The person stops rushing about, complaining, whining and, finally, really turns to himself. The consciousness of such a person is like a snail. It folds into itself and begins to observe and study itself. This is done for the sole purpose of diving into your own depth and comprehending your own secret.
The practitioner who has reached this realization no longer performs rituals and prayers. He does not whisper a mantra or rush from one guru to another. He no longer reads popular spiritual literature and does not make pilgrimages to holy places. Now his temple and workshop is himself. The instrument and subject of such a yogi's work is his own consciousness.
As a result of this practice, the ego begins to lose ground quickly. It looses its grip first. At the same time, a person feels relief, as if he is getting rid of a heavy load that has been dragged for a long time to no one knows where and why. Then, if the practice continues successfully and we do not allow the old self to invent new, more sophisticated forms of disguise, it continues to melt, dissolve, until it disappears completely and forever. And with it the old life.
Where our small, preoccupied and eternally dissatisfied ego lived before, something new arises. At first it is something incomprehensible, huge, fresh, piercing and open. This is a new space into which we enter in amazement, tasting it with our teeth. This is a completely new world, growing in the place of the old one. Everything seems to be the same, but it feels completely different. The world becomes light, volatile and mobile, like mercury. The leaden severity of being remains in the distant past.