There is a subtle yet profound thread running through our experience of existence — a thread that weaves together the quiet awareness of “I am” and the simple presence of the world around us. The phrase “Am-ness of self is the same as is-ness of things” invites us to pause and feel into this connection. At first glance, it may sound poetic or abstract, but with a little inquiry, we discover a deeply intuitive truth: the essence of being is not different for the observer and the observed.

When we say “I am,” we refer not to the body, name, or personal story, but to a direct sense of existing. This am-ness is not a belief or an idea. It’s not something we try to convince ourselves of. It’s just here — effortlessly present. Before we are anything else, we are. Strip away the roles, the memories, the aspirations, and what remains is a fundamental sense of being. Not being this or that, but simply being.

Likewise, when we look at a tree, a cup, a cloud, or a cat, we might describe it in various ways, but before all labels and thoughts, it simply is. That tree is. That cup is. That sound is. This is-ness of things is their presence — their existence unadorned by interpretation. It’s the same silent being we feel within ourselves, only now appearing as the outer world.

This is where the two — am-ness and is-ness — meet.

We often draw a sharp line between subject and object. “I” am here, and the “world” is out there. But this division is something the mind creates. When we examine it closely, the boundary between self and world begins to soften. The I am that feels present within is not so different from the is of the world we perceive. They are two expressions of the same underlying reality — one seeming inward, one outward.

The insight here is not merely philosophical; it has real experiential implications. When you rest in awareness — without judgment or analysis — you can begin to sense that everything is simply happening in presence. Thoughts arise in presence. Sensations appear in presence. The world moves and shifts in presence. And that presence is not separate from your own being. In fact, it is your being.

This is why mystics across traditions have often spoken of the unity of all things. Not as an abstract ideal, but as something directly knowable — felt in the stillness between thoughts, in the openness of perception, in the silence beneath all noise. They weren’t talking about merging with the world through effort, but recognizing that the world and self are already not-two.

So what does this mean in everyday life?

It means we can begin to meet experience with a different quality of attention. Instead of relating to the world as something “other,” we can approach it with reverence — seeing it as sharing the same fundamental being that we know as ourselves. This doesn’t require mystical visions or complex practices. It only asks for a quiet moment, a sincere look.

Feel the am-ness in you. Then look around — feel the is-ness of what surrounds you. Sense how both are silent, open, ungraspable — yet undeniably real. They don’t shout for attention, but they are the ground of all attention.

In this light, love too becomes more than emotion. It becomes a recognition of shared being. Compassion arises not because “they” are suffering, but because in some deeper sense, there is no real separation. Their being and your being are not-two. Their is is your am.

This isn’t about collapsing all distinctions. It’s not that you cease to function in a world of forms. You still eat, speak, work, rest. But the sense of division — the feeling of being a separate self behind the eyes — begins to dissolve. What’s left is clarity, intimacy, and peace.

The statement “Am-ness of self is the same as is-ness of things” is not just a concept to be debated. It’s an invitation to return to what is most immediate — to taste being directly, both within and without. It points to the non-dual truth that what we are and what we see are not two different realities, but one seamless presence, appearing as the dance of self and world.

Let that realization gently unfold, not as an idea to grasp, but as a presence to feel — again and again. In the end, all there ever is, is this. And this is what you are.