Applying these teachings in ordinary life begins with a simple but radical redirection of attention: whenever an experience arises, turn toward the one to whom it appears. In the midst of any activity, instead of being carried away by the stream of thoughts, gently notice the basic sense “I” and inquire, “To whom is this happening?” or “Who is doing this?” Allow the mind to respond, “to me,” and then quietly question, “Who am I?” without seeking a conceptual answer. This subtle shift from the content of experience to the experiencer itself is the essence of practice amid daily routines. Over time, the attention is trained to move from the changing circumstances to the underlying sense of being that is present in all circumstances.

Emotional disturbances and difficulties in relationships become especially fertile ground for this inquiry. When anger, fear, hurt, or pride arises, rather than following the story or trying to suppress it, trace it back with questions such as “Who is angry?” or “Who feels hurt?” The emphasis is not on analyzing the situation but on staying with the sense of the one who claims the emotion. In this way, suffering is neither avoided nor indulged; it is used as a doorway to the deeper recognition of the “I” that seems to own it. As this becomes habitual, the identification with the emotional waves gradually loosens, even as life’s circumstances continue.

In outward behavior, nothing special is required; work, family duties, and social interactions proceed as before. The difference lies in maintaining, as much as possible, a background awareness of simple being—“I am”—while the body and mind perform their functions. During conversations, one may quietly sense, “Who is speaking? Who is listening?” During tasks such as walking, eating, or working, attention can rest in the feeling of being while actions unfold. This nurtures a shift from the sense of being a personal doer to the recognition of a witnessing presence in which thoughts and actions arise.

Short, frequent returns to this inward turning are more effective than strained, prolonged effort. Natural pauses in the day—before a meeting, while waiting, upon waking, or before sleep—can be used to re-establish attention in the bare sense of “I am,” free of stories and roles. Thoughts are not forcibly controlled; they are simply seen as appearances to this awareness, and interest is gently withdrawn from them. Daily life then ceases to be an obstacle and becomes the very field in which understanding matures, as every reaction, success, or failure is quietly referred back to the question, “Who is the one to whom all this appears?”