Parātrīṃśikā Vivaraṇa (Part 138): From Unity to Name, Form, and Action

manifestation arising from the nondual play of Shiva and Shakti. The composition evokes the emergence of differentiated experience from an original unity.

The previous part completed the vowel-current by showing icchā, jñāna, and kriyā as one freedom appearing in three functional phases. The triad is real as movement, but not ultimately separate: will expands the universe, knowledge makes it manifest, action makes it flash outwardly — yet all three are only Parameśvara’s svātantrya, one sovereignty taking the form of beginning, middle, and end.

Now Abhinava gathers that insight into a broader doctrinal confirmation.

The beginning, middle, and end of Śakti’s vibration are not abstract stages. They are the living phases of icchā, jñāna, and kriyā: the wish to unfold, the unfolding itself, and the unfolded condition. These can be clearly recognized only by yogins established in extremely subtle prasaṃkhyāna, that is, deep samādhic discernment. This is not ordinary analysis. It is vision refined enough to perceive the first stirrings of Śakti before they harden into gross manifestation.

Then Abhinava connects this with other śāstric traditions. The Svacchanda and related procedural texts describe the same phases as awakening, expansion, and covering. The Śivadṛṣṭi describes the supreme as intensely filled with bliss, with the triad of Śaktis dissolved within it, and then shows that the same Śakti becomes the universe, just as clay becomes a pot, all the way down through Vidyā, Māyā, and dense earth. Yet the conclusion remains: the tattva is one. Multiplicity does not add a second reality.

This is the central nerve of the chunk: the three Śaktis are distinguishable only when manifestation is viewed through relation, function, and object-orientation. In the highest state, they are already fused. In Parā, there is only the full “I,” the natural self-recognition of consciousness, resting as bliss. Icchā, jñāna, and kriyā are present there, but not as separate powers dealing with separate objects. They are one Śakti-sāmarasya, one harmony of powers inside full consciousness.

Only when distinct objects appear do these powers become clearer as separate functions. When there is something to be desired, icchā becomes distinct. When there is something to be illumined, jñāna becomes distinct. When there is something to be accomplished, kriyā becomes distinct. But before that, they are not absent; they are simply too subtle to divide.

So this part is a safeguard against both over-separation and over-flattening. Abhinava does not deny icchā, jñāna, and kriyā. He has spent many pages unfolding them. But he now insists that their separateness is functional, not ultimate. In fullness they are one. In manifestation they become distinguishable. In bondage, their distinction hardens into nāma-rūpa, name and form, knower and known, action and sequence. The sādhaka must learn to see the powers without losing their unity.

The beginning, middle, and end of Śakti’s vibration are icchā, jñāna, and kriyā

jñāna-kriyātmakaśaktiparispandādimadhyāntabhāgāḥ ullilasiṣā-ullasattā-ullasitatāsvabhāvāḥ

“The beginning, middle, and end portions of the vibration of Śakti, whose nature is jñāna and kriyā, have as their nature: the wish to unfold, the act of unfolding, and the state of having unfolded.”

Abhinava now gathers the triad of icchā, jñāna, and kriyā into a single movement of Śakti’s parispanda, her vibration or throbbing expansion. These are not three disconnected powers. They are the beginning, middle, and end of one living pulse.

The first phase is ullilasiṣā — the wish or urge to unfold. This is icchā. The universe is not yet unfolded, but the movement toward manifestation has begun. It is the first inward leaning of consciousness toward expression.

The second phase is ullasattā — the actual shining-forth, the process of unfolding. This is jñāna in its manifesting role: what was willed begins to appear, to become illumined, to take recognizable form within consciousness.

The third phase is ullasitatā — the state of having unfolded. This is kriyā, the power by which the movement reaches operative expression. The unfolding is no longer only intended or illumined; it has become enacted, expressed, brought forth.

So Abhinava is showing that icchā, jñāna, and kriyā are not artificial categories. They are the natural phases of any manifestation: the will to unfold, the illumination of what is unfolding, and the completed outward expression. In ordinary life, this is visible even in small actions: before speaking, there is an urge to say; then the meaning forms clearly; then the words are spoken. But Abhinava is reading this at the cosmic level, as Śakti’s own vibration.

The key is that all three are one parispanda. The beginning does not disappear when the middle comes; the middle is not severed from the end. Icchā, jñāna, and kriyā are distinguishable only as phases of one pulsation of consciousness. The one freedom begins, illumines, and completes its own manifestation.

These phases are perceived clearly only by yogins established in extremely subtle prasaṃkhyāna

sūkṣmatamaprasaṃkhyānagṛhītatāvadbhūmikādhirūḍhayogijanasphuṭalakṣaṇīyāḥ [prasaṃkhyānaṃ samādhiḥ |]

“They are clearly discernible only to yogins who have ascended to those corresponding levels, grasped through the most subtle prasaṃkhyāna. The gloss clarifies: prasaṃkhyāna means samādhi.”

Abhinava now places a hard limit on mere intellectual understanding. The phases of Śakti’s vibration — the wish to unfold, the unfolding, and the unfolded state — are not gross events. They are not visible like outer actions, nor even like ordinary thoughts. They are sūkṣmatama, extremely subtle, almost before the mind can catch them as “something.”

This is why they are clearly recognized only by yogins established in the corresponding inner levels. One does not see these movements merely by reading about icchā, jñāna, and kriyā. One sees them when consciousness becomes subtle enough to detect the first tremor before thought, the first leaning before intention, the first inner glow before form.

The gloss says prasaṃkhyānaṃ samādhiḥ. This is not casual analysis. It is samādhic discernment — the mind made clear and still enough that it can notice what usually flashes too quickly and too inwardly to be seen. Ordinary attention catches the completed action: “I spoke,” “I decided,” “I understood.” The yogic eye catches the hidden phases before that: the urge to unfold, the forming clarity, the movement into expression.

A simple example: before a sentence is spoken, there is a subtle will to express. Then the meaning begins to shine inwardly. Then the words form. Then speech comes out. Most people notice only the final spoken phrase. A subtler mind notices the inner sentence. A still subtler awareness notices the pre-verbal pulse before the sentence. Abhinava is speaking of that level — and deeper.

So this is not elitism. It is accuracy. A person who has never trained attention deeply cannot pretend to see the first movements of Śakti just because they know the terms. The doctrine can be understood conceptually, but the phases become sphuṭa-lakṣaṇīya, clearly discernible, only when awareness has been refined by samādhi.

This is also why Abhinava’s text can feel impossible to ordinary reading. He is not describing only ideas. He is describing micro-movements of consciousness that normally remain hidden beneath the noise of thought, emotion, speech, and action. The reader must become subtler, or the teaching remains a map of a country they have not entered.

The Svacchanda and related śāstras describe the same phases as awakening, expansion, and covering

śrīsvacchandādiprakriyāśāstreṣu prabuddhaprasaraṇāvaraṇādirūpatvenoktāḥ [prabuddheti icchā prasaraṇeti jñānaṃ āvaraṇeti kriyā |]

“In the procedural śāstras such as the Śrī Svacchanda, these are described as awakening, expansion, and covering. The gloss clarifies: ‘awakening’ is icchā, ‘expansion’ is jñāna, and ‘covering’ is kriyā.”

Abhinava now connects the same triadic movement to the language of the Svacchanda and related procedural texts. The powers we have been following as icchā, jñāna, and kriyā are there described as prabuddha, awakening; prasaraṇa, expansion; and āvaraṇa, covering.

This is not a different doctrine. It is another way of seeing the same movement. Icchā is awakening because the first urge to unfold has stirred. Consciousness is no longer resting only in undifferentiated fullness; it has awakened toward manifestation. Jñāna is expansion because what was willed begins to open, become illumined, become knowable. Kriyā is covering because action gives form, boundary, sequence, and operative structure. It makes manifestation concrete, but by doing so it also covers the pure immediacy of the source.

This word āvaraṇa should be held carefully. Covering is not simply “bad.” Without covering, there is no stable form, no action, no ritual, no body, no world. Kriyā covers because she makes the subtle power enter definite process. But when that covering is misrecognized as separateness, it becomes bondage.

So this point shows again how Abhinava refuses flat categories. Awakening, expansion, covering — all are Śakti. The same power that reveals also covers; the same covering can become the field of practice; the same practice can return the covering into recognition.

Śivadṛṣṭi describes the supreme as bliss-dense, with the triad of Śaktis dissolved within it

ata eva śivadṛṣṭiśāstre saptamāhnike

sunirbharatarāhlādabharitākārarūpiṇi |
nilīnaśaktitritaye parāmanyanubhāvanāt ||

ityādi

“Therefore, in the seventh āhnika of the Śivadṛṣṭi, it is said:

‘In that supreme one, whose form is filled with an exceedingly dense fullness of bliss,
the triad of Śaktis has dissolved, through the experience of the supreme.’”

Abhinava now brings in the Śivadṛṣṭi, and the whole triadic analysis is suddenly drowned in bliss. The text has spoken of icchā, jñāna, and kriyā; of awakening, expansion, and covering; of beginning, middle, and end. These distinctions are real and necessary for understanding how Śakti unfolds. But in the supreme experience, they do not stand apart. They become nilīna — dissolved, absorbed, sunk back into the one.

The supreme is described as sunirbharatara-āhlāda-bharita-ākāra — a form filled with an exceedingly dense fullness of bliss. This is not a thin awareness, not a sterile witness, not a pale metaphysical absolute. It is a form so saturated with āhlāda, with blissful fullness, that the three Śaktis lose their separateness inside it. They do not vanish into non-being. They dissolve into their own source.

This is like fire returning into heat, waves returning into ocean, fragrance returning into the flower before it spreads. Icchā, jñāna, and kriyā are still true as functions, but in the supreme they are tasted as one mass of living bliss. Will is not separate from knowing. Knowing is not separate from action. Action is not separate from the delight that first stirred the whole movement.

The phrase parām anubhāvanāt matters. This dissolution does not happen through intellectual conclusion alone. It happens through the experience of the supreme. From below, the Śaktis are distinguishable. In practice, they must be distinguished. But when consciousness enters the supreme taste, the separateness melts. The triad is no longer a map; it becomes one bliss-dense body.

So this point is not a denial of the earlier analysis. It is its fulfillment. The distinctions were blades used to cut confusion. But when the cutting is complete, the blades are seen as made of the same light. The three Śaktis return to the one āhlāda-filled form of the supreme. This is Abhinava’s balance again: analyze with precision, then let the analysis dissolve into the living fullness it was meant to reveal.

The same Śakti becomes the universe, like clay becoming a pot

tasyāpi śaktirmṛtpiṇḍaghaṭavadviśvatāṃ gatā |

yāvadyāvattaredvidyāmāyādighanapārthivam ||

“Her Śakti too becomes the universe, like a lump of clay becoming a pot — extending down through Vidyā, Māyā, and the dense earthly level.”

Abhinava now brings the dissolved triad back into manifestation. In the supreme, icchā, jñāna, and kriyā are absorbed into one bliss-dense fullness. But that does not mean Śakti remains forever unexpressed. Her power becomes the universe, just as clay becomes a pot.

The analogy is important. The pot is not something outside clay. It is clay in a formed condition. Likewise, the universe is not something outside Śakti. It is Śakti taking form — through Vidyā, Māyā, and finally the dense earthly level. The whole descent is her own transformation of appearance, not a second substance added to consciousness.

This also prevents a false reading of dissolution. When the three Śaktis dissolve in the supreme, manifestation is not rejected. The same Śakti who rests as one āhlāda-filled fullness can become the whole universe. Unity and manifestation are not enemies. The one becomes many without ceasing to be one, just as clay becomes pot without ceasing to be clay.

So this point carries the whole Trika balance: in the supreme, the Śaktis are dissolved; in manifestation, the same Śakti becomes the world. The world is real as Śakti’s form, but not separate as another reality.

The Śivadṛṣṭi concludes that the tattva is one; multiplicity adds nothing beyond it

ekameva hi tattattvaṃ na saṃkhyāto'tiriktatā |

“For that tattva is one alone; multiplicity does not add anything beyond it.”

Abhinava now lets the Śivadṛṣṭi state the conclusion plainly. Śakti becomes the universe, just as clay becomes a pot. She extends through Vidyā, Māyā, and down into dense earth. The forms multiply. The levels appear. The tattvas spread. But the real tattva, the truth of the matter, is eka eva — one alone.

This is not a denial of multiplicity at the level of appearance. Abhinava is not saying that the pot is not a pot, or that the world does not appear, or that the tattvas are meaningless. He has spent too much effort preserving sequence, distinction, function, mantra, śakti, and kriyā for that. The point is subtler: multiplicity does not create an additional reality beyond the one tattva.

The clay-pot analogy matters. When clay becomes a pot, the pot-form appears. It can hold water. It has shape, use, name, and function. But no new substance beyond clay has appeared. Likewise, when Śakti becomes the universe, countless forms arise — gods, bodies, worlds, tattvas, speech, actions, cognition — but they do not add a second substance beyond consciousness.

So na saṃkhyāto’tiriktatā — there is no extra reality because of number. Counting does not create ontological addition. One form, ten forms, thirty-six tattvas, infinite worlds — the count changes, but the underlying tattva does not become more than itself. Multiplicity is real as articulation, not as a second principle.

This is one of the great safeguards of Abhinava’s vision. He does not flatten the many, but he also does not let the many become metaphysically independent. Śakti can become everything without ceasing to be one consciousness. The universe is not outside the tattva; it is the tattva appearing as many.

Śivatattva becomes Bhairava through the wonder of infinitely varied freedom

iti yacchivatattvameva anantavicitrasvātantryasphārasphuraṇaśakticamatkārabharitatopāttabhairavabhāvaṃ nirṇītam

“Thus it has been determined that Śivatattva itself assumes the state of Bhairava because it is filled with the wonder of Śakti — the flashing expansion of infinitely varied freedom.”

Abhinava now states what the whole previous movement proves. The one tattva does not remain a pale, static principle. Śivatattva itself becomes Bhairava — not by receiving something from outside, not by being modified by a second reality, but by being filled with the camatkāra, the astonished wonder, of its own Śakti.

The phrase is immense: ananta-vicitra-svātantrya-sphāra-sphuraṇa-śakti-camatkāra-bharita. Śiva is filled with the wonder of Śakti as the flashing, expansive radiance of infinitely varied freedom. This is not blank consciousness. This is consciousness bursting with the power to appear as all forms, all worlds, all tattvas, all names, all bodies, all acts, all recognitions — without becoming other than itself.

This is why Śiva is Bhairava. Not because He is merely transcendent. Not because He is empty of manifestation. Not because He sits above the universe untouched in sterile purity. He is Bhairava because His freedom flashes as infinite variety and still remains Himself. His stillness contains eruption. His unity contains endless forms. His light contains the power to become world, mantra, body, thought, action, bondage, purification, and liberation.

The word camatkāra is crucial. This is not dry metaphysics. It is wonder, shock, savor, the astonished self-taste of consciousness recognizing its own impossible freedom. Śiva becomes Bhairava when the absolute is not merely known as one, but tasted as the one that can become infinitely many without losing its unity.

So this line is one of the great anti-blankness statements of the text. The highest is not a silent metaphysical zero. It is the blazing fullness of freedom. Śivatattva becomes Bhairava because Śakti flashes within it as inexhaustible creative wonder. The one does not contradict the many. The many do not diminish the one. Their non-contradiction is Bhairava’s own camatkāra.

The same sequence appears in the first āhnika of the Saṃpradāya

tatrāyamevoktakramaḥ saṃpradāyaprathamāhnike'pi sa yadāste

“There too, in the first āhnika of the Saṃpradāya, this very sequence that has been explained appears: ‘When he abides…’”

Abhinava now points to another textual location where the same sequence is taught. This is not a new doctrine. It is the same movement of Śakti being confirmed again: the one Śivatattva, filled with the wonder of infinitely varied freedom, becomes Bhairava; and within that Bhairava-current, the powers of icchā, jñāna, and kriyā can be distinguished according to the level of manifestation.

The phrase ayam eva ukta-kramaḥ matters — “this very sequence already explained.” Abhinava is not wandering into a side citation. He is showing that the same inner order appears across the tradition. The Śaktis may be described as icchā, jñāna, kriyā; as awakening, expansion, covering; as dissolved in the supreme; as becoming the universe; as one tattva appearing as many. The vocabulary shifts, but the current is the same.

So the point of the citation is continuity. The unfolding is not Abhinava’s private invention, nor a loose philosophical construction. It belongs to the received Saṃpradāya. The same sequence is visible wherever the tradition speaks from the inner current rather than from external classification.

This prepares the gloss’s deeper explanation: even before the deluded saṃsāric condition fully unfolds, Śivatā and the Śaktis are already present, though in a subtle, unified form. The powers do not begin only when the world becomes grossly manifest. They are already there in the supreme “I,” before their functions become clearly divided.

Even before saṃsāric delusion unfolds, Śivatā and the five Śaktis are present in one form

[śivaikyākhyātirūpabhrāntimayasaṃsārāvasthā yāvannonmiṣati tāvadapi tāvadastyevoktarūpaśivatā tathā ca śakipañcakamapi tadānīmekarūpamapi vyavahārāpekṣayā kāryavaśādastyeva

“The gloss explains: even before the saṃsāric condition, made of delusion in the form of non-recognition of unity with Śiva, has unfolded, Śivatā of the kind already described is present. And likewise the five Śaktis are also present then, though in one form; from the standpoint of practical manifestation and function, they are indeed there.”

The gloss now clarifies an important point: the Śaktis do not begin only when saṃsāra becomes grossly manifest. Even before the deluded condition unfolds — before the non-recognition of unity with Śiva opens into the full machinery of saṃsāra — Śivatā is already present. The nature of Śiva is not produced later. It is the ground.

And the five Śaktis are also already present, though then they are ekarūpa, in one form. They have not yet become clearly differentiated as separate functional powers. But they are not absent. Their later distinctions are already held in a subtle, undivided way.

This fits the whole movement perfectly. The Śaktis become distinct only when manifestation requires distinction. From the standpoint of function — vyavahāra, practical operation — icchā, jñāna, kriyā and the rest can be spoken of separately. But before the full unfolding, they are present in unity, like colors not yet separated from white light.

So again Abhinava’s current refuses both mistakes. Do not say the Śaktis are absent before manifestation. That would make manifestation arise from lack. But do not say they are already divided there in the same way they appear later. That would project lower differentiation into the supreme. They are present, but in one form.

The deluded saṃsāric state is described as śivaikya-akhyāti, non-recognition of unity with Śiva. That is a precise diagnosis. Saṃsāra is not the creation of a second reality. It is the unfolding of non-recognition within the field where Śivatā and Śakti are already present. The bondage is a failure to recognize what has never actually been absent.

In Parāparā, the natural “I”-recognition is Ānanda because it depends on nothing beyond itself

tathāhi parāparāvasthāyāṃ yo'hamiti sahajapratyavamarśātmā prakāśaḥ sa eva parānapekṣatvādānandarūpo nirvṛtacinmayaḥ sthita eva taduktaṃ cidāhlādeti pūrṇacidānandamātre'nubhavaḥ prakāśanaṃ na tu bāhye tata eva tatraiva layo yasya sa tathā anena nirvṛtacitkathitā

“For in the Parāparā-state, the light that has the nature of the innate self-recognition ‘I’ is itself Ānanda, because it depends on nothing beyond itself. It remains as consciousness fulfilled in itself. This is what is meant by ‘the delight of consciousness’: the experience or illumination rests only in full consciousness-bliss, not in anything external; and because its dissolution is there alone, it is described as fulfilled consciousness.”

The gloss now turns inward to the Parāparā-state, where the natural light of “I” — aham iti sahaja-pratyavamarśa — shines as innate self-recognition. This is not the ego saying “I am this person.” It is the more primordial I-light, the immediate self-touch of consciousness before it is fully projected into a separate object-field.

This light is called Ānanda because it is parānapekṣa, dependent on nothing beyond itself. That is the key. Ordinary pleasure depends on an object, circumstance, contact, satisfaction, memory, mood, or state. But this cid-āhlāda, the delight of consciousness, does not lean outward. It does not require a second thing to complete it. It rests in itself as pūrṇa-cid-ānanda, full consciousness-bliss.

So the passage is distinguishing real Ānanda from object-dependent happiness. In ordinary pleasure, consciousness seems to rest because some desire has temporarily found its object. But in Parāparā, the rest is deeper: consciousness rests because it recognizes itself. It is nirvṛta-cinmaya, fulfilled consciousness, not because it has obtained something outside, but because its own light is enough.

This is why the phrase na tu bāhye matters — not in the external. The bliss does not dissolve into an object; it dissolves back into consciousness itself. The movement of delight begins in consciousness, shines as consciousness, and returns into consciousness. Nothing external is needed as final support.

So this point gives a very clean experiential marker. If joy depends on something appearing, staying, returning, or behaving correctly, it is still object-bound. If consciousness rests in itself, even before the object is secured, then one begins to understand what Abhinava means by Ānanda. Not emotion, not excitement, not sweetness alone — but the fulfilled self-recognition of the “I” before it becomes hungry for “this.”

Icchā, jñāna, and kriyā become explicit only in relation to distinct objects

icchājñānakriyāstu bhinnaviṣayādyapekṣayā sphuṭībhavanti parāvasthāyāṃ punaḥ pūrṇo'hamityeva prakāśate - tāvatprakāśatvāt tadeva jñānaṃ saṃrambharūpatvāt saiva kriyā tatsvabhāvena tadabhyupagamādicchāpi sthitaivetyāha tadicchā tāvatīti tāvacca svarūpaṃ kriyeti yojyam |

“But icchā, jñāna, and kriyā become clear only in dependence on distinct objects and the like. In the Parā-state, however, only ‘I am full’ shines. Because it shines in that way, that itself is jñāna. Because it has the form of intensity, that itself is kriyā. And because, by its very nature, there is acceptance of that, icchā too is present. Thus when it says ‘that icchā, to that extent,’ it should be understood that ‘to that extent’ is also kriyā’s own nature.”

The gloss now gives the central clarification. Icchā, jñāna, and kriyā become clearly distinguishable only when there are bhinnaviṣayas — distinct objects, differentiated fields, something to be desired, something to be known, something to be acted upon. When there is a “this,” the powers become easier to separate. I want this: icchā. I know this: jñāna. I act toward this: kriyā.

But in Parā, there is no such object-field standing apart. There, what shines is simply pūrṇo’ham — “I am full.” Not “I want this.” Not “I know that.” Not “I do this.” Just full I-consciousness, complete in itself.

Yet Abhinava does not say that icchā, jñāna, and kriyā are absent there. They are present, but fused. Because the full “I” shines, that shining is already jñāna. Because that fullness has an inner intensity, a living force, that is already kriyā. Because consciousness inwardly accepts, affirms, and rests in its own fullness, icchā too is already there.

This is very subtle. In Parā, the powers are not absent; they are too unified to be divided. They become separate only when consciousness begins to face distinct objects. Before that, they are one taste inside the full “I.” The desire, the knowing, and the action are not three processes. They are one compact self-recognition.

This also protects us from a common mistake. We may think a power exists only when it is externally visible. “There is no action unless something moves.” “There is no knowledge unless an object is known.” “There is no will unless something is desired.” Abhinava says no. At the highest level, action, knowledge, and will are present as the living fullness of consciousness itself, before object-difference makes them explicit.

So the separate names are useful below. In Parā, the whole triad is hidden in one sentence: pūrṇo’ham — “I am full.”

Even without distinct objects, icchā, jñāna, and kriyā remain fit for usage

bhinnaviṣayādyabhāve'pi abhyupagamaprakāśasaṃrambhāṇāṃ sarvadā prakāśamayatvenāvicalanāt icchādivyavahārayogyataivetyuktaṃ susūkṣmeti

“Even when distinct objects and the like are absent, acceptance, illumination, and intensity never depart, because they are always made of light. Therefore, the usage of terms such as icchā remains appropriate. This is why they are said to be extremely subtle.”

The gloss now protects the previous point from misunderstanding. Icchā, jñāna, and kriyā become clearly distinguishable when there are distinct objects: something to will, something to know, something to accomplish. But when such objects are absent, the powers do not vanish. They remain present in an extremely subtle mode.

The key terms are abhyupagama, prakāśa, and saṃrambha. Abhyupagama is acceptance, inward affirmation, the “yes” of consciousness toward itself — this is the root of icchā. Prakāśa is illumination — this is the root of jñāna. Saṃrambha is intensity, energetic force, the charged potency of movement — this is the root of kriyā. Even without distinct objects, these do not disappear, because they are prakāśamaya, made of light.

This is a very important refinement. If one thinks icchā exists only when there is an object desired, jñāna only when there is an object known, and kriyā only when there is an action outwardly performed, then one has understood only their gross form. In Parā, there may be no object standing apart, but there is still the luminous “yes” of consciousness, the self-shining of consciousness, and the intensity of consciousness resting in its own fullness.

That is why the text says susūkṣma — extremely subtle. These powers are not absent; they are simply too subtle to be separated. Below, they become obvious because objects make them visible. Above, they remain fused in the light of the full “I.” The gross mind says, “There is no will, no knowledge, no action here.” The subtle eye sees: all three are present, but without division, without external object, without separate function.

So Abhinava’s point is precise: the names icchā, jñāna, and kriyā remain valid even in the highest state, but only if understood subtly. They do not refer there to ordinary desire, object-knowledge, or external action. They name the inner powers of consciousness itself: affirmation, illumination, and intensity, always shining as one.

Their subtlety lies in the absence of division between the desired and the desirer

susūkṣmatvamepitavyādyavibhāgena vibhāgāparikalpanāt ata eva śaktisāmarasya. pūrṇacinmātraprakāśatātmatvāt cidrūpāhlādaparatvaṃ coktamiti

“Their extreme subtlety lies in the fact that, because there is no division from what is to be desired and the rest, no division is conceived. Therefore there is harmony of the Śaktis. Since their nature is the shining of full consciousness alone, it has also been said that they culminate in the delight whose form is consciousness.”

The gloss now explains why icchā, jñāna, and kriyā are called susūkṣma, extremely subtle, in the higher state. Below, these powers are easy to distinguish because objects have appeared. There is something desired, something known, something acted upon. But in Parā, that separation has not yet opened. There is no clear division between the desirer, the desired, the knowing, the known, the agent, and the act.

This is the key phrase: īpsitavya-ādi-avibhāga — non-division from what is to be desired and so on. Icchā is present, but not as “I want that.” Jñāna is present, but not as “I know that.” Kriyā is present, but not as “I do that.” The powers exist as one compact fullness of consciousness before they are pulled apart by object-relation.

Therefore there is śakti-sāmarasya — the harmonious sameness, the equal-taste, the fused unity of the Śaktis. This does not mean they are absent. It means they are too inwardly unified to be separated. The triad is there, but as one taste. Like color still hidden in white light, like music still held before it becomes distinct notes, like speech before it becomes separate words.

And because their nature is pūrṇa-cit-mātra-prakāśatā, the shining of full consciousness alone, their culmination is cid-rūpa-āhlāda, delight whose very form is consciousness. Bliss here is not a later emotional state. It is the taste of the Śaktis before they split into functional difference. Will, knowledge, and action are all still resting in the same full “I.”

So this point is crucial: the deepest unity of the powers is not a blank where nothing has arisen. It is sāmarasya, living harmony. The Śaktis are present as fullness, not yet divided by objects. The gross mind sees nothing because it cannot find separate functions. The subtle eye sees everything gathered in one blissful consciousness-taste.

Name-and-form arise when non-recognition appears as knower and known

cidabhedākhyātivaicitryabhinnaghaṭadevadattātmakavedyavedakāvabhāsanaṃ nāmarūpaṃ pūrvāparībhūtāvayavā kriyetyarthaḥ |]

“Name-and-form means the appearing of knower and known — such as pot and Devadatta — differentiated by the variety of non-recognition of non-difference from consciousness. And kriyā means the sequence of parts that have become prior and later.”

The gloss now brings the whole movement down into the appearance of nāma-rūpa, name and form. In the highest state, icchā, jñāna, and kriyā are not separate. They are one subtle harmony of Śakti, one fullness of consciousness. But when cid-abheda-akhyāti arises — the non-recognition of non-difference from consciousness — the field begins to appear as divided.

Then there is vedya and vedaka, known and knower. There is “pot” as object, “Devadatta” as subject, this thing here and that knower there. Consciousness has not actually become two, but because its non-difference is not recognized, it appears as if divided into nameable forms and knowers of those forms. This is nāma-rūpa: not mere words and shapes, but the whole structure of differentiated experience.

This is very important. Name-and-form are not evil substances added to consciousness. They are consciousness appearing under the condition of non-recognition. When the unity of consciousness is not seen, the same field becomes “object,” “subject,” “name,” “form,” “this,” “that,” “pot,” “person,” “world.” The many arise as the varied display of a missed non-difference.

Then the gloss returns to kriyā: action is the sequence of parts that have become prior and later. Once name and form appear, action becomes possible as ordered movement: first this, then that; intention, effort, result; beginning, middle, completion. Kriyā is the temporal body of manifestation after the field has become differentiated enough for process.

So this closing point seals the chunk. In Parā, the Śaktis are one taste. In manifestation, non-recognition makes knower and known appear distinct. From that arise name and form. And within name and form, action becomes the ordered sequence of prior and later parts. Abhinava has shown the whole descent: from fused Śakti-sāmarasya into differentiated experience, without ever making that differentiation a second reality outside consciousness.