Parātrīṃśikā Vivaraṇa (Part 134): Action Does Not Leave Anuttara

action unfolds through prior and later, but Anuttara-Ānanda does not disappear inside action. Tāṇḍava is a good visual language for that: fierce movement that is still divine, not a fall from the supreme.

The previous part clarified Jñāna-Śakti through the image of trying to step over the shadow of one’s own head. The point was sharp: knowledge does not depend on the knowable. The object appears in Jñāna-Śakti; Jñāna-Śakti does not wait for the object in order to become luminous. Gross-seeing people notice knowledge only when an object is present, but subtle-seeing people recognize knowledge as self-luminous even in the absence of any particular knowable.

Now Abhinava turns to Kriyā-Śakti, the power of action.

This is the natural next step. Icchā has already appeared as the first will of manifestation. Jñāna has appeared as the self-luminous knowing in which the knowable begins to shine. But manifestation is not complete with will and knowledge alone. There must also be the power by which the possible becomes enacted, ordered, sequenced, and brought into operative expression. That is kriyā.

But Abhinava immediately guards the point. Kriyā is not a separate third substance added onto icchā and jñāna. It arises from their mutual intermixture — from the wonder of their crossing, from the way will and knowledge enter one another and produce a field of prior and later. Action means sequence: something not yet accomplished becomes something being accomplished, through ordered parts. This is why Bhartṛhari is cited: kriyā is recognized through dependence on sequence, through the mind’s grouping of parts that arise one after another.

So this part enters the difficult territory of action. Action requires order, before and after, partial accomplishment, process. But Abhinava will not let this become a crude external sequence. Even in action, the prior and later are mutually interwoven. Even when one thing mixes with another and seems to become almost empty or ungraspable, the Anuttara-Ānanda form does not disappear.

That is the deep nerve of the chunk: kriyā introduces sequence, but sequence does not exile us from Bhairava. Action unfolds, parts arise, effort moves, manifestation becomes ordered — yet the supreme bliss-form remains present in all cognition. The highest is not lost when consciousness enters action.

The supporting citations reinforce this. The supreme is not a small particle of bliss, not a reduced fragment. Supreme knowledge is the śakti-garbha paraṃ mahaḥ — the supreme light pregnant with Śakti. And the Gītā’s Puruṣottama is beyond both the perishable and the imperishable. In Abhinava’s reading, the supreme is not merely stillness beyond action, and not merely action within manifestation. It is the Śakti-filled fullness in which knowing, action, bliss, sequence, and transcendence are all held without contradiction.

Kriyā-Śakti, as she expands, must now be examined

kriyāśaktistu prasarantī vicāryate -

“But now Kriyā-Śakti, as she expands, is to be examined.”

Abhinava now turns from Jñāna-Śakti to Kriyā-Śakti. This is the natural next step. Icchā has shown the first will of manifestation. Jñāna has shown the self-luminous power in which the knowable appears. But manifestation is still not complete until there is kriyā, action — the power by which what is willed and known becomes operative, ordered, and enacted.

The word prasarantī matters. Kriyā-Śakti is not static action as a finished product. She is action expanding, spreading, moving outward. This is Śakti becoming process. Once kriyā enters, we are no longer only in the field of inward will and luminous knowing; we are entering the domain of sequence, prior and later, effort, accomplishment, and manifestation as something that unfolds.

But Abhinava does not let kriyā become a crude external activity. It must be vicāryate — examined. Action has to be understood from inside the same current of Vimarśa. Otherwise one would think action is something added after consciousness, as if Bhairava first knows and then some separate mechanism acts. No. Kriyā too is Śakti. Action is consciousness becoming operative through its own power.

So this point opens the new movement: how does action arise from the interplay of icchā and jñāna? How does sequence appear without leaving consciousness? How does the power of doing emerge without turning into mechanical causality? Abhinava is about to unfold kriyā as the Śakti of ordered manifestation, but still rooted in the same Anuttara-Ānanda that never disappears.

Kriyā arises from the intermixture and wonder of icchā and jñāna

icchājñāne eva parasparasvarūpasāṃkaryavaicitryacamatkāramayapūrvāparībhūtasvarūpaparigrahe saṃrambhasārā kriyā

“Kriyā is rooted in icchā and jñāna themselves, when they take on a nature of prior and later through the wondrous variety of the mutual intermixture of their own forms; its essence is active intensity.”

Abhinava now defines Kriyā-Śakti from within the two powers already unfolded. Action is not a third thing added externally after will and knowledge. It arises from icchā and jñāna themselves, when their own forms begin to interpenetrate and produce the structure of prior and later.

This is subtle. Icchā by itself is the will-to-manifest; jñāna is the illumination of what is to appear. But when will and knowledge mix, when the willed and the known begin to press into a sequence, kriyā emerges. Action requires relation: before and after, beginning and completion, impulse and execution, intended form and realized form.

The phrase paraspara-svarūpa-sāṃkarya-vaicitrya-camatkāra is dense but beautiful: the wonder of the variety created by the mutual intermixture of their own natures. Action is born from this wonder. It is not mechanical motion. It is the living intensity that arises when will and knowledge begin to shape one another.

And saṃrambha-sārā gives kriyā its force. Kriyā has the essence of energetic engagement, active tension, purposeful movement. The power is no longer only the blissful fullness of will, nor only the luminous disclosure of knowledge. It now begins to act.

So Kriyā-Śakti is the moment when Bhairava’s freedom becomes operative sequence. The supreme does not merely will the world or know the world. It moves toward making the world manifest.

Kriyā is made of parts that become prior and later

[pūrvāparībhūtāvayavarūpā hi kriyā |

“For kriyā has the form of parts that have become prior and later.”

The gloss now gives the basic structure of action. Kriyā is not a single frozen thing. It is made of avayavas, parts or phases, that become pūrva and apara — prior and later. Action means unfolding. Something begins, something follows, something is completed. Without this before-and-after structure, kriyā cannot be recognized as action.

This is why kriyā differs from icchā and jñāna. Will can be present as an inward pulse before its object is clear. Knowledge can illumine the knowable. But action requires process. It needs the movement from not-yet-done to done, from intention to execution, from first phase to later phase. Kriyā is Śakti as ordered becoming.

But this does not make action external to consciousness. The prior and later phases are not pieces of dead time outside Bhairava. They are the way consciousness becomes operative. Kriyā is sequence, yes — but sequence as Śakti’s own movement, not as mechanical causality outside awareness.

So the point is simple but important: once Bhairava’s freedom becomes kriyā, it accepts the form of process. Action is the power of consciousness appearing as ordered phases. The supreme begins to move as “before” and “after,” while still remaining the same Śakti-current underneath.

Bhartṛhari: action is what is to be accomplished through sequence

uktaṃ ca hariṇā

yāvatsiddhamasiddhaṃ vā sādhyatvenābhidhīyate |
āśritakramarūpatvāt sā kriyetyabhidhīyate ||

“And Hari has said:

‘Whether already accomplished or not yet accomplished, insofar as something is spoken of as to be accomplished, it is called action, because its form depends upon sequence.’”

The gloss now brings in Bhartṛhari to define kriyā more exactly. Action is not simply motion. It is not merely “something happening.” Action is that which is understood as sādhya, something to be accomplished, something moving toward completion. And because accomplishment implies before and after, kriyā necessarily depends on krama, sequence.

This matters because Abhinava has just said that Kriyā-Śakti arises from the mutual intermixture of icchā and jñāna. Will wants manifestation; knowledge illumines what is to appear; action is the ordered process by which that possibility becomes actual. Kriyā therefore cannot be understood without sequence. It has phases: beginning, continuation, completion.

But this sequence is not outside consciousness. Bhartṛhari’s definition helps explain the structure of action, while Abhinava keeps it inside Śakti. When something is “to be done,” consciousness has already arranged the field as prior and later: not-yet, becoming, done. Kriyā is the Śakti of that arrangement.

So action is the place where time, sequence, and manifestation become most visible. Icchā may still be subtle, jñāna may still be luminous, but kriyā must unfold. It needs the ordered body of process. The divine does not only will and know; it acts by becoming sequence without ceasing to be consciousness.

Bhartṛhari: action is a conceptual grouping of sequentially born parts

tathā
guṇabhūtairavayavaiḥ samūhaḥ kramajanmanām |
buddhyā prakalpito bhedaḥ kriyeti vyapadiśyate ||

“Likewise:

‘A collection of parts born in sequence, where the parts have become subordinate, is a distinction constructed by the intellect; this is designated as action.’”

The gloss now cites Bhartṛhari again, and this verse makes the structure of action even sharper. Kriyā is not one solid thing sitting somewhere. It is a samūha, a collection, of avayavas, parts or phases, that arise in sequence. The intellect gathers these sequential moments together and calls the whole “an action.”

This is very close to ordinary experience. “Walking” is not one indivisible object. It is a sequence of movements: lifting the foot, placing it, shifting weight, moving forward. The intellect gathers those many moments and says, “He is walking.” “Speaking” is also a sequence: breath, vibration, tongue, palate, syllables, words. The intellect gathers the sequence and calls it “speech.” “Writing,” “offering,” “thinking,” “creating” — all are collected sequences.

So kriyā depends on buddhi-prakalpita-bheda, a distinction constructed by the intellect. That does not mean action is unreal in a crude sense. It means action is intelligible through the mind’s grouping of sequential phases into one functional whole. The parts are many, but they are subordinated as guṇabhūta, secondary to the total action.

This fits Abhinava’s point perfectly. Kriyā-Śakti is the power of consciousness entering sequence. She allows prior and later, partial phases, accomplishment, and process. But this sequence is not a separate reality outside consciousness. It is a way consciousness gathers its own movements into functional action.

So the verse gives us a precise vision of action: not dead mechanics, not isolated moments, not an independent substance called “doing,” but consciousness organizing sequentially born parts into a meaningful whole. Action is Śakti as ordered process.

Prior-and-later relation exists through mutual intermixture

ityatra ca pūrvāparatvaṃ parasparasāṃkaryeṇaiveti |]

“And here, the relation of prior and later exists only through mutual intermixture.”

The gloss now prevents a mechanical reading of action. Kriyā has sequence, yes. Action is made of parts that appear as prior and later. Bhartṛhari’s definition helps: action is a grouping of sequential phases gathered by the intellect. But Abhinava’s received tradition adds the crucial correction: the prior and later are not dead, isolated pieces. They exist through paraspara-sāṃkarya, mutual intermixture.

This means that the earlier phase of an action already leans toward the later, and the later phase carries the earlier within itself. When one walks, lifting the foot is already meaningful only in relation to placing it. When one speaks, the first syllable already points toward the word and sentence. When one performs ritual, the opening act already carries the intended completion. The sequence is real, but each part is soaked in the others.

So action is not a chain of unrelated fragments. It is a living continuum. The “before” and “after” exist because the phases are internally connected, not because they are separate blocks placed on a timeline. Kriyā is sequence, but sequence as Śakti’s woven movement.

This keeps the doctrine aligned with everything Abhinava has been saying. Even where order appears, the order is not exile from consciousness. Prior and later arise as differentiated moments of one current. Action unfolds, but the unfolding is held together by the mutual interpenetration of its phases.

Whatever enters relation first becomes subtle, porous, almost empty

tatra yadyadanyavyāmiśritasāṃkaryamanyasaṃbandhādeti tattadanāmarśanīyaśūnyaprāyasvarūpākramaṇapuraḥsarīkāreṇa tathā bhavati

“There, whatever comes into mutual intermixture with another through relation becomes such only by first assuming a form that is almost empty and not directly graspable.”

Abhinava now enters the hidden anatomy of action. Kriyā does not arise as a solid block. Action is not simply “I did this.” Before an act becomes visible, before it becomes word, gesture, strike, offering, signature, embrace, refusal, or sacrifice, there is a subtle passage where one state begins to yield into another. That passage is anāmarśanīya, not directly graspable, and śūnya-prāya, almost empty.

This is extremely precise. When something enters relation with another, it cannot remain rigidly itself. It must loosen. It must become porous. A thought becoming speech is no longer only thought, but not yet spoken sound. A decision becoming action is no longer only inward intention, but not yet visible deed. A hand beginning to move is no longer stillness, but not yet completed action. There is a threshold-zone where form becomes almost empty so that another form can enter it.

Take the act of speaking a difficult truth. Before the words come out, there is a subtle inner trembling. The meaning is there, but not yet speech. The person may feel the body tighten, the breath shift, the sentence gather, the possibility of consequence appear. In that moment, thought, fear, intention, memory, and speech intermix. The act has not yet become Vaikharī, but it is no longer merely inner. This threshold is hard to grasp because it is transitional. It is exactly the kind of “almost empty” form Abhinava is pointing toward.

Or take a surgeon making an incision. The action is not only the visible movement of the hand. Before the cut, knowledge, training, intention, attention, compassion, risk, and motor action gather into one charged moment. The hand does not move as an isolated object. It carries the whole prior field. The action becomes possible because many layers interpenetrate: knowledge, will, skill, body, tool, patient, aim. The visible cut is only the outer edge of a subtle kriyā already formed.

This is the power of Abhinava’s point: action requires a subtle loss of hardness. If each phase remained sealed in itself, nothing could happen. Intention would never become speech. Knowledge would never become gesture. Will would never become deed. Kriyā is possible because the boundaries between phases soften and interpenetrate.

So this “emptiness” is not nihilistic. It is fertile emptiness. The form becomes almost ungraspable because it is in transition. It is giving itself to the next phase. This is the womb-space of action: not yet visible, not yet completed, but already alive with the force that will become deed.

Abhinava is showing that action is never merely external. Every act is born from a subtle, nearly invisible mingling of powers. Icchā, jñāna, body, object, sequence, intention, and circumstance enter one another. Only then does kriyā appear. The visible action is the last flash of a hidden interpenetration.

Analogy: like frogs and other creatures on floating rafts

plavānāmiva bhekādiḥ

“Like frogs and the like on floating rafts.”

Abhinava now gives a small image for the strange transitional state just described. When something enters relation with another, it first becomes almost empty, ungraspable, loosened from its rigid own-form. He compares this to frogs and other creatures on floating rafts.

The image is odd, but useful. A frog sitting on a floating raft is not standing on fixed ground. Its position is unstable, relational, dependent on the raft’s movement. It is carried by something else. It cannot be understood as simply “here” in a rigid way, because the “here” itself is floating. The creature’s place is defined by another moving support.

This is how a phase of action behaves when it enters kriyā. A thought becoming speech, a will becoming movement, a gesture becoming ritual, a decision becoming deed — none of these stands on fixed ground. Each is carried into the next by relation. It becomes mixed with another phase, dependent on a moving sequence, no longer fully graspable as an isolated thing.

So the analogy continues the point: action is not a row of hard blocks. It is a floating continuity. Each phase is supported by what comes before and already leaning into what comes after. The “frog” is visible, but its ground is moving. The act is visible, but its inner support is a fluid intermixture of icchā, jñāna, body, object, sequence, and circumstance.

Even in action, the Anuttara-Ānanda form does not disappear

tatrānuttarānandātmakaṃ vapurna vyapasarati

“Even there, the form whose nature is Anuttara and Ānanda does not disappear.”

Abhinava now gives the safeguard. Kriyā enters sequence. Action unfolds through prior and later. Intention becomes movement, knowledge becomes gesture, speech becomes sound, decision becomes deed. At this point the mind easily thinks: “Now we have fallen from the supreme into action.” But Abhinava says no: even there, anuttarānandātmakaṃ vapuḥ — the form whose nature is Anuttara and Ānanda — does not disappear.

This cuts a very common spiritual split. People imagine that spirituality is what happens in silence, in meditation, in the temple, in the āśrama, in the mountains, in mantra-japa, in formal pūjā. And then ordinary action is treated as a lower field: office work, cleaning, answering messages, earning money, taking care of a child, dealing with illness, making food, solving practical problems. The mind silently divides reality: “there is sacred practice, and then there is life.”

Abhinava’s vision does not allow that crude split. Action can become contracted, yes. Work can become bondage, yes. Family responsibility can become egoic, exhausting, or mechanical, yes. But action as such is not outside Anuttara. Kriyā-Śakti does not exile consciousness from bliss. The problem is not action; the problem is contraction inside action.

So taking care of one’s child is not less capable of containing Anuttara than sitting in a shrine. Speaking truth in a difficult conversation is not automatically less spiritual than reciting mantra. Doing one’s job with clarity, discipline, and inward remembrance is not outside Śakti. The hand washing a dish, the mouth answering a child, the body going to work, the mind solving a hard problem — all of this can either be bondage or Kriyā-Śakti, depending on whether the action is grasped as contracted egoic burden or recognized as movement inside consciousness.

This does not mean pretending every action is automatically pure. That would be cheap. Abhinava is not romanticizing activity. He is saying something sharper: even when action enters sequence, effort, and process, the Anuttara-Ānanda body has not vanished. It may be concealed by anxiety, compulsion, resentment, fatigue, or identity. But it is not absent.

So the task is not to escape action in order to find the supreme elsewhere. The task is to recognize the supreme in the very movement of action, without losing discrimination. Silence is one mode. Action is another. Both can conceal; both can reveal. Kriyā becomes bondage when the limited “I” claims it. Kriyā becomes Śakti when action is seen as the movement of consciousness itself.

This is why the line is powerful. Abhinava is saying: even here, in doing, in process, in sequence, in the unfinished labor of life, Anuttara-Ānanda does not disappear. The surface is action. The heart is still Bhairava.

Action is present in all cognitions because it is beyond ordinary designation

avyapadeśarūpatvāt sarvajñāneṣu

“Because it is of a form beyond ordinary designation, it is present in all cognitions.”

Abhinava now clarifies why the Anuttara-Ānanda form does not disappear even in action. Kriyā enters sequence, prior and later, intermixture, process, accomplishment. It can look like action belongs only to the manifest, external, describable world. But Abhinava says that the deeper form remains present in all cognitions because it is avyapadeśa-rūpa — not fully capturable by ordinary designation.

This is subtle. The deepest action of consciousness cannot be reduced to the named action: walking, speaking, cutting, offering, thinking, writing. Those are surface designations. Beneath them is the unnameable power by which cognition itself becomes operative. Even when we say “I know a pot,” there is already a hidden kriyā: consciousness manifests, colors itself with the pot-form, holds the cognition, and reveals it. This action is not always outwardly visible, but it is present.

So sarva-jñāneṣu — in all cognitions — this deeper power is active. Every act of knowing is already a subtle doing of consciousness. The object appears, but its appearing is not inert. Awareness is not a passive screen. It is luminous, bliss-dense, and operative.

This continues the earlier correction. Action is not outside spirituality. Kriyā is not only external motion. Even cognition is already a kind of Śākta act. The supreme remains present not because action is absent, but because even action, in its deepest form, is the unnameable movement of Anuttara-Ānanda.

Because it is beyond ordinary designation, Anuttara-Ānanda remains present in all cognitions

avyapadeśarūpatvāt sarvajñāneṣu

“Because it is of a form beyond ordinary designation, it is present in all cognitions.”

Abhinava now explains why the Anuttara-Ānanda form does not disappear even when consciousness enters action, sequence, and relation. It is avyapadeśa-rūpa — not fully nameable, not reducible to any ordinary designation. Precisely because it cannot be captured as one object among others, it can pervade all cognitions without being noticed as a separate item.

This is subtle. If Anuttara-Ānanda were one definable content — one feeling, one state, one image, one bliss-sensation — then it would appear in some cognitions and not in others. It would come and go. But because it is deeper than the named contents of cognition, it can remain present even when the surface form changes.

So in pot-cognition, it is there. In action, it is there. In speech, work, perception, memory, effort, fatigue, decision, ritual, and ordinary thought — it is there, not as a separate “thing” added to them, but as the unnameable bliss-form of consciousness by which they are able to appear at all.

This is why one should not search for Ānanda only as a pleasant spiritual mood. If one expects it to appear only as sweetness, ecstasy, or devotional warmth, one will miss its deeper form. Abhinava is pointing to something prior to such states: the bliss-density of consciousness itself, silently present in every cognition because it is not confined to any particular cognition.

So the action may look ordinary, the thought may look dry, the object may look mundane, but the Anuttara-Ānanda body has not vanished. It is hidden because it is too intimate, too close to be objectified. It is not absent; it is ungraspable by ordinary naming.

The supreme Brahman cannot be reduced to a small fixed particle of bliss

[asarvajñānatvaṃ cettham
paraṃ brahma kṣudraṃ tava niyatamānandakaṇikā |
iti |

“The lack of all-knowingness would be like this: ‘For you, the supreme Brahman would become small, a fixed little particle of bliss.’”

The gloss now warns against a very subtle distortion: reducing the supreme to one limited experience of bliss. If the Anuttara-Ānanda form were treated as present only in certain special states, then Brahman would become kṣudra, small — a tiny fixed particle of bliss, ānanda-kaṇikā, instead of the all-pervading fullness of consciousness.

This happens very easily in spiritual life. A person visits Arunachala and receives a powerful blissful opening. Or during mantra-japa, kīrtana, pūjā, meditation, darśana, or a dream, a nectar-like state descends. For a moment everything feels whole, luminous, full, sacred. Then the state passes. And the mind quietly makes the mistake: “That was ānanda. Now I must get it back.”

From that point, sādhana can become state-chasing. The person is no longer entering awareness directly; they are trying to restore a remembered sweetness. They compare every practice with that peak. “Why is the bliss not here now? Why did the mantra stop working? Why did the temple feeling disappear? Why is the nectar gone?” The original opening may have been real, but attachment to its form turns it into a small object.

That is exactly what the gloss is warning against. Ānanda is not the memory of a peak state. It is not a particular sensation in the body, not a devotional mood, not a high in meditation, not the sweetness of a certain place or ritual atmosphere. Those may be expressions of ānanda, but they are not ānanda itself. If we identify ānanda only with those appearances, we shrink Brahman into a private spiritual experience.

Abhinava’s point is harsher and freer: Anuttara-Ānanda does not disappear when the bliss-state disappears. It remains present in all cognition because it is deeper than nameable experience. It is there in mantra-ecstasy, yes — but also in ordinary action, perception, thought, fatigue, silence, and the cognition of a pot. It is not always emotionally sweet on the surface. Sometimes it is hidden. But it is not absent.

So the task is not to recover one lost particle of bliss. The task is to recognize the bliss-density of consciousness itself, even when no special bliss-object is present. Otherwise the seeker becomes trapped by the most refined object of all: a remembered spiritual sweetness. The drop was real, but it was never the ocean.

The supreme knowledge is the Śakti-pregnant supreme light

tathā

paraṃ jñānaṃ kathaṃ deva

iti paśne

śaktyā garbhāntarvartinyā śaktigarbhaṃ paraṃ mahaḥ |

ityuttaraṃ dattam |

“Likewise, when asked, ‘O Deva, what is supreme knowledge?’ the answer was given:

‘The supreme light is pregnant with Śakti, because Śakti abides within its womb.’”

Abhinava now reinforces the same point from another angle. Supreme knowledge is not an empty, objectless blank. It is paraṃ mahaḥ, the supreme light — but that light is śakti-garbha, pregnant with Śakti. The highest knowledge is not knowledge stripped of power, manifestation, bliss, and action. It is light with Śakti in its womb.

This answers the danger raised in the previous points. If one thinks knowledge depends on the object, one falls into gross vision. But if one reacts by reducing supreme knowledge to a sterile objectless void, one falls into another error. Abhinava’s vision avoids both: Jñāna-Śakti is self-luminous, yet the supreme light is not barren. It carries Śakti inwardly.

The phrase garbhāntarvartinī matters. Śakti abides inside the womb of the supreme light. She is not outside it, not later than it, not a second principle added afterward. The supreme is already pregnant with the power of manifestation. Light and womb, knowledge and power, stillness and creative potency are not divided.

So supreme knowledge is not merely “knowing nothing.” It is the luminous ground that contains the power of all knowing, all action, all manifestation. The highest is silent, but not sterile. Empty of otherness, but full of Śakti.

Puruṣottama is beyond both the perishable and the imperishable

gītāyāmapi

yasmāt kṣaramatīto'hamakṣarādapi cottamaḥ |
ato'smi loke vede ca prathitaḥ puruṣottamaḥ ||]

“And in the Gītā too:

‘Because I transcend the perishable, and am higher even than the imperishable,
therefore I am known in the world and in the Veda as Puruṣottama.’”

The gloss now closes the support with the Gītā’s language of Puruṣottama. The supreme is beyond kṣara, the perishable — the field of changing forms, action, sequence, birth, decay, and manifest process. But it is also beyond akṣara, the imperishable — the still, unchanging, unmanifest principle. This is crucial. Abhinava’s current does not stop at either side.

If we cling only to kṣara, we remain in manifestation, action, object, and change. If we cling only to akṣara, we may fall into a static transcendence, an unmoving absolute, a refined blank beyond action. But the supreme is uttama even beyond the imperishable. It is not merely the changing world, and not merely the changeless witness. It is the living fullness that contains and exceeds both.

This fits the whole chunk perfectly. Kriyā enters sequence, but Anuttara-Ānanda does not disappear. Action unfolds, but the supreme is not reduced to action. Stillness transcends action, but the supreme is not reduced to inactive stillness either. The highest is śakti-garbha paraṃ mahaḥ — the supreme light pregnant with Śakti.

So the Gītā citation supports Abhinava’s central balance: the Real is not only movement, and not only immobility; not only world, and not only world-negation; not only kṣara, and not only akṣara. Puruṣottama is beyond both, while allowing both to appear within His own freedom.

This is why Abhinava refuses every narrow conclusion. The supreme cannot be made into a small particle of bliss, cannot be reduced to object-based knowledge, cannot be reduced to action, and cannot be reduced to objectless stillness. It is the unsurpassed fullness in which knowledge, action, bliss, Śakti, manifestation, and transcendence all find their place without contradiction.