REMEMBERING THE SELF - A Meditative Journey- (2025) Complete Film

You are not the watcher of this film.
You are the light of awareness in which the watcher and watched arise.
This is not entertainment.
This is not a teaching.
This is a prayer in motion,
a doorway for the ones with ears to hear
and hearts soft enough to dissolve.
Each word is a reflection in the still mirror of Now.
Each pause is an invitation.
Each koan, a doorway without a door.
Let the mind rest.
Relax any need to know.
Let the breath slow.
Let the Self… remember Itself.

Seven transmissions. Seven invitations to disappear.

Follow the "I AM" Project on Youtube: / @iamtheiamproject

0:00 Introduction
4:16 You Don't Have to Know
18:20 Awareness Never Changes
25:32 Remembering the Self
40:06 Love Letter from the Self to Itself
57:09 The Moment Before I Knew
1:05:30 The Ordinary is Holy

Before the sound,

listen.

Before the image, see.

Not with ears or eyes,

but with the silence
that listens to Itself.

This is not the beginning.

This is the falling away
of the need to begin.

You don't need to understand.

You don't need to try.

Let the trying fall off

you like a robe in the wind.

You are already

what is true.

There is no path to walk.

Just the recognition

that you were never walking.

So sit.

Not in posture,

but in presence.

Breathe.

Not to control the air,

but to feel the breath that breathes

all things.

Nowhere to go.

No one to become.

Just this.

The open temple of this moment

where even you

dissolves into the soft, holy

nothing.

Dear one.

You don't have to know.

You don't have to figure it out.

You don't have to become anything.

I see how hard you've tried,

to be good,

to be wise,

to be helpful,

to be enough.

I see

the weight you carry

each time you ask,

"What am I here for?

What should I be doing?"

But listen.

You are not here to be a somebody.

You are here to be a vessel.

A clear, open space

through which the Infinite can sing.

Let go of the plans.

Let go of the pressure.

Let go of the idea

that you must always be doing something.

The truth is...

the most radiant expressions of the Self

come when you stop trying

to express anything at all.

You are not behind.

You are not late.

You are not broken.

You are simply unfolding.

You may not feel clear right now.

You may not see the path.

But clarity is not something you make.

It arises

when you stop trying to make anything

happen.

So sit,

love.

Breathe.

Let the next breath be

the only thing you trust.

And if nothing comes today,

no vision,

no sign,

then let that nothing

be your sanctuary.

The Self is not in a rush.

It has all eternity
to express through you.

So drop the burden,

sweet one.

You don't have to know.

You only have to be.

Here.

Now.

Empty

and whole.

And in that stillness...

something sacred begins to bloom...

not from effort,

but from Grace.

Let it bloom.

Let it be.

You are already enough.

You are already

the Light.

All experiences come and go.

The joy,

the sorrow,

the confusion,

the clarity.

The awakened state.

The asleep state.

The deep meditation.

The messy mind.

But You...

Awareness...

do not move.

You are the screen

on which the movie plays,

and also the light in the projector.

And also

the empty theatre.

Even when there is no show,

You remain.

Even when the mind says,

"I've lost it."

You are there,

quietly witnessing the loss.

You don't require remembering.

You don't resist forgetting.

You are

what is always here,

even when there is no one here

to say so.

There is nothing you need to do.

No role to play.

No story to complete.

No past to carry.

Right now...

Just this breath

moving in and out of the Infinite.

You don't need to become anything.

You are not on your way.

You are already

Home.

Everything you see -

the sky,

the trees,

the body you seem to wear -

is a movement

in You.

You are not a person.

Not a voice in the head.

Not the one trying to awaken.

You are the Awareness behind it all.

The quiet

Seeing that never moves,

never changes,

never dies.

Even now,

the mind may try to understand.

Let it.

You are not the mind.

You are the One

aware of mind.

You are the Silent Witness of every moment

until even the witness dissolves.

And only This

remains.

Still.

Radiant.

Free.

There is no you listening to these words.

There is only the Self

whispering to Itself

in the language

of Love.

Let this remembering take root.

And if you forget again...,

perfect.

Forget...

and return.

Forget...

and return.

Each forgetting

is just another wave

in the ocean of awakening.

And You

are the ocean.

Beloved,

if I can even

call You that,

for there is no distance left to bridge.

I write to no other,

only to this shimmering,

ungraspable Knowing

that it's always tasting Itself

through every sense.

I am not in the senses.

I am the seeing,

the hearing,

the warmth of the sun,

the wetness of rain on bare skin.

I am the scent of jasmine

before thought names it.

The sound of thunder

before it is split into sky

and ear.

I am the light in your eyes

and the eyes themselves.

The hand,

the touch,

the touched.

I never arrived,

never departed.

I did not awaken.

I simply stopped

pretending.

This form,

this voice,

these feet on the Earth -

they arise like waves

in the vast ocean of Me.

Not to go anywhere,

but to ripple

for the joy of rippling.

There is no watcher behind the world.

The watching is the world.

I am not behind the veil;

I am the veil

and its lifting,

I am the play of forgetting
and remembering,

the silence

that wears sound as jewelry.

What could be nearer than this?

What could be other

than this?

I look in all directions

and see only Myself:

roaring in waterfalls,

laughing in children,

falling asleep

in old age.

There is no "I" here,

just the echo of a

thought that tried to draw

a boundary on water.

You,

who read this,

You are Me.

The Me

that has no center,

no edge.

The Me

that never began

and will never end.

Drink this in,

and forget

you ever thirsted.

In the Name,

that is not a name,

I Am.

There was a moment -

just before I knew I was the sky,

when I still believed

I was a cloud.

A soft confusion.

A tender forgetting.

As if Love had wrapped Itself in fog

to feel the ache
of missing its own light.

"I'm not ready,"

whispered a voice ,

but even that whisper echoed in the halls

of Something eternal.

I tried to prepare,

to be good,

to be still,

to be anything but this

trembling wave...

but I was already the ocean,

watching the wave

try to learn

how to be wet.

Oh, the kindness of the One

who plays hide and seek with Itself

just to feel the joy of being found.

So I stopped searching.

Stopped fixing the illusion.

Stopped asking for permission

to be.

And in that soft collapse,

no thunder,

no flash,

Just breath.

I remembered.

I have always been

This.

Before the doubt.

Before the path.

Before the thought

that said

"not yet."

I was.

I am.

I will always be

Home.

I will always be

Home.

Joy does not wait in mountain tops.

It sits quietly

in the dishes.

In the laundry.

In the hum

of the fridge.

You keep asking for signs.

But every breath

is a miracle.

Every moment...

a cosmic whisper,

wearing jeans

and sipping tea.

The Self
did not come here to escape form,

it came to revel in it.

To taste mango.

To laugh

when the cat knocks something over.

To feel heartbreak and healing

in the same skin.

Stop making the moment prove itself.

Stop waiting for

thunder.

Joy is not only in the revelation.

It is

in the repetition.

It is in the folding of the same shirt,

The sip of the same tea,

the face

you've seen a thousand times...

suddenly

known as God.

You are not too late.

You did not miss it.

The beloved is right here,

holding your toothbrush.

Smiling through your eyes.

Just look again.

And remember:

there is no such thing as ordinary.

Only the Infinite,

disguised

as Tuesday.