The Wide and the Narrow Path
For those of us who seek to walk a spiritual path, it is often the case that we step into a tradition that has already been laid before us—something familiar, handed down through culture, family, or community. Yet, as many have observed, most people do not consciously walk any particular path at all. Still, life itself becomes a teacher, gently or forcefully leading every soul along a way, for no one escapes the journey of meaning. In this sense, Providence works even in the ordinary currents of life, guiding each of us toward the questions that cannot be ignored.
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Among these questions, perhaps the greatest is: “Who are we?” What does it mean that we exist at all? To ask this is to feel the stirrings of the Spirit, for the human heart was made to seek truth, and rest will not come until it is found (cf. Augustine’s Confessions). This hunger for meaning compels some to search for a path, for teachings, for wisdom that might give light to our restless hearts.
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Yet many of us in the West feel a quiet disappointment. Though we have inherited a rich religious heritage and the works of profound philosophers, often these appear to offer only fragments. They may sharpen the intellect, nurture the mind, and sustain debate—but they rarely quench the deep thirst of the soul. We may argue, defend our chosen truths, or even retreat into dogmatic positions, but still the longing remains.
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For it is not enough to fill the mind with ideas; the soul yearns for encounter with the Living God. Words alone, even wise words, are not the end. As Christ Himself declared, “You search the Scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life; and it is they that testify about Me” (John 5:39).
The path, then, is not merely intellectual, but relational. It is not only philosophy, but communion. It is not merely the search for truth, but the embrace of the One who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life (John 14:6).
For many of us, religion as it has been handed down feels incomplete. In my own experience, especially within Christianity, I found that many questions were left unasked or unanswered. We were often told that “believing is enough”, and that we should be satisfied with assent to doctrines and creeds. Yet in our time, this is no longer sufficient. The human soul, created in the image of God, longs not merely for belief, but for living encounter with Truth itself. Faith cannot be reduced to mental agreement; it must become experience—an experience of what is ultimate and real. As the psalmist declares, “Taste and see that the Lord is good” (Psalm 34:8). Mere belief without encounter cannot satisfy the thirst of the soul.
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Thus, when the springs of living water seem hidden in our own tradition, we naturally begin searching elsewhere. This has been the story of many seekers in the West, myself included. Disappointed by what felt like dry ritual and intellectualism, we turned our gaze eastward. India, with her millennia of devotion to the inner life, beckoned with the promise of wisdom, depth, and practices tested by time. Indeed, there is something profoundly beautiful in that ancient spiritual culture—a reverence for transcendence, for interior knowledge, for the transformation of the self.
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And so we were drawn into paths of yoga, disciplines of meditation, and the countless streams of spiritual practice offered by the East. What made them so compelling was not only their depth, but their fruit: they produced results. They spoke of awakening, of liberation, of enlightenment, and the testimonies of sages and seekers seemed to prove that such transformation was real. For many of us, this gave hope—the hope that one day, through diligence and devotion, we too might pierce the veil, discover the truth of our being, and finally answer the most essential question: “Who am I?”
Yet even in this noble pursuit lies a profound theological mystery.
For though these paths point toward awakening, they remain human attempts to ascend toward the divine. They testify to the longing written in every heart, but they stop short of the full revelation of the One in whom all longing finds rest. As Scripture tells us, “In Him was life, and the life was the light of all humanity” (John 1:4). The question “Who am I?” cannot be finally answered apart from the One who first said, “I AM” (Exodus 3:14; John 8:58).
The path of yoga, meditation, and other spiritual disciplines may indeed be fruitful and transformative. Let us call this the “Wide Path.” Why so? Because although such practices bring discipline, clarity, and even awakening, they often remain within the cycle of striving and return—what Eastern traditions call samsara, the wheel of birth and death. Such paths may help us ascend higher, but they do not in themselves guarantee final liberation. The student’s progress depends greatly on maturity, purity of heart, and hunger for ultimate truth.
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Christ Himself spoke of another way: the Narrow Path. “Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. But narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it” (Matthew 7:13–14). In Christian mystical language, this is not unlike what India has called Jnana Marga—the direct path of knowledge—for it aims not at gradual striving, but at direct recognition of truth.
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This path has always existed, though often veiled. It is the path for those who cannot be satisfied with outward practices alone, who thirst for God in a way that nothing else can quench. And here we must ask: is such a path absent in the West? Has Christianity no equivalent? I contend that it has been present all along, hidden in plain sight, though often neglected or misunderstood.
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Christ Himself revealed teachings at different depths. To the crowds He offered simple instruction: love God, love neighbor, live in harmony with one another. Yet to His closest disciples, He spoke mysteries of the Kingdom, saying plainly: “To you it has been given to know the secrets of the Kingdom of Heaven, but to them it has not been given” (Matthew 13:11). There is both the wide teaching—for the many—and the narrow teaching—for those who hunger for God above all else.
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Consider the parable of the rich man. He had kept the commandments faithfully, yet when invited to the narrow path, he could not walk it. “Go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me” (Matthew 19:21). His stumbling was not about wealth alone, but about identity. He could not surrender the “I” and “my” at the core of his being. This is the stumbling stone for us all. We may surrender bad habits, soften our pride, or relinquish outward things. But to surrender the very self—to lay down the “I”—feels like too great a sacrifice.
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And yet, herein lies the very heart of the Narrow Path. For the question that haunts every seeker is this: “What will become of me if I surrender myself entirely?” Christ answers not with philosophy, but with promise: “Whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for My sake will find it” (Matthew 16:25).
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The paradox is unveiled: to let go of the “I” is not annihilation but revelation. The false self dies, and the true self—hidden with Christ in God (Colossians 3:3)—is born. This is not the loss of being, but the awakening into true Being. Not the death of identity, but the birth of divine sonship. The Narrow Path, then, is not merely an ethical command or a mystical technique; it is union with Christ, the Logos, in whom we finally discover who we truly are.
Because we take our body to be real so the world and everything included seems to be real. But how is it in our dreams? According to Sri Ramana this so-called waking state is no more different than any other dream. We take a form, a body, to be our self and imagine that inside this body there is an individual person who is born and who will die one day. This separation and duality continues in our spiritual journey, and we cannot but accept that we are using this body-form as a tool or instrument to proceed with our practices.
Both Christ and Sri Ramana emphasized the importance of knowing who we are, what is this “I” we are constantly referring to? Who am I? is the only valuable question and solving it solves everything.
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So, why not go straight ahead to the final question and solve the mystery of who we truly are. That’s the narrow path, the straight way to freedom if we just have the will to let go or our present state of attachments to forms and ideas and memories that so quickly vanish into the air. The first step is enough. Then we already are on the journey to our own self which we always have been.
The Kingdom of Christ
John 18: “Jesus answered, My Kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight, that I should not be delivered to the Jews: but now is my kingdom not from hence.”
His kingdom is not from this world of duality, but it is non-dual, only one. What is this kingdom Christ means? Our kingdom is the world of duality, but Christ was talking form non-dualistic point of view, from oneness, which is our true nature.
Christ and Sri Ramana Maharshi
John 11:25:
Jesus said unto her, “I AM (is) the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live”. So be perfect, as your heavenly Father (Brahman) is perfect.
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Christ’s commandment 1:
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Love your God with all your heart, soul, and mind." What does Christ mean by "your God"? For the Jews, God's name is "I am," so loving "your God" means loving ourselves. What could be closer to us than ourself. God is thus always known. Nobody loves someone or something that one doesn’t know. (John 10:34 Jesus answered them: "Is it not written in your law, 'I said, you are gods’?”)
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"Love your God with all your heart, soul and mind.”
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What does Christ mean by "your God"? For Jews, God's name is "I am". Everyone is always aware of their own being (I am), even if they doubt everything else. So, loving "your God" means loving our own self. What could be closer to us than our own self? When our love towards God becomes total, we lose our separate, individual identity, ego. Then we also understand by being one conscious-bliss that we naturally love our neighbor as ourself.
The problem is that we don't know our true self, our nature. Our concept of 'I' is currently limited to being this body or a separate soul. We have no proof that there are two 'I', a lower and higher. It is enough to know this one soul, and we know everything, as it is said on the wall of the ancient temple of Apollo, 'Man, know thyself.' Then how to know ourselves? In accordance with Jesus' instructions, by focusing all our attention, that is, our love on ourselves, on our God 'I'. It leads to the fact that gradually the individual and separate concept of me disappears and there is only God (I am).
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Christ says, “Love thy neighbor as thy self.” When we know our true self, we will find it’s the one self in all. Bhagavan also loved everybody as himself.
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John 10:34: "Jesus answered them, "Is it not written in your law, 'I said, you are gods'?"
Christ: “Ye are the Light of this world.” Meaning, the world has no light of its own but is dependent of the seer.
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Bhagavan Ulladu Narpadu verse 26:
“If ego comes into existence, everything comes into existence; if ego does not exist, everything does not exist. Ego itself is everything. Therefore, know that investigating what this is alone is giving up everything.”
The One 'I'
In many spiritual traditions, there is a prevailing idea that we must reunite our individual ‘I’ with some greater ‘I’—whether called Brahman, God, or some supreme entity perceived as separate from ourselves. The spiritual task, as it is often presented, is to relinquish our ego, dissolve our individuality, and surrender to this higher ‘I.’
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Yet if we are honest and examine ourselves deeply, the only “I” we ever truly know is ourself. We have no direct proof of any other “I” outside our own consciousness. To posit the existence of a separate, greater ‘I’ is ultimately a mental construct—a leap of imagination, however sincere. Similarly, the “I’s” we perceive in others, in people or other beings, are understood only through form, body, and mind, yet these are appearances, not ultimate reality.
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Because we mistakenly identify our self with this body-mind complex, we project the same assumption onto others: that each person possesses an independent, solid “I.” This misunderstanding gives rise to a complex, often contradictory, relationship with our own existence. From a spiritual perspective, we live in conflict with ourselves and others, entangled in desires, aversions, and attachments. As Christ warned, without reconciliation with the true self, we risk becoming enslaved to cycles of striving, suffering, and death—cycles that in other traditions are called samsara.
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At present, we are so fused with this body-mind identity that it feels natural, even inevitable, to call it “I.” And yet, this is contrary to the truth of our being. Our natural state is simply ‘I am’, pure existence-consciousness, before any form, name, or story. This is the eternal “I” that precedes all distinctions.
If, in truth, there is only one “I,” then our task is to turn our attention inward, not outward in search of a separate self or entity. The deepest spiritual work is to discover what this “I” truly is, beyond all names, roles, and identities. The question of whether we eventually “merge” into a larger ‘I’ or God can only be answered as the mystery unfolds. What is essential is to start where we are, with the self we now experience.
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Let us begin, then, by taking seriously the individual self that we seem to be and investigating it with courage and honesty. Let us ask: Where does this ‘I’ arise? What is its nature? In turning to this question, we enter into the profound mystery that the Scriptures invite us to explore: the living presence of God within, the eternal “I AM” (Exodus 3:14), in whom all distinctions dissolve and in whom we may finally recognize who we truly are.