III – After the Theft: The Morning Yashoda Still Wakes Up

A closing meditation on living after liberation

I. We’re Still Here

Three essays now. Three attempts to map the unmappable, explain the unexplainable, capture in words what exists before words.

In “The Unstable Middle,” we drew the geography: two stable poles of truth (Emptiness and Fullness), and between them the seductive confusion of causality.

In “The Butter Thief’s Playbook,” we told the story: the churning of knowledge, the making of ropes, the exhaustion of agency, and the theft of Grace that reveals the whole play.

And now?

Now we’re still here. Still writing. Still reading. Still apparently living in bodies that wake up, get hungry, feel tired, ask questions.

So what happens the morning after the Butter Thief has come?

This isn’t a theoretical question. This is the question of embodied awakening. This is what every teaching must eventually address, and what most teachings elegantly avoid.

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: After the theft, Yashoda still wakes up. The house is still there. The churning pot is still in the corner. And there’s still milk that needs churning.

II. The Paradox of Continuing

The greatest works of spiritual literature end at the moment of recognition:

Arjuna receives the cosmic vision, the Gita ends soon after
The Buddha touches the earth, achieves awakening, the story climaxes
Ramana has his death-experience at sixteen, everything after is denouement

They end there because that’s where the story ends. The seeker’s journey is complete. The Middle Realm’s drama has reached its punchline.

But the body continues. Thoughts continue. Speech continues. Actions continue.

This is the paradox no map can hold: After you recognize you were never bound, you still appear to live in binding. After the rope is revealed as illusory, you still tie your shoes in the morning. After knowledge is stolen, you still seem to know things.

The spiritual literature calls this “jivanmukti” — liberation while living. But that phrase itself can become more butter, another concept to churn, another understanding to make into rope.

So let’s be precise about what actually happens.

III. The Two Churnings

There is churning before the theft, and there is “churning” after the theft.

They look identical from outside. Yashoda is still moving the churning rod. The milk is still becoming butter. The process continues.

But everything has reversed.

Before the Theft: The Binding Churn

Before recognition, Yashoda churns because:

She needs butter (outcome-seeking)
She wants to bind Krishna (control)
She’s building something (accumulation)
She owns the product (possession)
The churning is effort (resistance to what is)

Every rotation of the rod is moving away from the present moment toward an imagined future where the butter exists and can be used. The churning is suffering because it’s fundamentally rooted in lack: “I don’t have butter yet, I must make it.”

This is the Middle Realm’s signature: the causal process that promises arrival but never delivers. Each moment of churning is not-yet-arrived, still-seeking, almost-there-but-not-quite.

After the Theft: The Play Churn

After recognition, Yashoda still churns, but:

There’s no one churning (no separate owner)
There’s nothing to achieve (no outcome apart from this)
The butter isn’t hers to keep (no possession)
The churning is itself complete (no resistance)
Krishna is already everywhere (nothing to bind)

Every rotation of the rod is fully present. The churning isn’t moving toward anything because arrival and journeying have collapsed into just this.

The form is identical. The meaning has inverted. The prison has become a playground.

IV. What the Thief Actually Stole

Here’s what Grace takes when it comes:

Not the butter itself — the knowledge, skills, understanding still function
Not the churning — the activities, practices, daily life continue
Not Yashoda — the body-mind apparatus still operates

What gets stolen is the gap.

The gap between:

The one churning and the churning
The effort and the outcome
This moment and fulfillment
The bound and the free
Ignorance and enlightenment

Before: “I am churning now so that I can be liberated later”
After: “The churning is liberation is this moment is freedom is already complete”

The Middle Realm operates through gaps: cause separated from effect, present separated from future, self separated from reality. The theft closes all gaps.

Not by connecting them (that would still maintain them as separate). But by revealing they were never actually gaps — they were consciousness appearing as separation to enjoy the play of bridging itself.

V. The Marketplace Teaching

There’s a famous Zen sequence that maps exactly onto what we’re describing:

Before seeking: Mountains are mountains, rivers are rivers
During seeking: Mountains are not mountains, rivers are not rivers
After recognition: Mountains are mountains, rivers are rivers

And the companion teaching: “Before enlightenment, chop wood carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood carry water.”

The form is identical. The being-relationship has transformed.

Before seeking (ordinary ignorance): You’re identified with the Middle Realm, thinking it’s all there is. You churn butter because that’s what people do. Mountains are just mountains — solid, separate, obviously real.

During seeking (sophisticated ignorance): You’ve seen through the Middle Realm but haven’t stabilized at either pole. You recognize mountains are “empty” or you’re seeking the “fullness” behind them. You churn butter while trying to use the butter to escape churning. This is our “Butter Thief’s Playbook” stage — the rope-making, the exhaustion, the grand spiritual exhibition.

After recognition (liberation): You’ve returned to the marketplace. Mountains are mountains again — but now you know they’re also emptiness, also fullness, also your own consciousness playing form. You churn butter because that’s what this particular expression of consciousness does in this moment. No gap between churning and freedom.

This is where the teaching must land: in the ordinary, in the marketplace, in the morning routine after the cosmic revelation.

VI. Living From the Poles While Appearing in the Middle

So what does it actually mean to live after the theft?

The Hanuman Mode: Ecstatic Fullness in Form

Hanuman, after his recognition, still:

Builds bridges (engineering)
Fights battles (engagement)
Serves Rama (devotion)
Speaks, plans, acts (apparent causality)

But every action is saturated with Rama. Every movement is Rama moving. Every word is Rama speaking. Every plan is Rama planning through this form.

The form engages fully with the causal world — strategies, means, efforts. But there’s no one separate from Rama doing these things. The fullness has recognized itself, and now the body-mind continues as fullness in play.

To an observer, Hanuman looks like he’s in the Middle Realm — making decisions, weighing options, experiencing outcomes. But from inside, there’s only Rama, appearing as all of it.

The Dhruva Mode: Silent Emptiness in Form

Dhruva, after his recognition, still:

Occupies space (the pole star’s position)
Provides reference (navigational utility)
Appears to observers (form is visible)
Relates to the cosmos (astronomers measure him)

But there’s no one there. The position is held, the light shines, the reference point exists — but it’s all happening without a doer. Pure emptiness expressing as this particular empty form.

To an observer, Dhruva is doing something — being a star, holding position, giving light. But from inside, there’s only emptiness, and even “inside” is too many words for what it is.

The Key Difference

Both modes show that form continues after recognition. The body doesn’t vanish. The mind doesn’t stop. The apparent person still participates in the world’s causal dance.

What changes is the ownership structure.

Before: “I am a person who has experiences, makes choices, seeks liberation”
After: “Experiences happen, choices happen, this body-mind happens — all of it owning itself, none of it separate from the stable ground”

The Middle Realm continues as appearance. But it’s now transparent — you see through it to either pole (or both at once), and you know it’s not solid, never was, never will be.

VII. The Continuing Lila

And this reveals the deepest secret: The Lila doesn’t end with recognition.

The play continues. But the nature of the play transforms.

Before Recognition: Drama

The Middle Realm, when believed to be ultimate reality, is drama:

High stakes (liberation vs. suffering)
Serious consequences (right vs. wrong action)
Real winners and losers (enlightened vs. ignorant)
Genuine progress (closer or farther from truth)

The drama creates tension, investment, suffering. “What if I don’t get enlightened? What if I waste this life? What if I’m doing it wrong?”

After Recognition: Comedy

The same exact events, from the stable view, are comedy:

No ultimate stakes (nothing was ever at risk)
No real consequences (all outcomes equal in the absolute)
No winners or losers (everyone is consciousness playing)
No actual progress (already always complete)

The comedy creates lightness, playfulness, joy. “Look at consciousness trying so hard to find itself! Look at me seeking what I am! How delightful!”

This is why enlightened beings laugh. Not at others, but at the cosmic joke: we’re trying to become what we already are, seeking what we’ve never left, binding what can’t be caught.

After the theft, the same life events continue — challenges, sorrows, joys, mundane tasks. But they’re experienced as comedy rather than drama. The appearance is taken seriously enough to engage with skillfully, but lightly enough to not be crushed by.

VIII. The Practical Questions

But let’s get specific. Because the Middle Realm will send its invitations even now, disguised as practical concerns:

“If I recognize I’m already free, why meditate?”
The meditation continues, but the meditator is gone. The body sits, the breath flows, the mind settles — all happening by itself, complete in this moment, not going anywhere.

“If outcomes don’t matter ultimately, why act skillfully?”
Skillful action continues, but without the burden of outcome-ownership. You cook the meal with care not because you “should” but because care is what’s happening. The meal might burn anyway. That’s also complete.

“If I’m already enlightened, why do I still suffer?”
The body-mind still has its conditioned responses — pain, fear, sadness arise. But there’s a spaciousness around them. They’re weather patterns in the emptiness, waves in the fullness. They no longer define “you” because “you” has been stolen.

“How do I know if I’ve really recognized, or if I’m just spiritually bypassing?”
This question itself is Middle Realm. From either pole, there’s no one to know or not-know, no spiritual bypass because there’s no place you’re trying to get to that requires bypassing something to reach.

But here’s a test: After apparent recognition, does life get lighter or heavier? Does engagement decrease or transform? Does suffering collapse into its ground or harden into “I shouldn’t suffer”?

Real recognition brings lightness, full engagement, and suffering that’s transparent. Bypass brings heaviness, withdrawal, and suffering that’s suppressed.

IX. What Was Left Behind

So after all this — three essays, thousands of words, maps and stories and metaphors — what remains?

The Butter Thief came. The theft happened (or never happened, same thing). The rope failed. The butter was stolen. The gap closed.

What did the Thief leave behind?

Everything. And nothing.

Everything continues: body, mind, world, relationships, responsibilities, joys, sorrows, churning butter.

Nothing remains: ownership, separation, the one who was suffering, the one who was seeking, the gap between here and there.

It’s the same house. The same morning light through the same window. The same milk in the same pot.

But Yashoda isn’t trying to bind Krishna anymore. Because Yashoda has recognized: she is Krishna, pretending to be Yashoda, enjoying the game of churning butter that was never really butter, making ropes that were never really ropes, preparing to be stolen from by her own hand.

And the recognition doesn’t make her stop churning. It makes the churning play instead of work, joy instead of suffering, fullness instead of lack.

X. The Final Word (That Isn’t Final)

Here’s the teaching’s completion:

There is no completion.

Not because the journey is endless (that’s Middle Realm thinking). But because completion was always already the case, and continues being the case, and never stops being the case.

The stable poles aren’t a destination you reach. They’re what you’ve always been standing on. The Middle Realm isn’t a place you’re trapped in. It’s a misunderstanding you can wake up from.

And waking up doesn’t mean the dream stops. It means you recognize you’re dreaming while the dream continues.

The butter still gets churned.
The rope still gets made.
The Thief still comes.
But now you see: You’re the butter, the rope, the Thief, Yashoda, Krishna, the house, the morning, the game.

You’re the Lila playing all the parts.

And this essay? This too is butter. Beautiful, carefully churned, ready to be stolen. Don’t hold on to it. Don’t make it into rope. Don’t try to bind reality with these concepts.

Let it be stolen. Let it all be stolen.

Because what remains after every theft, after every word is released, after every concept dissolves, is just…

This.

The morning light.
The ordinary moment.
The chopping wood.
The carrying water.
The churning butter.
The living life.

Complete as it is.
Always was.
Always will be.

Coda: The Invitation That Isn’t

So now what?

If you’re reading this and you’re still churning, still making butter, still building ropes — perfect. Churn with your whole heart. Make the finest butter. Build the strongest ropes. Try with everything you have to bind the Unbindable.

Exhaust yourself completely in the effort.

Not because it will work.
But because the exhaustion is part of the play.
The failure is part of the love.
The theft is part of the gift.

If you’re reading this and the theft has already happened, and you’re wondering why you’re still here, still reading, still apparently living in the Middle Realm — perfect.

You’re Yashoda the morning after.
The butter is gone.
The Thief left no trace.
And there’s still milk that needs churning.

So churn. Not to make butter. Just to churn.
Not to get somewhere. Just to be here.
Not to achieve anything. Just to dance.

The Lila continues.

And you — You’ve always been the entire play.
The stage, the actors, the audience, the playwright.
Playing hide and seek with yourself.
Finding yourself by pretending to be lost.
Stealing from yourself by pretending to own.

The joke never gets old.
The theft never stops.
The butter never runs out.
The Thief never leaves.

Because they’re all You,
Pretending to be many,
So You can have the infinite joy
Of recognizing Yourself
Again.
And again.
And again.

Tat Tvam Asi.

The morning is here.
The butter is gone.
The Thief is laughing.
Life continues.

And it’s all perfect.
It was always perfect.
It could never be anything but perfect.

Welcome home.
You never left.

🙏

Hare Krishna
The play goes on.