Parātrīṃśikā Vivaraṇa (Part 100): Why Divine Will Does Not Abolish Inquiry

supreme Goddess as the triadic power of Parameśvara, evoking Parāvāk, independent freedom, and the non-sequential source from which all sacred mappings arise.

Previous part answered the crisis of conflicting tantric mappings by grounding sacred convention in Parameśvara’s will. The many āgamic arrangements are not merely human symbolic codes; their force comes from divine will. But this answer immediately opens another danger — one that is extremely common, especially in modern spiritual language.

Someone hears “everything depends on divine will” and says: then why analyze? Why compare texts? Why struggle with Sanskrit, tattvas, mantra-maps, commentaries, contradictions, ritual structures, and Abhinava’s brutal precision? Why not just say: “It is all Bhagavān’s will”? Why not be silent? Why not surrender? Why not stop thinking?

In modern language, the objection sounds like this:

“Get out of your head.”
“Stop intellectualizing.”
“Just practice.”
“Drop the mind.”
“Don’t overthink it.”
“Grace will do everything.”
“The heart knows; the intellect only blocks.”
“Too much study becomes ego.”
“Realization is beyond words, so why bother with all this textual complexity?”

And sometimes this advice is real. For a mature disciple, a teacher may rightly say: enough analysis, now practice. Drop conceptual spinning. Stop hiding in books. Enter silence. This can be a true instruction when the student is using thought to avoid surrender. There are times when more analysis is only ego preserving itself in refined form.

But Abhinava is not speaking to that case only. He is confronting the misuse of that truth. “Grace does everything” can become laziness. “Silence” can become dullness. “Beyond the intellect” can become an excuse for never sharpening the intellect. “Just practice” can become a way of avoiding the hard work of discrimination. A person may abandon inquiry not because they have transcended thought, but because thought became difficult.

That is the exact danger here. After being shown that the mappings rest in Bhagavān’s will, someone wants to throw away the entire burden of śāstra: no more carrying books, reciting, explaining, interpreting, comparing, thinking. Let divine will rescue whom it rescues. Abhinava sees the trap. He says, in effect: divine will does not cancel inquiry. Divine will may be operating precisely as inquiry.

This is the key. The power to reflect, to discriminate, to endure complexity, to refine vimarśa, to understand why one map differs from another — this too is anugraha. Grace is not only a warm mystical descent. Sometimes grace appears as a terrifyingly precise intelligence that refuses lazy simplification. Sometimes it appears as the capacity to stay with the contradiction until it opens.

So current movement is not merely defending intellectualism. Abhinava is defending the sacred function of inquiry when inquiry itself is born from grace. He is not saying everyone should drown forever in analysis. He is saying: do not use “divine will” as an excuse to abandon the very vimarśa that divine will has awakened in you.

Objection: if divine will is beyond inquiry, study becomes a useless burden

avikalā bhagavadicchā na vicārapadavīmadhiśete (?) iti cet - alaṃ granthadhāraṇavācanavyākhyānavicāraṇādimithyāyāsena parityājya evāyaṃ gurubhāraḥ tūṣṇīṃbhāvaśaraṇaireva stheyam\

“If it is objected: ‘Bhagavān’s will is whole and does not enter the path of inquiry. Enough, then, with the false labor of carrying books, reciting, explaining, interpreting, and reflecting. This heavy burden should be abandoned, and one should remain only under the shelter of silence.’”

Abhinava now gives voice to a very seductive objection. If everything rests in bhagavad-icchā, the will of Bhagavān, and if that will is avikalā, whole, unbroken, complete, then why enter the exhausting path of inquiry at all? Why struggle through texts, commentaries, ritual systems, contradicting maps, and subtle distinctions? Why carry the heavy load of śāstra?

This objection sounds spiritual. It says: enough of granthadhāraṇa, book-carrying; enough vācana, recitation; enough vyākhyāna, exposition; enough vicāraṇa, inquiry. Let all this go. Take refuge in tūṣṇīṃbhāva, silence. If Bhagavān’s will is supreme, then the only real practice is surrender. Everything else is effort, ego, and mental noise.

In modern language, it sounds very familiar: “Get out of your head.” “Stop intellectualizing.” “Just practice.” “Drop the mind.” “Grace will do everything.” “The heart knows.” “Too much study blocks realization.” These sayings can be true in the right mouth, at the right time, for the right disciple. But they can also become a spiritual anesthetic. They can hide fatigue, laziness, fear of complexity, or refusal to let thought become sharp enough to serve recognition.

That is why Abhinava presents the objection so strongly. He knows the temptation. After so many competing tantric mappings, the mind wants relief. It wants to say: “Forget all this. Divine will alone matters.” But Abhinava will not let silence become dullness, and he will not let surrender become avoidance. The fact that divine will is supreme does not prove that inquiry is useless. It may mean that inquiry itself is one of the ways divine will is working.

So the first point opens the new problem: not whether divine will is real, but whether divine will cancels vimarśa. Abhinava’s answer will be no. The power to inquire, compare, refine, and penetrate meaning is itself a form of grace.

Bhagavān’s will alone should rescue

bhagavadicchaivottāraṇīyamuttārayet tadicchaiva anugrahātmā

“Bhagavān’s will alone should rescue what is to be rescued; that very will itself has the nature of grace.”

The objection now states its conclusion more fully. If bhagavad-icchā, Bhagavān’s will, is complete and sovereign, then that will alone should do the work. Whatever is to be carried across — uttāraṇīya — should be carried across by Bhagavān’s will itself. After all, that will is anugraha-ātmā, of the nature of grace.

This sounds very pure. It says: grace saves, not effort. The Lord’s will liberates, not books, analysis, explanations, debates, or exhausting inquiry. Why should one struggle to understand conflicting tantric mappings if the ultimate cause of liberation is divine grace?

And again, there is truth in this. Abhinava would not deny that grace is central. He is not a dry rationalist claiming that liberation is manufactured by intellectual effort. The problem is not the statement “grace liberates.” The problem is what the objection does with that statement. It uses grace to dismiss the instruments through which grace may operate.

That is the hidden error. Anugraha does not always descend as a dramatic mystical event. Sometimes grace appears as a guru, a śāstra, a mantra, a painful question, a contradiction that refuses to let the mind sleep, or the capacity for subtle vimarśa. If one says, “Only grace saves,” and then rejects the very forms grace has taken, one is not surrendering. One is refusing.

So this point sharpens the tension. Yes, Bhagavān’s will rescues. Yes, that will is grace. But the next move will show that this same will may culminate in inquiry itself. Grace does not necessarily rescue by bypassing thought. It may rescue by forcing thought to become transparent enough to recognize its source.

Divine will culminates in inquiry, not passive quietism

evaṃ vicāraṇāyāṃ paryavasāyayati na khalu pādaprasārikayaiva sukhaṃ śayānaiḥ bhuñjānaiśca svayam avimṛśadbhiḥ

“Rather, that very will culminates in inquiry. Certainly one should not remain lying comfortably with legs stretched out, eating, and refusing to reflect for oneself.”

Abhinava now cuts through the quietist misuse of grace. The objector said: Bhagavān’s will alone rescues; that will is grace; therefore enough of inquiry, explanation, and textual burden. Abhinava answers: no — that very will culminates in inquiry. Divine will does not necessarily bypass vicāraṇā. It may complete itself through it.

This is a very important reversal. The objector imagines inquiry as something separate from grace, as if thinking, examining, and discriminating were merely human effort standing against divine will. Abhinava says the opposite: when inquiry is genuine, when it is born from subtle vimarśa, it is one of the ways bhagavad-icchā operates. Grace does not always look like silence. Sometimes grace looks like the inability to accept a shallow answer.

Then he becomes deliberately earthy: one should not simply lie down with the legs stretched out, eating comfortably, refusing to reflect — svayam avimṛśadbhiḥ. This is almost comic, but sharp. He is mocking the person who calls passivity surrender. The person wants divine will to do everything while they remain comfortable, dull, and unexamining.

This is not an attack on silence. True silence can be the fruit of realization. But silence used to avoid vimarśa is not realization. It is tamas wearing sacred clothing. Abhinava is saying: if the Lord has given you the capacity to inquire, then refusing inquiry is not humility. It is a refusal of grace.

So the point is very practical. Do not confuse surrender with passivity. Do not confuse “beyond thought” with unwillingness to think clearly. If inquiry has arisen in you with force, then that too may be anugraha. Grace may be pushing you not into comfortable quietness, but into exact seeing.

Nor should one turn away from the subtle reflection born from stronger grace

svāpekṣatīvratarādiparameśvarānugrahotpannādhikādhikasūkṣmatamavimarśakuśaladhiṣaṇāpariśīlanaparāṅmukhaiḥ vā sthātavyamiti

“Nor should one remain turned away from cultivating the intellect skilled in ever subtler vimarśa, born from forms of Parameśvara’s grace that are more intense than one’s own.”

Abhinava now states the positive side more deeply. It is not enough to say: do not lie around comfortably, eating and refusing to reflect. He now says that one must not turn away from the cultivation of adhiṣaṇā, the intellect, when it has become skilled in increasingly subtle vimarśa through Parameśvara-anugraha, the grace of Parameśvara.

This is crucial. The intellect being defended here is not ordinary cleverness. It is not debate-ego, not bookish vanity, not the mind showing off its ability to classify systems. Abhinava is speaking of sūkṣmatama-vimarśa-kuśala-dhiṣaṇā — an intelligence capable of the most subtle reflective discernment. That kind of intelligence is itself born from grace.

The phrase svāpekṣa-tīvratara-ādi-parameśvara-anugraha-utpanna matters. There are degrees of grace. A stronger grace may produce a subtler capacity of reflection than one previously had. So when a person’s mind becomes able to penetrate difficult śāstric distinctions, compare mappings, endure contradiction, and still seek the inner necessity, this is not necessarily egoic restlessness. It may be grace refining the instrument.

This is the answer to the common spiritual cliché: “Stop thinking.” Abhinava’s answer is more exact: stop useless thinking, yes; stop egoic spinning, yes; stop using thought to avoid practice, yes. But do not abandon vimarśa when vimarśa itself has been awakened by grace. That would be like throwing away a lamp because light is beyond lamps.

So the movement is very clear. Divine will does not cancel inquiry. Divine will may become inquiry. Grace may appear as silence, but it may also appear as the fierce sharpening of intelligence. To turn away from that refinement in the name of surrender would not be humility. It would be refusal of the very form in which Parameśvara is currently working.

Therefore this must always be reflected upon

tat sarvadā vimṛśyamidaṃ vartate - iti etāvat na jahīmaḥ

“Therefore, this always remains something to be reflected upon; and this much we do not abandon.”

Abhinava now gives the practical conclusion against quietist laziness. Since divine will itself culminates in inquiry, and since the subtle capacity for vimarśa may itself arise from a more intense grace of Parameśvara, this matter must always remain open to reflection — sarvadā vimṛśyam.

The word vimṛśya is crucial here. It does not mean restless intellectual spinning. It means real reflective engagement: turning the matter over until the hidden connection becomes visible. In Abhinava’s world, vimarśa is not opposed to consciousness; it is one of consciousness’s own powers. So to reflect properly is not to leave the sacred. It is to let consciousness recognize its own structure more clearly.

Then he says: etāvat na jahīmaḥ — “this much we do not abandon.” That is a firm line. He will not throw away inquiry in the name of silence. He will not abandon śāstric reflection just because divine will is supreme. The fact that Parameśvara’s will is the final ground does not make analysis meaningless. It makes true analysis sacred, because it too belongs to that will.

This is the part modern seekers often miss. There is a time when thinking becomes evasion, yes. But there is also a time when refusing to think becomes evasion. Abhinava is defending that second case. When a question has genuinely arisen, when contradiction presses, when sacred mappings appear to conflict, one should not hide behind “just surrender.” One must reflect until the knot loosens.

So this point is simple but strong: the burden of inquiry is not abandoned. Not because Abhinava worships intellectual labor for its own sake, but because vimarśa is one of the forms through which grace works.

Abhinava asks the reader to remain attentive while he resolves the whole issue

tat atra avadhārya sthīyatāṃ yāvat pariharāmaḥ sarvamidaṃ

“So remain attentive here, while we resolve all of this.”

Abhinava now shifts from rebuke to instruction. After rejecting the lazy appeal to silence and insisting that vimarśa must not be abandoned, he says: stay here, attend carefully — avadhārya sthīyatām. Do not run away from the difficulty. Do not collapse into quietism. Do not dismiss the problem as too subtle. Remain steady while the whole matter is answered.

The phrase yāvat pariharāmaḥ sarvam idam is important. He is not going to answer only one small objection. He intends to resolve the whole cluster: the plurality of tantric mappings, the charge of arbitrariness, the role of divine will, the place of inquiry, and the deeper status of sequence itself. The reader is being asked to hold attention long enough for the knot to be untied.

This is very practical. Many people abandon inquiry exactly when it becomes transformative. They stay with a question while it is interesting, but when it begins to threaten their inherited certainty or demand real subtlety, they retreat into slogans: “all is grace,” “all is beyond mind,” “just be silent.” Abhinava says: no. Stay. Look. Let the question become clear enough to dissolve properly.

So this point is almost a discipline of reading. Śāstra is not consumed casually. One must remain present through the difficulty. Only then can the apparent contradiction be resolved from the inside.

These objections do not truly touch Parameśvarī

kiṃcit na vastutaḥ codyajātaṃ parameśvaryāṃ parāvāgbhuvi anuttaradurghaṭakāritātmakanirapekṣasvātantryasārāyām

“In truth, none of this mass of objections touches Parameśvarī, the ground of parā-vāk, whose essence is independent freedom, whose nature is the unsurpassed power of making the impossible possible.”

Abhinava now begins the real answer. After confronting the temptation to abandon inquiry, after insisting that vimarśa itself may be grace, he says that, in truth, none of these objections actually touch Parameśvarī, the ground of parā-vāk.

This is a major shift. The contradictions among tantric mappings, the anxiety about convention, the worry that divine will makes inquiry unnecessary — all of this belongs to the level where the mind tries to force the supreme into ordinary categories of consistency. But Parameśvarī is not bound by those categories. She is anuttara-durghaṭa-kāritātmikā — her very nature is the unsurpassed capacity to do what seems impossible.

That phrase matters. From the ordinary intellect’s side, it seems impossible that many different mappings can all have force. It seems impossible that convention can be real. It seems impossible that inquiry and divine will can both be valid. It seems impossible that sequence can arise from the non-sequential. But Parameśvarī’s essence is nirapekṣa-svātantrya, independent freedom. She does not need external permission from logic as the limited mind understands it.

This does not mean Abhinava abandons reasoning. He has just defended reasoning. But he is showing that reasoning must eventually recognize the level it is dealing with. The ground of parā-vāk is not a system trapped inside human rules of arrangement. It is the sovereign source from which arrangements, conventions, mappings, and sequences arise.

So the objections are real at the level of inquiry, but they do not wound the Goddess. They force clarification, not correction of her. Parameśvarī remains untouched: free, self-grounded, capable of holding the seemingly impossible plurality of āgamic structures within her own speech-power.

She is not tainted by even the smallest trace of dependence

pāratantryāṃśaleśamātraparamāṇunāpi anuparaktāyām

“She is not colored even by the smallest atom of the slightest trace of dependency.”

Abhinava now intensifies the description of Parameśvarī. She is not only the ground of parā-vāk, not only independent freedom capable of the impossible. She is untouched by pāratantrya, dependence — not even by a trace, not even by the smallest fraction, not even by an atom of that fraction.

This matters because the whole problem of conflicting mappings arises only if we imagine the supreme ground as needing to obey some external rule of consistency. The limited intellect thinks: if one tantra maps the letters this way and another maps them differently, then one of them must be wrong, or all of them must be arbitrary. That is how dependent systems work. They must conform to something outside themselves.

But Parameśvarī is not like that. Her freedom is nirapekṣa, independent. She is not dependent on a prior grid, a fixed cosmic bureaucracy, a human convention, or a single mandatory arrangement. She can manifest many valid orders because the orders arise from her freedom, not from a law outside her.

This is not permission for random fantasy. That would be a misunderstanding. The point is not “anything goes.” The point is that āgamic plurality is possible because the supreme speech-ground is not bound by dependency. The mappings are not arbitrary when they arise from her will; but neither are they forced to be uniform by some external standard.

So this line is small but decisive. The objections cannot touch her because they all assume some form of dependence. Abhinava says: there is not even an atom of that in her. She is the source of mapping, not one mapped object among others.

This has mostly already been resolved, but Abhinava will answer in detail

iti prāyaḥ prāgeva pratisamāhitam adaḥ tathāpi vistarataḥ parihriyate

“This has, for the most part, already been answered earlier. Nevertheless, it will now be resolved in detail.”

Abhinava now marks the status of the objection. In truth, the matter has already been answered in principle. The objections do not touch Parameśvarī, the ground of parā-vāk, because her nature is independent freedom, untouched by even the smallest trace of dependence. If that is understood, the apparent contradictions among mappings are already largely dissolved.

But he does not stop there. Tathāpi vistarataḥ parihriyate — nevertheless, he will answer in detail. This is important. Abhinava could have said: “The supreme freedom of Parameśvarī explains it; enough.” But he knows that the mind still needs the knot untied at the level where the doubt arose.

This is his discipline as a teacher. He does not abandon reasoning after invoking freedom. He lets the highest principle stand, and then he descends back into the details to show how the objection is resolved there too. That is exactly the balance of this section: not dry intellectualism, not anti-intellectual surrender, but vimarśa guided by the recognition of supreme freedom.

So this point prepares the next movement. The answer will now become more precise: the apparent sequence from Śiva-tattva to earth and onward is not ultimately a sequence at all. What appears as order is grounded in akrama, the non-sequential freedom of Parameśvara.

The alleged sequence is not ultimately a sequence

yat tāvaduktaṃ śivatattvaṃ tataḥ pṛthivī ityādiko'yaṃ kramaḥ iti tanna kaścit kramaḥ - iti brūmaḥ

“As for what was said — ‘what is this sequence beginning with Śiva-tattva and then earth, and so on?’ — we reply: this is not any sequence at all.”

Abhinava now begins the detailed answer, and the first move is radical. The objection asked: what kind of krama, sequence, is this? Is it creation, dissolution, cognition, stability, or descent? Abhinava replies: na kaścit kramaḥ — it is not any sequence at all.

This does not mean the textual order is meaningless. It means that the ultimate ground of the order is not sequential. The letters and tattvas appear in a sequence for the sake of teaching, ritual, manifestation, purification, and understanding. But the reality from which they arise is not itself moving step by step like a machine.

This is the key. The limited mind sees an order and assumes that reality itself must be ordered in that same temporal or structural way: first Śiva, then earth, then this, then that. Abhinava cuts through that assumption. The sequence is pedagogically and ritually valid, but the supreme freedom that gives rise to it is not trapped inside sequence.

So the answer is not “this is sṛṣṭi-krama” or “this is saṃhāra-krama.” The answer is deeper: the apparent sequence is rooted in akrama, non-sequential freedom. That is why multiple mappings can exist without contradiction. They are different sequential articulations of what is, in itself, not bound by sequence.

The supreme freedom is akrama and contains infinite variety

akramaṃ yat etat paraṃ pārameśvaraṃ vicitraṃ garbhīkṛtānantavaicitryaṃ svātantryaṃ

“That supreme freedom of Parameśvara is akrama, non-sequential; it is wondrous, containing infinite variety within itself.”

Abhinava now gives the real metaphysical answer. The apparent order of the letters and tattvas is not ultimately a fixed krama, because the ground from which it arises is akrama — non-sequential. Parameśvara’s svātantrya, the supreme freedom of consciousness, does not move step by step as if bound by a timeline or a mechanical order.

Yet this akrama is not empty. It is vicitra, wondrously variegated, and garbhīkṛta-ananta-vaicitrya, wombing infinite diversity within itself. This is the key. The non-sequential is not a blank sameness before manifestation. It already contains endless possible arrangements, orders, mappings, letters, tattvas, śāstric sequences, and ritual functions in an undivided way.

This answers the crisis of the previous part. Different tantras can give different mappings because the supreme ground is not trapped in one linear order. It can express many valid sequences because all sequences are contained within its non-sequential freedom. The plurality of maps does not imply arbitrariness; it points to the inexhaustibility of svātantrya.

So Abhinava’s answer is not “there is no order.” It is deeper: order arises from the non-sequential freedom that can generate many orders. A sequence is valid within its function, but the supreme is not bound by any one sequence. The Goddess can arrange the same field as Mātṛkā, Mālinī, kṣa-based saṃhāra, Vidyātraya, or the present Tantra’s a-based order because all of them are wombed in her freedom before they unfold as distinct maps.

The supreme freedom is the meaning of Trika

trikārtharūpaṃ tadeva etat

“That very freedom has the form of the meaning of Trika.”

Abhinava now identifies this akrama svātantrya, this non-sequential supreme freedom, with the very meaning of Trika. The answer to the crisis of many mappings is not found by forcing all tantras into one linear arrangement. It is found by recognizing the deeper ground from which all valid arrangements arise.

Trika here is not merely the name of a school. It points to the triadic structure of reality: Parā, Parāparā, and Aparā; the supreme, the mixed, and the manifest; unity, unity-in-difference, and differentiated appearance. The same freedom can appear through all these modes without ceasing to be one.

So when Abhinava says this freedom is trikārtharūpa, he is saying that the heart of Trika is not a fixed diagram. It is the power by which the non-sequential supreme can appear as many valid sequences, many maps, many mantraic arrangements, many levels of Śakti. The threefold structure does not bind freedom; it expresses freedom.

This is why the previous anxiety begins to dissolve. The maps differ because the supreme freedom can express itself as different modes of revelation and practice. Parā does not function like Aparā. Mālinī does not function like Mātṛkā. A saṃhāra-krama does not function like a sṛṣṭi-krama. Their differences are not proof of arbitrariness. They are different openings of the same Trika meaning.

Aparā, Parāparā, and Parā Bhaṭṭārikā are the Bhairavic being of Parameśvara

tathāhi - yeyamaparā parāparā parābhaṭṭārikā pārameśvarī bhairavīyā sattā

“For thus: this Aparā, Parāparā, and Parā Bhaṭṭārikā is the Bhairavic being of Parameśvara.”

Abhinava now begins to show what this akrama svātantrya, this non-sequential freedom, actually is. It is not an empty abstraction behind the maps. It is the living triadic being of Parameśvara: Aparā, Parāparā, and Parā Bhaṭṭārikā.

This is important because the previous point identified the supreme freedom as trikārtharūpa, having the form of the meaning of Trika. Now the triad is named directly. The non-sequential freedom of Parameśvara expresses itself as the three Śaktis: the differentiated power, the mixed power of difference-and-non-difference, and the supreme power of undivided consciousness.

The phrase bhairavīyā sattā is strong. These three are not external tools used by Bhairava. They are his own Bhairavic being, his own mode of existence as power. The triad is not added to Parameśvara from outside. It is how his freedom lives, shines, and becomes capable of many mappings without being bound by any one of them.

So this answers the crisis of conflicting sequences from the inside. The many maps arise because the supreme ground is already triadic in its own freedom. It can appear as Parā, Parāparā, and Aparā; as unity, mixed articulation, and differentiation. Sequence comes later. The triadic freedom is prior.

The triadic Śakti stands even above Sadāśiva and Anāśrita-Śakti

sā sadāśivatattvānāśritaśaktitattvasyāpi uparivṛttiḥ

“She exists even above Sadāśiva-tattva and Anāśrita-Śakti-tattva.”

Abhinava now places this pārameśvarī bhairavīyā sattā — the Bhairavic being of Parameśvara as Aparā, Parāparā, and Parā — above even Sadāśiva-tattva and Anāśrita-Śakti-tattva.

This is important because it prevents us from reducing the three Śaktis to ordinary positions inside the tattva-list. They are not merely levels among levels. They are more primordial than the sequence itself. Even Sadāśiva, where the divine “I” predominates over the emerging “this,” and even Anāśrita-Śakti, the unsupported or non-dependent Śakti-level, are included below this more fundamental triadic being.

So Abhinava is continuing the answer to the question of sequence. If Parā, Parāparā, and Aparā were merely items inside the sequence, then one could still ask: which order do they belong to? But he places them above the sequence. They are the very power by which sequence, non-sequence, manifestation, reabsorption, difference, and non-difference become possible.

This gives the argument its force. The many tantric maps do not contradict one another at the supreme level because the ground of the maps is not itself trapped inside any one map. The triadic Śakti of Parameśvara stands above even the high tattvas that the maps describe. She is the source of their articulation, not a subordinate element within them.

Even those levels are treated as part of her seat

tadantasyāpi āsanapakṣīkṛtatvāt

“Because even what extends up to that level is treated as belonging to her seat.”

Abhinava now gives the reason why the triadic Śakti — Aparā, Parāparā, and Parā Bhaṭṭārikā — is said to stand above even Sadāśiva-tattva and Anāśrita-Śakti-tattva. Those levels themselves are included as part of her āsana, her seat.

This is an important closure. A seat is not the one seated. It supports the manifestation of the deity, but the deity is not reduced to it. So even the very high tattvas — Sadāśiva, Anāśrita-Śakti, and the levels reaching up to them — function as the ground or seat for the supreme triadic Goddess. They are not the final source of her. They are included within the field over which she presides.

This finishes the answer to the problem of sequence. The various orders of letters and tattvas are not ultimate chains binding the Goddess. They are seats, arrangements, modes of manifestation, ritual structures. Parā, Parāparā, and Aparā are not trapped inside them. The triadic Śakti is the deeper Bhairavic being through which all sequences become possible.

So the chunk closes with a reversal of perspective. We began with the anxiety: which sequence is correct? Abhinava leads us to see that the highest Śakti is not inside any one sequence as a dependent item. The sequences are inside her freedom. Even the highest tattvic levels are her seat.