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Ramana Maharshi advocated a spiritual practice called self-inquiry, asking the question, “Who am I?” I believe many people have heard of this practice, and perhaps some have even tried it, only to find that it didn't seem to bring them much.

I encountered this practice even before I encountered ACIM. That was more than ten years ago. I tried it briefly at the time, but nothing much seemed to happen. The first time I truly experienced its effect was a few months ago. I was feeling very unhappy, and my mind seemed to be completely tangled up in itself. Then I suddenly remembered this practice and gave it a try. My distress disappeared surprisingly quickly, and I went from feeling depressed and troubled to feeling joyful and happy.

After that, I still didn't pay much attention to the practice. Then, about a week ago, I found myself in another state of intense inner conflict. I tried self-inquiry again, and once again my emotions improved very quickly. So I have been practicing it throughout this past week, and the experience has been very good. Eventually, I started wondering why it seemed to work so well.

It seems to me that spiritual practices can roughly be divided into two categories: those that deal with thoughts directly, and those that deal with thoughts indirectly.

By directly dealing with thoughts, I mean approaches such as ACIM, where we replace old ways of thinking with new ones, or Byron Katie's The Work, where we question the beliefs we have taken for granted.

Indirect approaches, on the other hand, leave our existing belief system aside for the moment. Instead, through practices such as chanting the name of Buddha, engaging in repetitive or rhythmic movements, or asking “Who am I?”, we turn toward the Self. In this process, the Self itself seems to take care of the thoughts.

One difficulty with approaches that work directly on thoughts is that they can easily lead to trying too hard. We may unconsciously force ourselves to be mindful. In practicing ACIM, for example, we may force ourselves to forgive. When we are not in a good state, we may try even harder to think in the “right” way. But in doing so, we may actually be struggling with the ego.

I have experienced this kind of inner struggle many times before. And what makes it particularly difficult is that, while it is happening, it can be very hard to recognize that we are actually fighting with ourselves.

I think this kind of suppression and inner struggle can easily arise in many spiritual traditions. According to a particular teaching, we are supposed to live in a certain way or think in a certain way. But very often, there is an element of self-suppression and inner conflict involved. Perhaps this is also one reason why ACIM places so much emphasis on the Holy Spirit. The ego is incredibly subtle and cunning, and even the best spiritual teachings can be distorted by the ego to some degree.

But following the guidance of the Holy Spirit is not necessarily easy. Among all the students of A Course in Miracles, it seems that very few people are able to hear the Holy Spirit's guidance directly. The only person I know of who describes this kind of experience is David Hoffmeister, who began hearing the voice of the Holy Spirit after about two years of practice.

For a long time, I wished that I could be like David. If I could hear the Holy Spirit directly, then I would know what I should do and what I should say. But unfortunately, that hasn't happened for me. And sometimes this makes forgiveness feel like a responsibility that I have to carry entirely on my own.

Of course, I have gained a great deal from practicing forgiveness. But from time to time, it can also feel heavy. Sometimes I feel that I haven't forgiven enough. Sometimes I feel that something shouldn't be forgiven. And then these different thoughts start fighting with each other.

After I started practicing self-inquiry, I would simply ask myself, “Who am I?”

It is a strange question, because you don't really get an answer. And yet, somehow, it seems to dissolve the ego.

We usually think of our negative thoughts as belonging to the ego. But what is easy to overlook is that the thought that wants to change those negative thoughts is also part of the ego.

For example, I might feel guilty about something. Then I use the teachings of ACIM to try to get rid of that guilt. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't. Perhaps the reason is that both the guilt and the thought trying to eliminate the guilt are arising within the ego.

But when I practice self-inquiry, I seem to step outside that whole framework. I ask, “Who is it that feels guilty?”

I don't know.

And I simply keep asking from time to time.

Somehow, I seem to become free from both the guilt and the need to forgive the guilt. And what remains is a sense of lightness and joy.
I don't know exactly why this happens. Perhaps it is because all problems arise from the ego, When you question the ego itself, the ego disappears, and the problem disappears with it. But if you try to improve the ego at the level of the ego, the problem only becomes more complicated and harder to resolve. As Einstein supposedly said, “You cannot solve a problem at the same level of thinking at which it was created.”

Forgiveness requires the Holy Spirit. Without the Holy Spirit, forgiveness can easily become another activity of the ego. But if you feel that you are unable to connect with the Holy Spirit, you might want to try the practice of self-inquiry.

As we all know, forgiveness is the central teaching of A Course in Miracles. The Workbook says, "Forgiveness is the key to happiness." I think there is something profound worth reflecting on here.

It does not say that courage is the key to happiness. It does not say that kindness is the key to happiness. It does not say that hard work or diligence is the key to happiness. Instead, it says that forgiveness is the key.

Recently, while reflecting on my relationship with my parents, I suddenly realized something.

For as long as I can remember, I have carried a deep fear of my parents. Over time, that fear generalized into social anxiety, and I have struggled with it for decades.

My previous understanding was that, during infancy and childhood, I endured a great deal of emotional abuse from them. At that time I was completely powerless, and the habit of seeing myself as too weak to protect myself persisted into adulthood. As a result, I still felt afraid whenever I faced them. I tried to heal this fear by constantly reminding myself, "I'm an adult now. I can stand up to them." This approach helped to some extent, but the fear always returned. It never seemed to resolve the problem at its root.

Then recently another realization came.

My fear did not actually come from feeling weak.

It came from a much deeper conviction that I had disappointed them—that somehow I truly owed them, that I was fundamentally at fault.

I imagined what it would feel like if I genuinely believed that I owed them nothing. In that moment, the fear disappeared almost instantly. What replaced it was an extraordinary sense of lightness, freedom, and quiet joy. Even my fear of other people faded away.

At that moment, I finally understood what the Course means when it says that guilt gives rise to fear.

Previously I had always thought of guilt and fear as two parallel problems. I had never really asked which one was the cause and which one was the effect.

Now it became clear to me that guilt comes first.

If your fear is produced by guilt, then becoming stronger cannot ultimately free you from fear. The only thing that addresses the root cause is forgiveness.

This is why the Course says that forgiveness is the key to happiness.

Forgiveness is aimed directly at the first cause.

Buddhism teaches that greed, hatred, and delusion are the roots of suffering. But I began wondering whether these, too, might simply be expressions or consequences of guilt. If we only deal with these secondary manifestations while leaving the root untouched, we are treating symptoms rather than the cause.

Unfortunately, this fearless state did not last very long. Before long, the feeling of guilt returned.

Then I began asking myself why.

The answer seemed to be that I still believe in guilt itself—not only my own guilt, but the guilt of others as well.

I cannot truly forgive myself because I still cannot truly forgive others.

I have carried a great deal of anger toward my parents. I have believed that their unhealthy way of raising me caused my suffering. They made mistakes that hurt me, just as I made mistakes that hurt them.

Then I suddenly understood what the Course means when it says that to forgive others is to forgive yourself.

If I insist on condemning them, then I must also continue condemning myself.

If I believe that I deserve forgiveness, then they must deserve forgiveness as well.

At that moment, I felt as though I were standing at a crossroads.

One path is to forgive others and forgive myself.

The other is to judge others and judge myself.

Many of the Course's teachings suddenly became much clearer.

If I were to summarize its message in just two sentences, it would be this:

Our suffering comes from guilt.

And no one can be released from guilt alone.

If you wish to forgive yourself, you must forgive others at the same time.