.
Records of all happenings are set in scrolls, mostly in Sanskrit. If you can access a particular region of gravity, space and time of total five dimensions, you can retrieve such information.
You can see yourself at different ages, before births into the past.
I can read the Sanskrit. But they are written so fast, and so voluminous, I just can’t remember them — except a few headings here and there. Some of them change as I try to read them too.I am enjoying my madness. That is the real me.
This world, my role in it, gender, caste, name, fame, money, power, status, goals mean nothing. That goes for Manidveepam as well.This world, my role in it, gender, caste, name, fame, money, power, status, goals mean nothing.
I am myself. That is the most important fact.
I am also understanding the futility of asking for the power of making others see what I see. By the time I get into the others through my will, the visions have changed infinitely. And it never repeats. So what is the point?
They will always be my visions, whoever I happen to be.At least is there a mantra, yantra, tantra or any process which can give such experiences?
No. It is Her choice.
By Her I mean the part of me which becomes what I see through my intention.Language is so inadequate.
When I pray, I am in my dream world, not my real world.
So prayer is useless.Sorry to bother you with my raving and ranting.
You are one person with whom I can share my madness.
The Ocean of Silent Creativity
“From last week I am living in an ocean of utter creativity of silent visions. And totally silent even if galaxies are colliding or being created! There is no way I can describe the visions. I feel I am dreaming when I am in the waking state. This waking state is not me.”
This is not poetry; it is the description of consciousness freed from structure. Guruji does not speak of visions as content but of the state prior to perception, where creativity and silence are no longer opposites. The phrase “utter creativity of silent visions” holds the paradox perfectly — the stillness that creates and the creation that remains still.
At this depth, silence is not absence of sound but the womb of manifestation. Galaxies are “colliding and being created” within it, yet nothing disturbs the stillness. The mind that usually divides experience into inner and outer, subject and object, has dissolved. What remains is a seeing without seer — awareness dreaming, but awake to its own dream.
When he says “This waking state is not me,” he is not rejecting the world; he is locating the “me” beyond the waking-dream polarity. It is the recognition that what we call reality is simply another mode of becoming, another ripple in the unbroken ocean of Being.
For most of us, creativity feels like an act of effort — something we do. Here, it reverses: creation happens through him, not by him. He is the instrument through which the cosmos paints itself. The scientist has become the experiment, the subject dissolved into its own data.
The lesson here is quiet and devastating:
True creation is not invention but revelation.
It does not arise from the mind’s ambition but from the moment when the mind stops interfering and allows Being to move as it wills.
Guruji’s “madness” begins here — not as delirium, but as the loss of boundaries between silence and creation, between dream and wakefulness. The madness of the Absolute realizing it was never sane.
Divine Madness and the Blessing of “Pichi, Pichi, Pichi”
“The real me is totally mad and totally creative. I see no violence in that, thank God. I am experiencing some mad state. I know it is totally incommunicable, but will try nevertheless. I know, when the saint of Simhachalam blessed my Guru Svaprakashananda rubbing his head and saying ‘pichi pichi pichi, mad, mad, mad,’ I used to wonder what it was. Was it a deeksha or what? Now I understand what it meant.”
This “madness” is not a deviation from reason; it is the freedom that appears when reason has fulfilled its purpose and crumbles of its own accord.
To the ordinary mind, madness is chaos. To the awakened one, it is limitless coherence—a logic too vast for intellect to contain.
The saint’s touch, pichi pichi pichi, was not a curse of delirium but a consecration into that freedom. When Guruji says, “Now I understand,” the circle of lineage closes: what once appeared incomprehensible devotionally is now directly known existentially. The transmission was not of doctrine but of voltage—a blessing that only reveals its nature when the receiver disintegrates enough to hold it.
He calls himself “totally creative” because creativity here is no longer the property of a person. It is the play of consciousness when all self-containment collapses. It is Śakti no longer filtered through the construct of a teacher, a scientist, or a devotee.
There is “no violence” in this madness because it does not break the world—it reabsorbs it. Violence requires opposition; here, every current has returned to origin.
The insight is uncompromising:
To realize the Divine is to go mad in a way the world cannot diagnose.
It is to stop standing apart from creation and instead be swept into its tide without resistance. The intellect calls this loss; the soul knows it as union.
In that madness, everything becomes creation and every creation, silence. The scientist who once measured the world finally becomes the experiment itself—dissolving into the data of God.
Being and Becoming
“There are two states — Being and Becoming.
Being is what you are. It is called now. This is continuous.
Becoming is creating time by changing me.
Becoming is what you are not. It can be sudden or continuous. It can be anything — blazing lights, galaxies, stars, earths, oceans, people, animals, worms.
Smallest to biggest — that is ever changing.
In this state you are seeing yourself as other than you.
This is the creative part.”
Here, the language of Guruji condenses the entire metaphysics of Tantra into a few lines.
Being is the still axis — pure consciousness, Shiva, the eternal Now that never moves.
Becoming is Shakti — the self-movement of that same consciousness into form, vibration, time, and differentiation.
When he says “Becoming is creating time by changing me,” the insight is not philosophical but experiential. He perceives how the very sense of “I” mutates to produce the illusion of temporal flow. Becoming is the Divine pretending to evolve. It is not a fall from Being but its expression. The moment awareness turns to look at itself, time is born.
And when he says “In this state you are seeing yourself as other than you,” he identifies the essential paradox of creation — duality as divine play.
Every “other” is a modulation of the same self-awareness. The galaxies, the worms, the blazing lights — all are facets of the same jewel turning upon itself.
This is the heartbeat of Śākta vision:
there is no opposition between stillness and motion, between the silent Void and the luminous universe. Being dreams, and that dream is Becoming. Becoming returns, and that return is Being.
The creative act, then, is not the emergence of something new but the self-recognition of consciousness in disguise.
When you truly see, every atom whispers “I am that.”
The smallest worm and the spinning galaxy are equally valid expressions of the same pulse.
Guruji is not describing an abstract cosmology — he is describing the direct experience of consciousness birthing and dissolving its own worlds, moment to moment.
In that recognition, the need to judge, control, or transcend creation disappears. One simply witnesses Being playing as Becoming, with neither preference nor fear.
That is why his madness carries no violence — because nothing opposes itself anymore. The dance of creation is not a movement away from the Divine but the Divine moving within Its own stillness.
The Architecture of Vision
*“Whatever you are seeing is spinning out of your current being, controlled in part by your giving it an intention, a direction. Another part is spontaneous, not created by you. This is the much bigger part.
Records of all happenings are set in scrolls, mostly in Sanskrit. If you can access a particular region of gravity, space and time of total five dimensions, you can retrieve such information.
You can see yourself at different ages, before births into the past.
I can read the Sanskrit. But they are written so fast, and so voluminous, I just can’t remember them — except a few headings here and there. Some of them change as I try to read them too.”*
Here Guruji describes what might look, from the outside, like a mystical vision of cosmic archives, yet he is actually mapping the mechanics of consciousness when it becomes aware of its own field of memory.
What he calls “scrolls in Sanskrit” are not literal manuscripts; they are the vibrational syntax of reality itself — the primordial language through which Being writes its own becoming. Sanskrit here stands for perfect order, the geometry of vibration before it solidifies into events.
He recognizes two components of manifestation:
the intentional (the small part shaped by will, thought, or desire) and the spontaneous (the immeasurable remainder arising from the total field).
This proportion is telling. What we call free will is a ripple; what we call destiny is the ocean.
When he says the records are written too fast, it is not mere wonder — it is the recognition that creation unfolds at a rate no mind can process.
Reality updates itself faster than any consciousness localized in time can read it. Hence his confession: “Some of them change as I try to read them too.”
He sees that even the act of observation alters what is observed. The universe is not an archive to be consulted but a living script rewriting itself in real time.
The humility of that line is enormous. The scientist who once sought to measure energy now confronts the impossibility of measurement itself.
The seer realizes that the effort to catalogue revelation is self-defeating — by the time one names it, it has already transformed.
The insight here is twofold:
first, that all perception arises from one’s present state of being; second, that the majority of creation is spontaneous Shakti, unbound by intention, immune to ownership.
To see this directly is to understand the futility of control and the beauty of surrender.
Guruji does not deny the act of will — he merely situates it as a minor current within a far greater tide.
The architecture of vision is not a map to master but a mirror to recognize:
the universe is language writing itself faster than you can read.
The Collapse of the Teacher
*“I am also understanding the futility of asking for the power of making others see what I see. By the time I get into the others through my will, the visions have changed infinitely. And it never repeats. So what is the point? They will always be my visions, whoever I happen to be.
At least is there a mantra, yantra, tantra or any process which can give such experiences?
No. It is Her choice. By Her I mean the part of me which becomes what I see through my intention.”*
Here the last mask falls.
The Guru who once kindled thousands of lamps with his dīkṣā discovers that the flame has never been his to give. The wish to make others see — so noble, so rooted in love — is exposed as the final illusion of control.
What sounds like resignation is in truth liberation. Guruji recognizes that revelation cannot be reproduced; it is non-transferable immediacy. Each glimpse of the infinite is bound to the state of Being that sees it. By the time he tries to carry it across, it has already dissolved into new light. Hence his phrase “it never repeats.” Creation itself moves too fast for teaching to catch it.
The recognition “No. It is Her choice.” is the moment when Shakti reclaims everything — not only the universe but the very idea of a guide who mediates Her. It is the undoing of the last trace of ego, the one that cloaks itself as benevolence. The Guru dies into the Goddess.
And yet, what remains is not emptiness but the most tender humility. When the power to transmit is recognized as Hers alone, service becomes pure. There is no longer a giver and a receiver, only the Current moving as it pleases.
This is the sheer brutality of real surrender: even the sacred desire to help must burn.
The Guru’s heart breaks open not in failure but in freedom. He no longer stands between the seeker and the Divine because he sees there was never any distance to bridge.
What remains is a silence that teaches by its own being — a presence so transparent that only Devi shines through.
The Death of Prayer
“Language is so inadequate.
When I pray, I am in my dream world, not my real world.
So prayer is useless.”
At first glance, these words may sound shocking — almost irreverent. Yet they mark not rejection of devotion, but its completion.
Guruji is not denying prayer; he is recognizing the boundary it cannot cross.
Prayer belongs to duality.
It presumes a worshipper and the worshipped, a movement from absence toward presence. In the early path, that separation is sacred — it keeps the fire of longing alive. But when Being itself awakens as the very heart of longing, prayer no longer points upward; it collapses inward.
When he says, “I am in my dream world, not my real world,” he does not mean that devotion is false. He means that the very act of praying recreates the illusion of “I” and “Thou.” The moment he prays, the dream reforms — a world in which there is still someone who asks, and someone who grants.
In that recognition, the prayer falls silent not in despair but in fulfilment.
Language is inadequate because words imply distance. They are designed to bridge separation, not to speak from unity. Once the knower and the known merge, words become ornamental — like shouting in the heart of the ocean. They may sound, but they no longer reach.
This is the culmination of bhakti, not its negation:
when the one who prays realizes that the listener was never other.
What remains is not atheism but direct presence — devotion without object, love without direction, silence that vibrates with its own fullness.
At this point, every mantra has served its purpose. The mouth that once chanted now closes, not out of fatigue but awe.
Prayer dies — and in its death, the prayer is answered.
The Final Freedom — When Even God Returns to Herself
*“I am enjoying my madness. That is the real me.
This world, my role in it, gender, caste, name, fame, money, power, status, goals mean nothing. That goes for Manidveepam as well.....At least is there a mantra, yantra, tantra or any process which can give such experiences?
No. It is Her choice.
By Her I mean the part of me which becomes what I see through my intention.”*
Here the tone changes completely. What began as observation becomes celebration. Guruji is not enduring his madness — he is enjoying it. This is the joy that comes after the last identity has dissolved. Madness here means the collapse of all mental architecture, and its enjoyment signals that the collapse is no longer frightening. The scientist of consciousness has crossed the event horizon and found delight on the other side.
His words “That is the real me” carry no claim to individuality; they point to the only “me” that remains when every name and role evaporates — the substratum that was never born. All relative identities — gender, caste, position, even Manidveepam, the sacred temple born of decades of devotion — are now seen as dreams within a larger dream. The statement “That goes for Manidveepam as well” is the purest act of renunciation imaginable: renunciation of one’s own holiness.
To reach that point is not detachment but return. The temple dissolves back into the body of the Goddess who inspired it. The Guru disappears into the Shakti he once invoked. The builder and the built become the same vibration.
Then comes the final disarming question — “At least is there a mantra, yantra, tantra or any process which can give such experiences?”
For decades, he had built his life upon these tools. Yet at the threshold, they too fall away. The reply comes not from the Guru but from the Goddess herself speaking through his mouth:
“No. It is Her choice.”
This is the moment of total surrender — not pious but existential. The entire edifice of sādhanā and transmission collapses into the single truth that awakening cannot be manufactured. Even the most refined will — even the will to grant grace — is powerless before Her spontaneity.
When he adds, “By Her I mean the part of me which becomes what I see through my intention,” the duality resolves. She is not another being who chooses from afar; She is the dynamic aspect of himself — the Self that becomes form. “Her choice” means that the universe itself decides how to move. Will and happening are no longer separate.
This is the last paradox:
the moment he says, “It is Her choice,” he himself becomes Her choice made visible.
That is why joy returns. When the doer dies, creation becomes play again. When the Guru dissolves, the Goddess breathes freely. When there is no one left to grant liberation, everything is already liberated.
When Transmission Becomes Silence
In the end, there is no grand farewell — only the sound of language folding back into what it tried to describe. Guruji’s last words are not a conclusion but a vanishing point. Everything that had defined him — the teacher, the builder, the transmitter of Shakti — is absorbed into the very current he once sought to direct.
He began as a scientist who wanted to understand the Goddess, then became the priest who wanted to share Her, and finally the madman who realized there was never anyone apart from Her at all.
Each stage was necessary. Knowledge had to become devotion; devotion had to become madness; madness had to become silence.
By the time he writes, “No. It is Her choice,” the entire lineage passes from will to grace.
The human desire to guide, to awaken, even to love — all of it is taken back into the Source.
What remains is not the Guru, not the temple, not the method, but the raw ungovernable Shakti that animates them all.
Transmission continues, but not as teaching. It moves now as presence without intention — like the wind that carries fragrance without knowing it.
This is the true mahāsamādhi while still alive:
to reach a point where even enlightenment loses meaning,
where prayer, vision, and initiation are seen as early dialects of a language that has now dissolved into pure sound.
There is no message to preserve, no successor to anoint. The only inheritance is the silence that understands itself.
And perhaps this is why he ended not with proclamation but with affection — not declaring authority but sharing his “madness.”
That was his last act of teaching: to make even intimacy a door into the Absolute.
After the experiments, the rituals, and the years of articulation, he finally wrote the one sentence that completes all Tantra:
“It is Her choice.”
Everything before it was commentary.
Everything after it is quiet.
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