There are moments in life, fleeting and elusive, where a sudden clarity washes over you—an awareness that you are alive, here, now. Not lost in thought or swept up in emotions, but truly present. These moments, though rare, hold a profound truth: that beneath the endless chatter of the mind lies something still and vast, something that simply watches.

Self-remembrance, as Gurdjieff described it, is the art of returning to this presence. It’s a quiet inner act, almost imperceptible at first, like catching your reflection in a passing window. You might be walking down the street, engrossed in your thoughts, and then suddenly, you become aware of yourself. You realize you’re walking, breathing, seeing, thinking. This isn’t a mental exercise but a direct experience of being—simple, yet extraordinary.

For me, practicing self-remembrance often feels like waking up within a dream. There’s a sudden shift from being carried along by life’s currents to standing firmly in the flow, aware of the water and the movement. It’s as if a light switches on, illuminating the fact that you’ve been absent, caught in a fog of habits, reactions, and automatic living. And in that light, everything feels sharper, more real.

Osho, in his teachings, spoke of watching—not as a technique but as a way of being. To watch is to observe without interference, without judgment. It’s the quiet gaze of awareness that doesn’t seek to change or fix but simply sees. When I first encountered this idea, it felt almost too simple to be meaningful. But the more I practiced, the more I realized its transformative power.

Watching begins with small things. You notice your breath, not controlling it, just watching it rise and fall. You watch your thoughts like clouds drifting across the sky, not holding onto them or pushing them away. And then you start to watch yourself—your emotions, your reactions, your desires. It’s not easy at first. The mind rebels, wanting to analyze or justify. But slowly, you discover a space between the watcher and the watched.

In that space, something remarkable happens. You begin to see that you are not your thoughts or your feelings. You are not the anger that flares up or the joy that sweeps over you. You are the one who watches, the one who remains untouched. This realization doesn’t distance you from life; it deepens your connection to it. You feel more alive, more compassionate, because you’re no longer entangled in the drama of it all.

For me, self-remembrance and watching are like two sides of the same coin. Self-remembrance brings me back to presence, to the feeling of being awake within myself. Watching deepens that presence, allowing me to witness the play of life without losing myself in it. Together, they create a sense of inner stillness and freedom—a freedom not from life, but within it.

Everyday life becomes the practice ground. Standing in line at the grocery store, I remind myself to feel my feet on the ground, to notice the rise and fall of my breath. When frustration or impatience arises, I watch it, curious and open. These small acts of awareness accumulate, like drops of water filling a jar, until the habit of forgetting starts to fade, and the habit of remembering grows stronger.

In the end, self-remembrance and watching are not separate paths but a single journey—the journey of coming home to yourself, moment by moment, with eyes wide open. And the beauty of it is that it doesn’t require special conditions or rituals. It only requires the willingness to pause, to look, and to remember. Life itself becomes the teacher, and every moment, an invitation to wake up.

Shunyam Adhibhu

Self-remembering meditation: