तदा द्रष्टुः स्वरूपेऽवस्थानम्
tadā draṣṭuḥ svarūpe’vasthānam

वृत्तिसारूप्यमितरत्र
vṛtti-sārūpyam itaratra

These two sūtras must be understood together. They do not describe two separate processes, but two aspects of the same reality—one revealed in clarity, the other operating unnoticed in ordinary experience. One shows what is always true when obstruction is absent; the other shows what appears to be true when that obstruction is present.

Sūtra 1.3 states: Then, the Seer abides in its own true nature. The word “then” (tadā) refers back to the stilling of mental modifications described in the preceding sūtra. It does not indicate a future achievement but a condition in which the disturbances of the mind no longer interfere with seeing. In that condition, the Seer—draṣṭā, pure awareness—is not produced or transformed; it is simply no longer misperceived. Awareness rests as itself, not because something new has been gained, but because something that obscured it has quieted.

The phrase “svarūpe avasthānam” is precise. It means abiding in one’s own nature—not constructing it, not improving it, not approximating it. This is important. The system is not suggesting that the Seer becomes pure or stable through effort. Rather, it reveals that purity and stability are intrinsic, and what we call practice is concerned only with the removal or attenuation of what distorts recognition. When the surface of a lake is agitated, it cannot reflect clearly. When it becomes still, clarity is not created—it is revealed. Similarly, awareness does not become itself; it ceases to appear as something else.

Immediately, however, Sūtra 1.4 introduces the counterpoint: Otherwise, there is identification with the modifications. The term “itaratra”—“at other times”—is crucial. It acknowledges that the condition described in 1.3 is not the default experience for most. Instead, what prevails is “vṛtti-sārūpyam”, the taking on of the form of mental movements. Awareness appears to become what it knows. A thought arises, and there is not merely the recognition of thought, but the sense “I am thinking.” An emotion arises, and there is not merely the presence of feeling, but the identity “I am this feeling.” The distinction between the Seer and the seen collapses, not in reality, but in experience.

This identification is subtle and pervasive. It is not an occasional mistake but the ordinary mode of living. One does not consciously decide to become the thought or the reaction; the identification is immediate and unexamined. The mind presents a modification, and awareness appears to conform to it. This is what the sūtra names—not that awareness truly changes form, but that it seems to assume the form of whatever arises. The Seer is not actually modified, yet it appears modified through identification.

Taken together, these two sūtras describe the entire human condition within the framework of Yoga. Either there is abidance in one’s own nature, or there is identification with mental activity. There is no third position described here. What we often call confusion, suffering, or entanglement is not treated as a separate category; it is simply this identification playing out in countless variations. Likewise, what we might call clarity or freedom is not presented as something extraordinary, but as the natural condition when that identification is not operating.

An important implication follows: the work of yoga is not directed toward creating the Seer’s nature, but toward understanding and resolving identification. This shifts the orientation entirely. Instead of trying to become peaceful, clear, or stable, one begins to see how instability, confusion, and reactivity arise through misidentification. The emphasis moves from attainment to discernment. What is required is not the construction of a new state, but the recognition of what is always present and the loosening of what obscures it.

From a lived perspective, these sūtras describe a very immediate movement. In one moment, there is a reaction, a tightening, a narrative forming—this is vṛtti-sārūpyam. In another moment, perhaps even briefly, there is a gap in that identification, a simple knowing without entanglement—this is a glimpse of svarūpe avasthānam. The teachings do not ask us to hold onto the latter as an experience, but to understand the mechanism of the former so clearly that its hold weakens.

It is also important to see that Sūtra 1.3 is not a reward for perfect practice, nor is 1.4 a failure. They are descriptive, not evaluative. They map two conditions of experience without moral weight. This removes the tendency to turn the teaching into another project of self-improvement. The Seer does not become more worthy by abiding in itself, nor less worthy by appearing entangled. What changes is not the Seer, but the clarity of recognition.

In this way, these two sūtras establish a fundamental axis for the entire text. Everything that follows—methods, disciplines, refinements of attention—can be understood as addressing the fact of vṛtti-sārūpyam, not as producing svarūpa. The latter is never absent; it is simply unrecognized. The path, then, is not a movement toward becoming something else, but a gradual resolution of the confusion that makes us appear other than what we are.