Need for control

Sometimes there’s a sense that everything has already been understood. That what we are is not just a body or a collection of thoughts, but something deeper - a quiet presence that isn’t dependent on circumstances. There may even be a moment of recognition: life isn’t happening to us, but within us. And that what truly matters has always been here.

Yet something still tries to hold on to that state - not to lose it, not to fall out of that new perspective. As if there were a thin line between being “in it” and “outside of it” - and it was up to us to stay on the right side.

That’s the subtle need for control. Not always visible at first glance, because it hides inside questions about practice, about coming back, about getting closer. Sometimes it even looks spiritual. But one quiet look is enough to see: something is still trying to manage reality.

Where does the need for control appear?

Where does the need for control appear? It’s not always a clear “I want to control this.” More often, it takes a subtler form - like the question: “Can this perspective be maintained?” or “How do I come back when I lose myself again?”

In these questions, you can hear the echo of a self that doesn’t really exist, still wanting to do something - even if that “doing” looks like letting go. The attempt to grasp that state is itself a form of control, one that shows up even when it seems to have already been released.

Highlights of Satsang:

• Can the “perspective” be maintained? [1:18]

The question of whether the state of presence can be “maintained” might seem reasonable at first — especially when there’s an inner sense that something has already been seen. But hidden within that question is the assumption that there’s someone who could maintain it. That there’s a “me” who can take care of presence, protect it, and make sure it doesn’t get lost.

In this moment of Satsang, Nitya cuts right to the root of that thought. She shows that it’s not about maintaining — because there’s no one there who could do it. It’s not the perspective that disappears; it’s the mind returning with the question: “Am I still there?”

There’s no need to hold anything, or to confirm anything. The deep recognition is already here. It may be momentarily veiled by thoughts or surface agitation — but it doesn’t retreat. It doesn’t vanish.

• How to let go of control? [6:18]

It doesn’t always look like control. Sometimes it takes on a more subtle form - like the desire not to “fall out,” to “stay close,” or to finally “learn” how to live with ease. It may not seem like a need to dominate reality - and yet, somewhere deep inside, there’s still a longing for things to unfold the way we want.

Nitya shows that even the spiritual path can be soaked with control. Sometimes so subtly that it’s hard to notice. But that’s exactly when it becomes the most limiting.

“We’re really afraid of losing control — even though we never had it.”

That one sentence dissolves the whole illusion. There is no control. And there’s no one who could be in charge of it. Where doing stops, true ease can begin. Without effort. Without a plan. Without a “me”. It’s the kind of space that doesn’t need a method - just like meditation, which is not a practice, but our natural state of being.

• Nothing needs to be done [10:09]

“Because it gets better” – that’s the silent driver behind so much of what we do. Even in the quietest moments. Even in what we call spiritual. But what if there’s nothing that needs to get better? What if what’s here – right now, just as it is – is already enough?

“It’s so simple you don’t even have to think about it.”

There’s no reward for having understood something. No finish line, no points for effort. Sometimes there’s frustration, sometimes peace. Sometimes a sense of meaning, sometimes unease. All of it – just as it is.

There’s nothing to do about it.

Nothing needs to be done.

Truly.

When the need to act fades 

Maybe that’s when real peace begins – not as a result, not as a reward, but as something that has always been quietly here. When the need to improve dissolves, when even the urge to understand softens, when there’s no more effort to stay “in perspective” – something lets go on its own.

It’s not the end of the path. Not an answer.
But maybe... it’s no longer a question.