David Godman’s presentation of Ramana Maharshi’s teaching places self‑inquiry at the very heart of daily spiritual practice. The key is to turn attention repeatedly toward the sense of “I” by asking, whenever thoughts or emotions arise, “To whom has this thought arisen?” and then, “Who am I?” This is not meant as a mere verbal mantra, but as a deliberate redirection of awareness from the content of experience to the experiencer. Such inquiry is not confined to formal meditation; it can be sustained while working, conversing, walking, or engaging in any ordinary activity. In this way, everyday life becomes the field in which the “I‑thought” is traced back to its source.

Alongside inquiry, there is an emphasis on witnessing and non‑identification. Thoughts, feelings, and sensations are to be observed without judgment, recognized as transient appearances in consciousness rather than as defining features of a real “me.” Maintaining awareness of the “I‑thought” and regarding it as an object, rather than as the true subject, gradually loosens the habitual identification with body and mind. This quiet, observational stance naturally supports a more continuous sense of present‑moment awareness, in which the simple “I am” is more evident than the stories and reactions that usually dominate attention.

For those who find sustained inquiry difficult, Godman notes that Ramana gives an equally valid alternative: surrender. This consists in relinquishing the sense of personal doership, offering all actions and their results to God, the guru, or the Self, and inwardly adopting the attitude, “Let Thy will be done, not mine.” In practical terms, this means fulfilling one’s duties in the world while inwardly giving up ownership of them and accepting events as they unfold. Such surrender softens the ego’s grip, reduces inner conflict with circumstances, and creates a disposition of trust that harmonizes naturally with the practice of inquiry.

Underlying these approaches is a call to consistency rather than intensity. The teaching does not demand withdrawal from normal responsibilities, nor does it insist on elaborate external disciplines; instead, it urges a steady, sincere return to the source of the “I” whenever remembrance arises. Over time, this continuous alternation between self‑inquiry, witnessing, and surrender works to dissolve the entrenched sense of a separate doer. What remains is a life outwardly ordinary yet inwardly grounded in a growing recognition of one’s true nature as the ever‑present awareness in which all experience appears.