Deepening this path rests on understanding that the movement of attention is always from object back to subject, from what is seen to the one who sees. Rather than thinking about the question “Who am I?”, the practice is to turn awareness toward the very sense of being, the bare “I am” before it is qualified as “I am this” or “I am that.” When thoughts, emotions, or sensations arise, they are not obstacles but doorways: one can ask, “To whom has this thought arisen?” and, having recognized “to me,” quietly turn toward the feeler of the feeling, the knower of the thought. This shift from analysis to simple looking transforms the inquiry from an intellectual exercise into a direct, wordless attending to the source of the “I”-sense. Over time, the habit of taking oneself to be the changing body–mind is gently worn down by this repeated return to the subject.

A practical way to allow this deepening is through short, frequent returns during ordinary activities. While walking, waiting, speaking, or responding to life’s demands, attention can briefly be turned back with the question, “Who is aware of this?” and then allowed to rest as that awareness. This continuity of inquiry throughout the day gradually stabilizes the recognition of the “I”-sense and makes it less dependent on special conditions or formal sittings. As the practice matures, there is less interest in chasing experiences and more willingness to remain with the simple, unadorned presence that is already here. Expectations of special states, visions, or dramatic shifts can themselves be met with inquiry: “To whom does this expectation arise?” and then released into silence.

It is also helpful to examine directly whatever is most strongly taken to be “me.” When identity seems to be the body, the sensations of the body can be noticed as objects known, and attention can turn to that which knows them. When identity seems to be the mind or personality, the changing stream of thoughts and stories can be seen as passing appearances, while the unchanging knower is silently attended to. Each time the mind tries to settle on some form, state, or experience as “this is me,” the inquiry gently refuses to stop there and traces back again to the formless knower. In this way, the practice becomes less about acquiring something new and more about a steady refusal to misidentify.

Supportive conditions can make this inner work more accessible. A relatively simple, uncluttered life, with some reduction of unnecessary stimulation and mental noise, naturally allows the mind to quieten, which in turn makes it easier to sustain the inward turning of attention. For those in whom devotion arises naturally, regarding the Self or a revered sage as the true “I” and offering reactions and difficulties inwardly can soften resistance and deepen the willingness to let go of egoic claims. Even in times of pain, fear, or confusion, the same principle holds: either inquiry continues—“Who is afraid?” “Who feels this pain?”—or, if that feels too sharp, the system is first calmed and inquiry resumed when possible. Over time, depth shows itself less in extraordinary experiences and more in the ease of returning to the Self, the loosening of compulsive identification, and a quieter, more impersonal peace in daily situations.