A practical way to engage Nisargadatta Maharaj’s teaching is to begin with the bare sense of being, the simple “I am.” Several times during the day, attention can rest in this unadorned feeling of existence, without adding any descriptions such as “I am this” or “I am that.” This is not an exercise in thinking about the self, but a quiet recognition of the fact of being conscious. From this vantage point, roles, stories, and personal histories are seen as secondary. The central task is to abide, as steadily as possible, in that prior awareness from which all experience arises.

Alongside this, self-inquiry becomes a constant undercurrent: when thoughts, emotions, or conflicts appear, there can be a gentle questioning—“Who is upset?” or “To whom does this appear?” Such inquiry does not seek a verbal answer; rather, it reveals that what is disturbed is a passing state in awareness, not awareness itself. Thoughts, sensations, and moods can then be observed as transient phenomena, arising and dissolving in consciousness. By silently recognizing them as “appearing in me, not what I truly am,” attachment loosens without any need for suppression or avoidance.

Daily life offers countless opportunities to cultivate the stance of the witness. In conversation, at work, or in moments of tension, it is possible to notice that there is a knowing presence in which speaking, listening, and reacting all occur. Remaining aware as this witnessing consciousness, rather than being wholly absorbed in the mental drama, gradually weakens identification with temporary roles and narratives. This naturally supports a more honest and straightforward way of living, in which duties are fulfilled and unnecessary harm is avoided, without using spirituality as an escape from ordinary responsibilities.

Over time, this steady returning to the sense of “I am” reveals a crucial insight: whatever can be observed—body, mind, experiences, even subtle spiritual states—cannot be the true Self. All such phenomena are impermanent, while the capacity to know them remains constant. Recognizing this distinction allows suffering, desire, and fear to be used as reminders that clinging is directed toward what is not truly oneself. In this way, ordinary routines, challenges, and joys alike become part of a continuous inquiry into the nature of consciousness and a deepening recognition of the formless awareness in which all things appear and disappear.