by Michael Maciel
One of the reasons why we sometimes find it hard to connect with the consciousness of others is that we tend to think of it more in terms of content than as a thing in and of itself. Even our own consciousness can slip into that paradigm, as far as we’re concerned. But when we are able to see it as it is—without content and unbounded by space and time—then our fellow conscious beings begin to show up in an entirely different light. It becomes increasingly difficult to distinguish them from us. Then we can start to get a glimpse inside the mind of the person we’re interacting with, because essentially we are the same person. We just have two sets of eyes operating in two separate bodies.
This is what makes humor possible, by the way. You might say that the reason something is funny is that it exposes an unrecognized connection between people. When we give voice to the thoughts that arise spontaneously from the unconscious, people are delighted because the same thoughts are arising (or trying to arise) in them. Speaking those thoughts causes theirs to burst through the surface of their awareness, and they laugh. Laughter has a kind of effervescent quality to it, does it not? It fizzes like bubbles.
One thing we can say about consciousness is that it is AWAKE—wide awake. And as such, it does not impose itself upon the objects of its awareness. It simply takes them in. It’s very receptive in that way. The more we focus on this aspect of it, the quieter our minds become, because we’re focused on the receptivity, not the content. Content, after all, is subject to our interpretation, which forms a buffer between us and the thing we’re looking at. But strip away the interpretation, and we begin to perceive the thing directly, which is quite different from the way we normally see it.
It’s the content-free aspect of consciousness that makes us children of God—pure, unadulterated awareness. Within that state of mind, all things are possible, because consciousness—pure consciousness—has the power to evoke the thing that makes us divine, namely our ability to bring ideas into material form. We are created in God’s image, and God, more than anything else, is a creator.
But when the contents of mind start to outweigh the mind’s open receptivity, we cut ourselves off from reality. The world begins to look like a projection, because it is. We take our ideas about the world and paint the world with them. All we can see at that point is our own interpretation, not the world as it is. And when we see the world as it is, the vision can be overwhelming. It can appear unbearably beautiful or horrifically brutal, depending on what we believe about the nature of existence.
When we strip our awareness of its contents, however, which is to say its axiomatic presuppositions, then we are open to everything we’re not seeing. In extreme cases, we might look upon an ordinary, everyday object, something we use regularly and not know what it is. Instead, we begin to see its other aspects, the one’s we ordinarily ignore, the one’s that serve no practical purpose. We begin to see its beauty, which even the most common objects inherently possess by the sheer fact of their existence. When we cease projecting our assumptions upon the world, all things become numinous.
Obviously, we can’t do this all the time. If we did, nothing would get done. But we can practice it so that it becomes our default setting, the place we retreat to when our world becomes overburdened by facts. We must, if we are to be truly sane, let the numinous shine out from the world. Otherwise, it becomes too dense, and our soul will start to suffocate.
Presuppositions, agendas, facts—these throttle our awareness. It’s not that they aren’t astonishingly useful, it’s just that we must not let them run the show. Consciousness is more than the world. It is more than who we think we are. It transcends us and yet IS us. That’s the paradox. And it’s in paradox that life emerges, like the green shoot of a flower in the cranny of a wall.