Upanishads · Yogakuṇḍalinī 3.29
॥
Devanāgarī
जाग्रत्स्वप्ने व्यवहरन्त्सुषुप्तौ क्व गतिर्मम । इति चिन्तापरो भूत्वा स्वभासा च विशेषतः
Transliteration (IAST)
jāgratsvapne vyavaharantsuṣuptau kva gatirmama | iti cintāparo bhūtvā svabhāsā ca viśeṣataḥ
Word-by-word
SanskritIASTMeaning
जाग्रत्-स्वप्ने व्यवहरन्jāgrat-svapne vyavaharanacting in waking and dream
सुषुप्तौ क्व गतिः ममsuṣuptau kva gatiḥ mamain deep sleep, where is my course?
इति चिन्ता-परः भूत्वाiti cintā-paraḥ bhūtvāthus, sunk in reflection, having become
स्व-भासा च विशेषतःsva-bhāsā ca viśeṣataḥand by his own light, especially
Translation
""In waking and dream I act; but in deep sleep — where is my course?" So, sunk in reflection, and by his own light, especially…**
Version
2c25dd72a037 · published Aug 12, 2026, 5:00:00 AM UTC
Available inRUENPage between verses with
A question is posed precisely, and, I think, among the most honest in this whole literature: sushuptau kva gatir mama, "in deep sleep — where is my course?" In waking, I exist and act; in dream, I exist and see; but in deep sleep — where am I? This question, in Indian literature, is the chief entry into the discourse on the soul, and whole compositions have been written about it. For in deep sleep a man does not disappear — otherwise there would be no one to wake — and does not remain conscious — otherwise he would remember.
Worth noting is how worldly the question is put. Not "what is the Atman," but — "where do I go," as one asks about a lost thing. The Vaishnava side answers this question as she answered all such, and her answer deserves citing. In deep sleep the soul does not disappear and does not merge; it abides with the One who holds it, and so it wakes the same person it fell asleep as.
The argument for this is simple and drawn from experience: the one who wakes is the very same one, and moreover without any effort on his part. If he dissolved, someone would have to gather him anew — and someone would have to do this; but if he did not dissolve, then he was somewhere, and with someone, all that time. Separately, a word must be said about chinta-para, "sunk in reflection." Chinta means both "reflection" and "worry, care"; and one word for two notions is apt here. The question "where do I go" is not curiosity, but worry; and so it comes not to everyone, but to one for whom it has ripened.