I am currently in Tiruvannamalai. I have attended a few satsangs. I had a question in my mind: how does the true self relate to another true self, especially when it comes to romantic love? I am sitting in an apartment overlooking the mountain. Yesterday, after a little argument, I was sitting on the terrace in the morning when a monkey came and touched me very gently and looked into my eyes as if to tell me that everything was going to be okay. Then he sat down next to me and looked at the mountain. He folded his hands on his knees in a deep, contemplative posture and it felt like an old friend had come to give me comfort.

What we call the self is not what we normally understand it to be. It is not our ego, our personality, our identity or even our soul. The self is the focus of our attention, it is a point in the infinite consciousness of the universe that enables self-realization. It is nothing more than that, and that is precisely why it is everything. The self is the point in the vastness that offers perspective; in deep meditation it can dissolve with universal consciousness, return to its source and cease to exist in full self-awareness.

Being in love

I realized this for the first time as a teenager on the hill in Rome. I was in love, I had an unfulfilled longing. A friendship that was deep, tender and intimate, but never physical, we were not a couple. And while I sat on the mountain and thought about the world, I saw it from within myself. I got to that deepest level of our existence, and even now, 40 years later, I can instantly return to that awareness whenever I remember it. I was both blissful and shocked at the same time. Do I really have the whole world inside me? Do I really not exist? How can it be that everyone talks about themselves without realizing that the self as they see it does not exist? I have carried this realization with me ever since. I've deepened the understanding, put it into context, thought about it. But in the end, not much has changed. It was just there, pure and simple.

I believe that an unfulfilled longing is a good teacher. I become aware of my desire and the impossibility of satisfying it. Desire creates suffering. Why am I not seen the way I want to be seen? Why is the love I feel not reciprocated? Why don't I share what I really feel? This last question is perhaps the most important. Other desires are about attachment, about wanting or being, but unfulfilled love is about being seen.

How can a self see another self? And do they have to see each other to love each other? Is there a deeper unity within cosmic consciousness where two can unite to become something else? What is this transformation?

The self, as a point of consciousness within universal consciousness, becomes aware of its soul when it awakens. The soul, however, is even more difficult to understand. It is that which is born and reborn. The soul comes with biological birth, it enters my body and stays there. It leaves my body when it breaks up. It was there before I was born and will still be there after I die. It is a manifestation of the universal soul, Purusha. The soul is what we really are, not the physical body, not the self. The soul is the core of our existence. Finding our soul is the most difficult path we can take. Only when we find our soul can we truly love; we can find our soulmate.

Soul

Every soul is different. That is the beauty of it. The soul is not my ego, not my personality and identity. The soul holds life in my body, it flows through every nerve, every fiber, every bloodstream, every nerve cell, every hair and every taste bud. The soul holds my experiences together, plays with my memory, delights in my existence. As a by-product, it creates the ego, my personality and identity. But all this can change, I can change. The soul does not change. It flows through time as part of the universal consciousness, it could be related to the concept of time itself. Self-consciousness is not bound to time and space. In a deep state of being, I can live 1000 years, I can connect with my soul and realize that it is immortal. And when the self and the soul join hands and fly, we can experience something that cannot be described by science. It is Shiva and Shakti, the universal interplay between self and manifestation. The only problem is our ego and our mind. We need them to find nourishment and to live with others, but they stand in the way of true self-realization.

Because we have a soul, we can love. The yogis, sadhus and siddhars may focus on self-realization. But to love, we go through the self into the soul and find another soul. These two souls are not the same, they fight and unite, they enjoy and suffer, they dance.

While the self has little to do with my biography, the soul shows itself through my biography. It is always there, whether I am aware of it or not. Seeing this core of my own biography is the path to realization. For me, this path was the search. I am a wandering soul. My path has always been a spiritual search, my strength a deep healing.

A koan, then. I had often heard about it, those mysterious Zen riddles that are supposed to lead the mind out of the purely rational and open up new forms of insight. I decided not to read much about it and not to ask others about it. I wanted to get one from a Zen master. During Doksan he asked me a few things about myself. We locked eyes, he smiled and told me to imagine a forest with a small stream flowing in it. When I enter the stream, how do I erase the sound of the babbling? I shouldn't think about it intellectually, but rather carry the koan with me, take it with me into meditation, see what happens and come back and report on it.

The image had an immediate effect on me. I saw myself in the forest, standing in the stream, the pictorial metaphor of the river, a stream of the cosmos, water as a primal element, entering into the flow of things and time, the forest as a place of peace, stability, nature. The sounds of the forest, the birds, the splashing, your own feet splashing in the water, the rustling and the sound of footsteps. Where is my path leading? Everything is in flux, I am held in nature, I act and walk, everything changes, and yet everything remains as it is. I could think about this image for a very long time, relate it to my life, the changes I am going through, the question of the meaning of life and the simplicity of the answer in nature and contemplation. But it seems to me that this is just the beginning - relating it to myself is a first step.

Back to the question: Why should I actually try to switch off the sound? Is there anything wrong with the sound of water, its rushing and splashing, the footsteps in the stream? Who says these sounds are wrong? They don't disturb, they don't distract, they are part of walking. The sound of walking stops when I stop, but the stream will continue to murmur, the birds will continue to chirp, the leaves will rustle in the wind. Is the koan's question perhaps simply that banal? Or does it imply something that can be questioned? Perhaps the assumption that silence is better should be questioned. So why silence? Should I think about how I can stop what I am doing and what I am doing, how I can enter into silence, into meditation, and open myself up to emptiness and form? There is probably already something relevant here.

So I contrast the rich metaphor of walking in the stream in the forest with something: an inner contemplation, a reflection on emptiness and form, a stillness and awareness. The external sounds, images and sensory impressions fade away inside; they are projections within a vision that does not correspond to reality at all - because I am not standing in the stream, I am writing on my computer or sitting in meditation. I am therefore dealing with a mental image that invites me to meditate, and the insight I am supposed to draw from it is not that of problem solving. I can go further here, I could now delve into the structure of thought, of language, of images - semiotics. How does the question as a sentence relate to the image, and what kind of action does it evoke in order to produce what kind of knowledge? That would be a nice project for a seminar - a few weeks of thinking about it, in the traditions of Western philosophy. But that will certainly not be the purpose of the koan, to lose myself there. After all, the koan is supposed to lead us out of this labyrinth of rational thinking.

That was a nice little excursion - the echo of my study of philosophy. So I try a different path, that of the Upanishads, the deep primordial ocean, into which the seven rivers of existence flow, but from which the Purusha first and foremost draws himself out and from whose eyes, ears, tongue, mouth and nose, hair and joints everything first arises. Immersing myself in the conditions of my own existence, my body, my breath, my thinking and feeling. Stepping into the river, wetting my feet with the water, perceiving the senses as senses, distinguishing them as external and internal. And then the task, the question: How can I silence the sound? And why would I want to do that?

Why should I even bother with such a question? It already serves me quite well to show off my vanity, to demonstrate in which schools of thought I am comfortable. Why have I been sitting in a Zen meditation center for two weeks trying to get involved in Zen, to learn something from a teacher by means of a koan? What does he have to show me? Where might the path lead? Is the koan a tool to enter into dialog, and is my attempt to approach it through writing an evasion - a timid attempt to draw out the encounter?

It's a full moon in India. Time for self-reflection, meditation and inner contemplation. I've never really thought about death before. It has always been a boundary for me, the thing that defines our existence in a negative way. Finitude throws us back on ourselves, or so I thought. I somewhat agreed with Heidegger here. Thinking something beyond death always seemed arbitrary, naive, romantic, escapist and gullible to me... Only in existential reflection did it seem meaningful to me. The dead were therefore simply dead, the idea that they somehow continued to exist after death or had already existed before birth seemed to me to be an important question, the answer to which was nonsensical, since this boundary is defined as absolute. I could easily dismiss those who reported that they had crossed it and returned as esoteric. That was not difficult for me and it seemed right.

In meditation, however, things look quite different. In meditation, consciousness clears itself, it detaches itself from the outside world and the body by bringing everything into consciousness. The senses become sensory impressions, the outside world becomes pure being, consciousness becomes consciousness in itself, it recognizes that it is not a reaction to the world, but its origin. It is its origin because it is identical with consciousness itself, the consciousness that is everything. There is no partial consciousness, there is only consciousness that lives in ignorance. When it steps out of this ignorance, Atman recognizes itself as Brahman, which is itself one with the consciousness that created the universe. It cannot be otherwise. How could a few kilos of matter give rise to a small part of consciousness that is unconnected with other consciousness that is not embedded in a larger consciousness? How could these few kilos of matter, when they disintegrate, bury consciousness with them? What kind of strange idea is that? A few kilos of brain in a biological body would produce consciousness just like that, in subjective form, imperfect and isolated, incapable of merging with other consciousness, only to disappear into nothingness?

Instead, the question is now posed to me in a completely different way. If my consciousness is the ground of all existence and always already contains everything in itself, then the path of individual life is a way of experiencing precisely this. Realizing this is perhaps the core of enlightenment. But what does this mean in relation to other lives? Those with whom I share the now, but also those who were before my time, those who left during my life, and those who will come when my time here is over? There is no beginning or end of a consciousness in the true sense, even though that consciousness is bound to lives in this existence.

Consciousness exists detached from life, even from life in a rich sense, that life which does not mean the mere biological form of life, but life as a path of consciousness in a biological body: Life energy (Élan vital, Prana), the world of feelings and the heart, the level of thinking that is directed towards the world (Manas), and the thinking that reflects, analyzes and understands it (Buddhi), as well as the thinking that contemplates the world and classifies it in the larger context (Vijnana), and that experience that connects us with the higher consciousness (Satchitananda, those three levels that largely elude language and manifest only in experience). That life which extends even further into the worlds of yoga, the body, the arts, architecture, real life - I can explore and illuminate that. But what about the lives of others and those who are not in my time?

They are real, they have always existed and do not cease to exist. They merely leave this world of self-awareness, they absorb the experiences they have gathered, and when they leave this world, they go to the moon, say the Upanishads. There they can enjoy the wealth of good deeds before they are reborn, that is, before they enter the world of experience again. That intermediate state in the moon, deep sleep, which is only superficially similar to sleep at night, is a connection with the gods, say the Upanishads. It is ultimately the connection with Brahman, and that connection is deeper than being identical with Brahman, which now sounds a little contradictory only to the rational mind.

Sometimes meditation is quite simple and natural. I sit down, go into my body, become aware of my sensory apparatus and how my consciousness and mind deal with it, bring everything to rest and higher consciousness shows itself, a different kind of knowledge, space and time, a different world of experience...

But sometimes it is also difficult, and then I learn how meditation really works. I sit down and a chaos of thoughts and feelings spreads. It takes a long time before I even notice it, I'm so caught up in my head. When I notice this, I focus on my breath and try to become aware of my body. There is an outside, a body, an inside. This is connected through the breath. I become aware that I am alive, that my body and mind are alive and I ask myself what that means. Being alive, being conscious, thinking, feeling. This is a good time to focus on the chakras. Different levels of being. Kundalini, the serpent, is a good guide. It coils and stretches, crawling up through the different levels of being, through matter, sexuality, the emotional world, through the heart and speech, the mind and consciousness, then through the experience of Satchitananda, the higher consciousness. This path can be quick, a few short minutes, or I can take my time, pause and look closely at what is going on at each level. I notice that my sitting position probably changes imperceptibly on the outside, but radically on the inside. A small, tiny correction to the spinal posture opens up a new level, a new plateau and releases energy. It's a bit like building a tower with wooden blocks. If the base is right, I can build very high. If the second floors are totally crooked and chaotic, then it becomes very wobbly and unstable towards the top.

This is a fine balancing act, because the still position is very important in meditation. I also tend to adopt a relatively strict position in the half lotus position, sometimes in the full lotus position. It helps with what I have described. The still position, almost rigid from the outside, is highly agile from the inside. I actually need at least 20-30 minutes to activate the basic elements and bring them into an energetic line. The body is so complex, it lives, feels, breathes, thinks, smells and hears, hurts and experiences happiness. To think that it is only important to become calm is a huge misunderstanding. The body is the most complex instrument we have, and yet it is so little used. The various practices of yoga serve precisely this exploration. With practice, you can become a real virtuoso, and then spaces open up that you were previously unaware of and mocked when others talked about them.

These inner worlds are worlds of the spiritual. Meditation opens up a space in which almost anything seems possible. I like meditation because it allows us to explore these worlds slowly and carefully. Of course, this is also possible through trance, substances, rituals and collective experiences. Countless cultures have amassed an enormous treasure trove of practices over the past millennia. But I find them a bit scary. It's a bit like when someone takes me to a party and suddenly I'm standing in a highly energetic space, immersing myself and becoming part of it, losing myself and connecting, having new experiences, a rush of the senses. These experiences are great, but they don't give me the basis to explore my existence. I am to a certain extent at the mercy of these experiences. In meditation, on the other hand, all paths are open. It is not my self that is navigating, it is rather a higher self, but I am in contact with my self, can control it if I want to, although such an intervention within a deep meditation is critical; it can easily throw it back to lower levels.

These worlds, in which my higher self connects with a higher consciousness, are states of bliss. It is what the Upanishads call deep sleep, because the body is completely in deep sleep, the consciousness is not stimulated by the senses of the body. The body does not exist for meditation as deep sleep. The consciousness into which mine is immersed is a spiritual experience. However, it is quite real. It is my consciousness that connects. It is here and now, it is this world, not another. It is immanence. Just a fuller reality. A sleep that is actually the highest state of wakefulness, because it cannot be distracted by external sensory impressions. Perhaps the serpent, which shades the head of some gods with 7 heads and protects them from rain, has this symbolism, that many things can be seen at the same time, that as levels of our body can be present in conscious clarity. The 7 rivers of the Rigveda, the 7 levels of existence. These images are always so infinitely complex here in India.

At the same time, many of the plateaus that Kundalini flows through have long since become part of my everyday consciousness. Contemplation and reflection, sensuality and pleasure, living through emotions and sorting thoughts, weighing things up and making decisions - these are all levels of my existence that I can accept as such. It's not about doing the 'right' things expected by society, but about taking them seriously as phenomena, bringing them to bear as manifestations of the world and making them conscious and navigating them as best I can. In this way, I become a witness to a reality that - in and of itself - can do little to me. It is a gift of life to be able to have these experiences. That seems to be part of the meaning of life. This living through...

Sometimes meditation is easy and sometimes difficult. Sometimes it just comes, and sometimes you have to practise. There are a few aids and countless paths to it. There is no one right way. Everything is okay, because everything is reality, there is nothing other than reality. Some paths are more difficult and some have consequences, that's it.

Read more: 

Aurobindo: Life Devine, Book II, Chapter VI, Reality and the Cosmic Illusion.

I am slowly penetrating a little deeper into the superficiality. Concepts that I have absorbed from different knowledge systems such as the Vedas, Agamas, Shastras are slowly connecting. I see rough root systems. For example, how the 5 elements (water, fire, earth, ether and air) as a starting point in the teachings of the Vedas develop further in Vastu or Ayurveda, i.e. in space and the body. I see how different systems of knowledge intertwine in the temple and how this is still reflected in contemporary art practice today. And it becomes clear how the interpretation and appropriation of these knowledge systems is highly political. This knowledge was colonized and is now being critically questioned at universities with regard to its colonization. However, it is also still active in many ashrams and gurukuls, often with a great deal of pride and a reference to reviving the tradition.

Following Deleuze's ideas, I have rhizomatically connected different concepts, visited plateaus, left my home and allowed parts of myself to deterritorialize. A 'body without ogans' has emerged, lines of flight of the mind have formed. The plane of immanence has opened up, folded, its inclusions have opened up new worlds for me, which are now slowly aligning with reality and everyday life.

This is a painful process. The naive world of wonder and mild fascination, the honeymoon of spiritual exploration comes to a first caesura. This superficiality, i.e. the linking in immanence, is an active exploration, a thinking in the sense of expansion. I have combined it with an internalization, a tracing in meditation, spiritual practice, temple visits, exhibitions, 'folklore', study groups and conversations.

Now I have been on a 4-day intensive course on Vastu (architecture). Didactically it was well structured: slowly introducing the world of thought derived from the Vedas, leading to basic concepts of space, vibration, geometry, cosmology, energy. The Upanishads shone through again and again. We practiced puja and a temple visit - and finally practical applications in architectural plans.

The tasks are now much more difficult. The pure resonance and association needs to be checked for legitimacy. And this is where the question of the criterion arises. How should knowledge be measured? I discuss this with my teacher on the basis of Hegel and the Taittiriya Upanishad, but also in postmodern reflection. However, this oscillating thinking escapes systematic access. So how should it express itself? In the last few months, a lot has been condensed for me through personal experience. I have written letters that have followed the inner movement that feels drawn to something. And I have visualized and exhibited knowledge as a starting point for questions: a diagram of a temple exhibited in a gurukul that practices tantric rituals.

I was expecting a culture shock. And it's happening now. My mind doesn't really want to settle in. The time difference is almost 12 hours, so upside-down, my consciousness is on fire, there's no other way to describe it. I'm awake, but somehow not here. I'm in Chicago and I know it, I'm fully present, but my mind doesn't feel at home yet.

It is like the Aitereya Upanishad. "These were the Gods that He created; they fell into this great Ocean, and Hunger and Thirst leaped upon them. Then they said to Him, "Command unto us an habitation that we may dwell secure and eat of food."" But what is a good habitat for the gods, those beings that Brahman created in order to experience himself. Brahman drew Purusha from the deep waters, from him, the counterpart of Prakriti (nature), Purusha manifests as soul, as consciousness, as a universal individual: "The eyes brake forth and from the eyes Sight and of Sight the Sun was born. The ears brake forth and from the ears Hearing and of Hearing the regions were born. The skin brake forth and from the skin hairs and from the hairs herbs of healing and all trees and plants were born..."

When Pursha manifested itself in this way - as differentiated universal forces, as gods - the question arose as to where the forces could live. The oceans were not suitable, nor were the cows. But when the gods saw the humans, they said: ""O well fashoned truly! Man indeed is well and beautifully made." Then the Spirit said unto them, "Enter ye in each according to his habitation." No sooner said than done, but one question remained: "The Spirit thought, "Without Me how should all this be?" and He thought, "By what way shall I enter in?" He thought also, "If utterance is by Speech, if breathing is by the Breath, if sight is by the Eye, if hearing is by the Ear, if thought is by the Mind, if the lower workings are by Apana, if emission is by the organ, who then am I?""

Culture shock

I feel so alive in India, the world of the Vedas is still active there. But I am not interested in representing the teachings of the Vedas, I understand them far too little for that, the language of the gods is so complicated, so multifaceted, the wisdom so deep. But something shines through these ancient writings, something that can be felt everywhere in India. Consciousness there is not determined by matter. Because matter is not accessible to our consciousness. Consciousness seeks a material abode. In somewhat old-fashioned terms, we would say that the soul looks for a body.

This consciousness that seeks out a place, e.g. my body, is not completely bound to it. That is the great mystery of rebirth. The connection is not arbitrary, but it is loose. We see this in the Sleepwhen our consciousness moves away from the material world, the causal world, and enters the dream world.

So the gods chose humans to live in them. But this means, somewhat trivialized, that consciousness, emotions, intellect, sensory perception and memory need a place where they can work. In our experience, this place is the human body. "It was this bound that He cleft, it was by this door that He entered in. 'Tis this that is called the gate of the cleaving; this is the door of His coming and here is the place of His delight. He hath three mansions in His city, three dreams wherein He dwelleth, and of each in turn He saith, "Lo, this is my habitation" and "This is my habitation" and "This is my habitation."""

Chicago

So now I have also flown from India to Chicago and I feel a bit like a ghost (spirit) who has discovered a new House is looking for. The culture shock is maximum. I feel like the Truman Show, that 1998 movie where a perfect world is staged in which a person who doesn't know that this world is a production is filmed 24/7 and broadcast live on television. It is, of course, a variation of Plato's allegory of the cavejust like the Matrix (1999) or other dystopian sci-fi classics.

Here in the USA, many things are taken to extremes. The values of modernity are negotiated here: Freedom, capital, science, war, democracy, art, materialism, individuality... This is where the boundaries are tested and the limits are set. But this modernity has lost its roots and that is the tragedy of the USA, because the fact that progress is necessary lies in the structure of the world. Everything is in flux, everything is in the process of becoming, stagnation and conservatism are only justified as forces, not as absolute values. And so, for me, this is where the oldest coherent scriptures - the Indian Vedas - meet the force of modern progress, and I ask myself, where are the gods here? What game are they playing?

When I see the people here, the traffic, the supermarkets, the air-conditioned houses, it really is a different world. Brahman is also experienced here. But the question is how awake people are here, they work a lot and hard, but consciousness is anchored on the surface in the consumer world. Something is being tried out here, the experiment threatens the planet, but it will continue somehow.

I will find my way around here. The gods don't live in temples here, there are no cows in the streets, but there is a will to build a beautiful new world. This modern world is being built here like a small child who doesn't think much of anything bad. Sometimes the child is surprised that the house collapses, then there is crying and screaming and a new attempt until the learning goal is achieved.

-

A few years ago, I had a guest artist in my seminar. A young, successful, socially committed artist who wanted to make a difference. He came to our seminar, we all sat in a circle, and he asked each student why he/she was here. It was a seminar on a campus of an art university for a semester abroad, and so the students told us they were here for the culture, or the experience, to get to know France etc... but he, the guest artist, didn't accept these answers, kept asking: Be honest, why are YOU here? or: Don't kid yourself why are you HERE? or: go a little deeper: WHY are you here? Everyone had to ask themselves this question. Above all, I learned how difficult it is to ask this question seriously. It's clear that it's not easy to answer the question anyway.

We should all ask ourselves this question from time to time. Why are we actually here? Depending on the context, the question naturally takes on different dimensions: political, social, economic, personal, perspective, collective, etc.... At the end of all contextual questions, however, the bare question remains. It is a question about the meaning of life.

Now many people - trapped in everyday constraints from which it seems very difficult to escape - are running after a life that is determined by conventions or consumer worlds mediated by the media. I don't want to judge that in itself, it's not up to anyone. Ultimately, everyone has to decide for themselves as long as ... and here comes the question I want to get to, as long as the community doesn't suffer. Community is a bit of a loose term, it can mean many things, and that's a good thing. But there is one structure that has been used as a model time and again since antiquity, and that is the City.

City

What should a city look like, how should it be organized, who takes on which tasks, are there rules, if so, how are they made, by whom, for whom and why? Because people live together in a city, in a division of labor that is not alienated should be. Everyone should find a place there that does justice to their abilities and expectations of a good life.

The reading of A. K. Coomaraswamy confronted me with this idea again today, he asks about civilization in an essay. Plato came to the conclusion that ultimately only a philosopher-king would know what was good for the community and the city, because only he or she, the philosopher-queen, would be able to look after the inhabitants, detached from power interests and personal advantage. Only she could ensure that everyone's inner values could develop freely. That sounds very cerebral, and also quite authoritarian, even if the Philosopher King would forbid authority.

In capitalism, everything is controlled by income. Supply and demand determine who gets how much and who finds a place where. But is that also the right place when it comes to the question of why you are here? Is the question of space even that important? In the world of advertising, it's all about how you can improve your place by consuming more. It's annoying a lot of people now and it's also clear that the planet won't be able to cope with this for much longer, and AI probably won't be able to solve it either.

Democracy, the lesser of two evils, doesn't really have an answer either, it's an eternal negotiation process based on majorities. That is good for the majority, and that is no small thing. Modern democracies are also guided by principles. They are written in the constitution and can only be changed by super majorities, or not at all. There may be good reasons for this from the lessons of history. But that is not a real answer to why you are here.

Auroville

Now the objection could be raised that this is actually a very personal question that does not need to be clarified politically or socially. That the city only has to provide the framework conditions so that everyone there can face up to this question privately, create their own House build or search. That is pragmatic, but not an answer. It is clear that the question is anything but trivial. And as the person writing these lines, i.e. me, the author, I don't really want anyone to answer this question for me. But I would like to live in a city where this question is at the center. Where everyone can, can and should ask themselves this question. This city is called Auroville, and it is anything but perfect, especially now in 2023.

This city is there for everyone, has no laws or capital as an ideal and also manages without advertising. The only condition imposed by this city is that every inhabitant sees herself as a servant of divine consciousness. For beginners, you can read Mirra Alfassa or Sri Aurobindo to find out what this could mean. But you don't have to. Everyone can decide for themselves, as long as it is not an organized religion. This restriction is important and refers back to the initial question: why are you here? Why are you in this life? The whole city actually only exists to answer this question. It is a huge laboratory, a living university without administrative structures. Everything is motivated by this question. One's own life is organized in an act of dedication as a voluntary service to a great idea. Because the question: Why are you here? contains very important concepts. 1) A you or implied I, which 2) exists, 3) has a physical location, 4) demands an answer as a question and thus an act of reflection, 5) is finally formulated in language. All of this points to a consciousness that outgrows itself. A self-awareness that questions its own existence, and if it does so authentically, sincerely and with perseverance, then this leads to a spiritual path. That is the meaning behind the restriction that everyone should see themselves as yours of divine consciousness. And that is why there is no room for religion. There is a space for meditation, which is open and free, and everyone can do what he/she wants. Meditation, or concentration, is possible anytime and anywhere, but it also has a special space in Auroville, namely the center. This space is largely empty, as far as emptiness exists at all. The space is simple and is in the Matrimandir.

I sometimes hear the idea of exporting Auroville, of founding many small Aurovilles, i.e. communities, all over the world and thus contributing something to the world that tries to create such important free spaces. Is that possible? How does it differ from artists' villages, self-managed farms, kibbutzes or revolutionary communes? Auroville is one of the very few experiments that has made it beyond the first generation. However, Auroville is currently facing its greatest challenge and threat. Old, encrusted structures are being brutally broken up by new external structures. This is incredibly painful. Diversity in unity, Auroville's motto, seems to be subject to centrifugal forces. May no more misguided interests take advantage of the moment.

In India, the books of the Vedas have been kept in memory for 3000 years. The Rigveda (10,552 verses), Samaveda (1549 verses), Yajurveda (4001 verses) and Atharvaveda (5977 verses) as well as the Upanishads (approx. 1800 verses) have been passed down from generation to generation. The grammar of Sanskrit has not changed significantly and the pronunciation has been handed down precisely through exact phonetic descriptions. So these texts sound exactly the same today as they did 3000 years ago. They are written in the form of mantras, i.e. in verse form and dedicated to the truth. Recitation, even mere listening, is said to have powers, because according to legend, the language of Sanskrit originates from Shiva: his drums produce vowels, from which the consonants arise, from which the grammar and finally the language.

The counterpart to the language of the Vedas in music are the ragas. Yoga is also related to the Vedas, as are Ayurveda and Tantra. This treasure of wisdom was perceived by the rishis through deep meditation and recorded in mantras. The strict coding in verse form ensured error-free transmission over thousands of years. Even today, thousands of people in India know the Vedas by heart and recite them regularly.

Passing on knowledge

There are two ways of passing on this knowledge. The conventional form of learning through practice and repetition. It is necessary to start at an early age and it requires the dedication of a lifetime to develop this skill and keep it alive. The second form is the passing on of a seer to his pupil. This form is difficult for the rational mind to comprehend. The knowledge is transferred within weeks. The relationship between guru and disciple is of course a very special one. It is rare. There are also reports of even more mystical transfers.

As this is knowledge that has been experienced in meditation, it is knowledge that is different from empirical knowledge that we have gained through our external senses or rational knowledge that we have gained through deduction. The Western idea that - extremely abbreviated - external sensory stimuli can be inscribed in the memory and recalled through recollection does not apply here. The approaches of transcendental philosophy also fall short here, as they do not take deep structures into account. within of our thinking.

The knowledge of the Vedas testifies to a much more differentiated description of our consciousness. In the Vedas, the generally accepted three states of matter, life and mind correspond to Sat-Chit-Ananda (existence, consciousness, bliss) on a higher level of consciousness. A seventh level - Vijnana - is the link. Through this form of higher realization, Sat-Chit-Ananda is opened up. The whole is wonderfully complex, rich and beautiful and does much more justice to our human existence than the dominant reductionist view of so-called enlightenment and is described by the 7 rivers or deep waters. Of course, there are also the gods, but that's another story for now. I am concerned here with memory.

The Vedas have opened up these higher levels. They are passed on orally from generation to generation. This is why they are also recognized as intangible world cultural heritage. This knowledge comes from a vision and is passed on immaterially, like the Olympic flame. It bears witness to an origin in the oldest coherent texts of mankind.

Memory and consciousness

Just as art bears witness to an inner experience, or invention is often based on inspiration, our spiritual existence is linked to a vision. The question of the meaning of our lives is not answered in causal chains or deductions. This question points to a different context. How is such a vision possible and what kind of memory is necessary for it? I am not referring to the memory capacity to memorize c. 25,000 verses, but to the question of the kind of consciousness that is revealed here.

The mind can move freely within the levels of consciousness, it can roam from one place to another at almost infinite speed, jump through time and open up new worlds - all this at least in the memory, the activated memory. But it is more than just getting lost in memories. The states of Sat-Chit-Ananda are real. India is of people who have given up everything to open themselves to this gift, to achieve bliss and immortality in the here and now. Bergson distinguishes between a pure memory and a habitual memory. Pure memory captures the memories that shape us, that are unique, that stand out from everyday consciousness. That goes in the right direction....

Our mind, our consciousness can participate in a greater consciousness, can actualize it. It seems to me that we misunderstand this as memory, and perhaps it is also the case that we first have to grow beyond our memory in order to attain real consciousness. Memory is then not the search in one's own individual memory of habit, but spiritual experience. Because everything is always already there everywhere. It is only a matter of access relations.

Reference:

Joshi, Kireet. The Portals of Vedic Knowledge

Bergson, Henri. 1990. Matter and Memory. New York: Zone Books.

I would like to take part in the deliberations on Diagrams connect. I mentioned some problems of logic. Now I became aware of a passage from Aurobindo:

"Logic, by its very nature, is intolerant even of apparent contradiction; its method is verbal, ideative; it accepts words and thoughts as rigid and iron facts instead of what they really are, imperfect symbols and separate sidelights on truth." (Aurobindo Isha Upansiad p. 570)

For a while, I was taken with the logic of possible worlds. David Lewis is a philosopher we discussed in the advanced seminar. In 1986 he published On the Plurality of Worlds. The basic idea is a radical answer to a major problem of logic in epistemology. If true propositions refer to facts in the world, what do false propositions refer to? Davis Lewis's answer, somewhat abbreviated, is that there are actually no false propositions. Sentences can only be false relative to a world. A sentence such as "There is a tree outside my window" is true if there is a tree outside my window. If another person says this sentence in a place where there are no trees, the sentence is false. So it depends on the context. Very few sentences are universally true. These include, for example, mathematical propositions.

Counterfactual sentences

When sentences are used in the 'right' context, i.e. when they refer to facts, they are true. They mean what is the case. It is, of course, a little more complicated. Alfred Tarski came up with a nice puzzle in 1936: the Indefinability sets.

"Informally, the theorem says that the concept of truth in a language cannot be defined with the means of expression of the language itself. The proof is based on the so-called Tarski propositions, self-referential propositions of the form: I am an element of M for a set M. If one chooses the set of all false propositions of a system for M, the construction of a Tarski proposition leads to a contradiction: a true proposition that is unprovable in the system. From this it can be concluded that the set of all true propositions of a system is not definable within this system." (Wikipedia)

The problem is not trivial. What do propositions mean that cannot be proved? We now have to deal with two kinds of problems. First, the question of what sentences mean in the wrong context, and then the question of what sentences mean that are unprovable. David Lewis says that these and similar problems are very easy to solve. There is an infinite number of worlds. All propositions are true, just not necessarily in our world. If a sentence is not true here, then there is a world in which the sentence is true, it's just not my world. I have no relationship with this world, we do not share the same space or time, there are no causal links or other mechanisms of action that connect these worlds. But they must exist because they are sayable. Everything that is sayable is therefore true, i.e. it is the case, i.e. it is real - in one of an infinite number of possible worlds. But are these again countably infinitely many worlds or uncountably infinitely many worlds (i.e. infinitely many worlds in the class of natural numbers, or more, i.e. in the class of rational numbers, or even irrational numbers)? The puzzles continue...

A self-transcending materialism

This fascinates me because David Lewis is serious about it. The logic here goes beyond itself, so to speak. That's great. It seemed like a proof of God to me. Physics has similar ideas about the multiverse, dark matter, the theory of everything or whatever else is growing in the colorful garden of those searching for the grand unified theory. The cosmos is much more complex than we can perceive or think. We really don't know the vast majority of it. Edwin A. Abbott actually made a very funny point with his classic from 1884 "Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions" pointed this out.

The universes are probably much crazier than we can dream of. And I am always impressed by the fact that the Vedas already knew this:

I have known for many years that I would like to practise yoga, but have never done so. Similar to meditation, I didn't feel ready for it or was put off by Western esoteric forms that ultimately see both meditation and yoga as self-optimization.

Meditation and yoga are philosophical, spiritual and ultimately transcending practices to overcome the self, to open up to a greater consciousness. This all seems so clear now. My 'study' of Indian philosophy is slowly taking shape and I realize that my days are getting shorter and shorter. I am starting to learn a little Sanskrit. Reading the Upanishads and the Vedas in German and English in Sri Aurobindo's translations shows me how deluded, ignorant and short-sighted all the theories of the West are. Aurobindo's 'Notes on the Mahabharata' (Sri Aurobindo Vol 1 'Early Cultural Writings' p.277ff.) is a wonderfully sharp attack on European culture that is absolutely worth reading. It is one of his early texts, and the disappointment and anger at European arrogance can be felt here quite unfiltered. A lifestyle without meat and alcohol, getting up early and good, open conversations with great people all contribute to this.

Holistic yoga

Anyway, yesterday I went to my first Yoga class It wasn't exactly a beginners' course. But I've been toying with the idea of attending the class for weeks. It's a holistic approach that incorporates pranayamas/ pranavyayamas/ mantras/ mudras/ asanas/ meditation. I was surrounded by demigods of the art of yoga, yet everything was so easy and light-hearted, no one seemed to have to exert themselves, although it was quite obvious that most of them had been practicing yoga for many years. For me, of course, it was almost impossible to follow, but the combination of breathing exercises, mantras, concentration and meditation, body awareness and rhythm made me almost forget about time and my own limitations. I don't think I've ever pushed myself so hard without realizing it.

Perhaps this wonderful queue that greeted me on my way to the canteen at lunchtime inspired me to practise yoga in this form. But actually, all of life is yoga.

For many years now, my mind has been filled with emptiness most of the time. My memory is not good either and I often repeat words or phrases in my mind without knowing why. Often it is simply experience in a word in an endless loop, like a mantra so to speak.

This worried me a lot for a long time. I tried to find excuses and justifications for it. For example, that I worked a lot mentally and my mind was simply exhausted, to the point of burnout. I told myself that my memory wasn't working properly or differently because I live, think, feel and experience in three languages. How do we store experiences, thoughts and knowledge in our minds? If I experience, learn, recognize something in one language, can I recall it in another language - without distinction? And if my mind repeats a word, 20, 30 times, because it stumbles over something, can't quite categorize or grasp it, is it because the mind is slowing down, confused?

But above all, I didn't know how to categorize the emptiness in my mind. I always thought it would be desirable for the mind to be constantly active, productive, busy. Looking into the world and perceiving it as such seemed unproductive to me, lazy. I justified it as a break, as gathering strength and coming to rest in order to be productive again. Is there any way to increase this, I asked myself.

Discomfort

So I have felt a sense of unease in my mind for many years. This emptiness and the mantra-like repetition of words, the search for information in a linguistically confused memory, all this now seems to me to have been an indication that the productivity demanded by society is causing me discomfort. It is as if something is stirring in my mind that eludes this false consciousness. For a long time it felt like a weakness, a failure. My socially conditioned self condemned these moments. Something didn't seem to be running at maximum performance.

Now I realize that something is emerging here that cannot be suppressed. It is a different consciousness. An awareness of a different context, contemplative, meditative, spiritual, seeing. It is a consciousness that withdraws from everyday life, leaves the self behind, sheds the constructed biography as such. It is quite natural that the mind's mechanisms for accessing one's own memory then no longer function. The mind no longer wants to do this, and if I try to force it, it resists and becomes tired. In my case, this other consciousness, a more alert, selfless, seeing one, has wanted to go to India for many years. It wants to go home.

Homesickness

Something inside me was homesick. Now it's here in India. Everything feels strangely familiar. The sounds and smells themselves foreign, the fact of their existence not. The people around me (not the tourists) do what they have to do with a great serenity, everything seems to be in an organic flow. Namaste.

Synthesis

It took me a long time to take this step, to admit all this to myself. This is happening here on a different level, not through an intellectually critical attitude towards society - I have cultivated that for decades - but through a spiritual insight, a return home.

Yesterday I attended a seminar on the recitation and interpretation of Rigveda mantras. Starting from the Sanskrit original, different translations by Sri Aurobindo were compared. I was not expecting this intellectual rigor and it opened my eyes to the importance of delving into the source texts. These mantras feel as if I have chanted them many times a very long time ago. I feel the same way about some Gregorian and Byzantine music, as well as ragas, Jewish chansons, and Simon and Garfunkel...

Viewing direction

Of course, I wonder whether this retrospective is really the answer to the global challenges. I think it is in many respects. If we really want to change something, thinking about the status quo is wrong. Tying climate targets to one year in the past is wrong (although it is a right and pragmatic first step), just as peace cannot be tied to maintaining national borders (although aggressively crossing them is of course wrong).

Much more fundamental, and actually more important, is the why. How do we see the future of humanity? And that can only mean that we allow the plurality and diversity of people to develop in harmony with our environment. And this driving force that allows us to develop is not a status quo, it cannot be prosperity or capital.

We need to get away from the materialistic and economic way of thinking that we have misunderstood since the Enlightenment. I have spent years teaching myself that my mind does not exist and is just an illusory by-product of a neurochemical process that I do not understand. I have spent decades trying to understand art as a theoretical discourse reflecting the principles of perception, and I have spent a lot of time trying to understand social processes as a system that follows the logic of information processes. I really ask why I have done this?

What was the purpose behind it? The only thing I can think of is the progress of science and the rise of the information age. We have built a world on these reductionist principles of thinking, the result of which we are now seeing. It has created a global elite that can indulge in any pleasure and has plunged much of the world's population into abject poverty. All this has been paid for by nature, which is on its last legs. I really don't think that discussions about Engeriespaarlamps will get us out of here.

Global awareness

We need to start thinking about what we are doing here. We have a huge task ahead of us to work on global awareness. We have to activate all the resources we have for this. I think that is perhaps one reason why fundamentalist positions are resurgent. They are being reactivated in order to understand their core. It is not very surprising that this is being abused by power. But we can only synthesize this through dialogue. Building walls to consolidate the status quo is completely the wrong approach.

It is the emptiness in the mind that creates space to meet the other, when we leave the self behind, diversity in unity becomes possible.

Curry! Every morning there are mildly spiced, wonderful Indian dishes. They are light and complex, there seem to be 1001 spices in them. At lunchtime, Solarkitchen, the community canteen, is simple, vegetarian and good. The principle is healthy food for everyone, everyone can afford it. In the evening, these wonderful dishes again. What they don't serve: Alcohol, meat or fish, sugar. Eggs are a luxury. I used to eat a lot of chocolate in Germany, but now it's far too sweet for me. I treat myself to a complex vitamin B supplement.

The exciting thing is that it changes my whole body. In Ayurvedic medicine, nutrition is a central aspect. I understand that now. This healing process is not a cure for any disease, I am actually quite healthy. But many things are coming to light. Old wounds, for example. My hands have lots of small scars from cuts with kitchen knives. I'm not particularly careful, I live dangerously in the kitchen. These small scars all appear, more every week. My metabolism is changing. It feels great.

Media

In addition to this change (I don't want to call it a diet, because the number of vegetables, spices, proteins and carbohydrates, fruit and quark is so much more varied and nutritious that it is actually more of a feast, a frenzy, a feast), there is a real reduction in media. I don't actually watch movies or videos at all, there is no TV or internet connection in the room. The dining hall isn't suitable for that either. I still follow the news, but not as panicked as I was in Europe. I sleep well.

In the evenings after dinner, I talk to lots of strangers about all sorts of things; we've been playing cards for the last few days. Because everything in Auroville is closed at 8 pm, unless there's a concert, a performance or a movie. Which is often the case.

In addition to my little scars, there is also a sadness, but it feels right. The hectic pace and superfluous consumption of recent decades in Germany, France and the USA may have been fun, but it wasn't just bad for the planet, it wasn't good for me either. Living in luxury is actually sad. I feel that now, and that's good. And here is the healing process. I think that's what we mean by diseases of civilization.

p.s.: The Auroville Bakery is the place of my sin, which is unfortunately irresistible 🙂

My perception changes when I arrive in India. The smell, the sounds, the slowness, the intuition, the acceptance, the hope are wonderful things that I see. Others may see stench, noise, inefficiency, irrationality and doom and despair. I think it is this different view that allows me to feel comfortable in India.

So I have had some wonderful experiences. I learned that different people have different perspectives on the same things. I learned by going from A to B and back to A and back to B ..... It's day three in my adventure to become part of Auroville. I get up at 6:30 in the morning and the birds sing loud and funny. I watch the young woman who picks flower buds from the garden every morning for Shiva to decorate the statue. Ganesha is also given a stick of incense and an oiling. Breakfast is wonderful, always freshly cooked and mildly spiced. I read and think about Aurobindo.

I now have a SIM card and a scooter too, so I drove around Auroville a bit. First to the library, then to the forest, lunch at the Solarkitchen.

So far I've found vegetarian food, you can't buy alcohol here. But sometimes you see a bottle of whisky by the roadside, there is certainly no supervision. However, I notice that there are police booths at the entrances to Auroville, but they can also be found all over India in the middle of a highway, for example. It feels very colonial.

There's not much going on at the moment, the event list is manageable https://events.auroville.org.in/ and what else you can do here can be found here https://www.auroville.com/blog/category/auroville. I am looking forward to the exhibition on Aurobindo and the SVARAM sound experiments.

Auroville was founded in 1968 by Mirra Alfasse. The architect Roger Anger developed the city plan for it. It is based on a cosmic spiral nebula. The land that was made available to Auroville was a dry plateau. A forest has been planted since the early years. There is a nice, slow documentary about it (Ever Slow Green (2020) - S.O.S. from Auroville (now), 2021.)

Now I have slept in this forest for the first night. The Auroville Center Guest House is a magical place. There are no glass windows, just mosquito nets. You feel as if you are sleeping outside, surrounded by countless birdsong. This forest seems to have achieved a huge biodiversity.

The whole thing feels a bit like paradise. I can imagine peace, concentration and meditation here very well. I'm very excited about the many projects that are underway here and that I heard people talking about yesterday in the common room.

On a boulevard in Paris, café and bad music, sun and lots of people. So many people want to be seen. They are busy, sexy, cool, knowing, adventurous, sporty, educated, cultured or indifferent. Many want others to take notice. They see themselves as what they want to be. Perhaps they live their lives in a certain way, happy and content, or alienated and bored, outcast or privileged. That's the beauty of Paris and other big cities, that people show themselves how they want to be, how they want to be seen.

Open spaces

Of course, this also somehow reveals an alienation, a dissonance. The free spaces that we take for ourselves contrast with the - usually larger - spaces in which we are not what we want to be. This gives rise to a whole industry. You want to be different? Try it, for a price. Express your individuality by buying something very special that others haven't bought. This is capitalism and consumerism. It's common knowledge, and we all think we're above it, and of course we're not.

I find the urge to want to show off, to be noticed, to get attention, much more exciting. Why do we do that? We are probably looking for Encounterswant to greet the other - Namaste. We probably want to overcome loneliness, or at least interrupt it. We don't actually want to participate in capitalism, we want to take part in the adventure of consciousness, celebrate it with others, share it. And we want to dissolve into it - in intoxication and ecstasy, Dionysian. We want to put the logic of the system, its functioning and efficiency up for discussion. Nietzsche sends his regards, but also Bataille.

So I'm sitting in a café in Paris, my backpack packed, tonight I'm flying to Auroville. And of course I ask myself why I have to write this in a blog now. And why I have to fly to the other side of the world. Check your privilege. And why am I writing so much in the first person?

Goodbye

I seem to be serious about this. Many years ago, I told anyone who would listen that I was done with capitalism. Just as I have been saying goodbye to Christianity for even longer. But for me that meant living in the wrong place, because I didn't manage to develop a real alternative for myself. There are not many places on our planet where this is attempted. It's not enough for me (anymore) to have a critical attitude, and I also don't find it acceptable for me to collect resources within the system in order to redistribute them individually. Giving comfort is not my style either.

We have to act, it can't go on like this. It's bad for the environment, but it's also bad for us. This is so often glossed over in today's debate. It's not just about saving the planet, it's about saving ourselves. We don't just need new ideas from engineers, but also from philosophers and spiritual thinkers and seers. Perhaps we don't need new ideas at all, but could remember old ideas and think about how we can adapt them in an increasingly complex civilization. What would a world without capitalism and without colonialism and crusades look like? Why do so few people think seriously about this?

I have no idea what to expect on the next stage. On verra, we will see. Aurobindo sang about fire, it is essential for seeing. I hope that I don't emerge as a phoenix from the ashes, as the same as before. That would really be a tragedy. Rather, I want to become fire myself, to remember that we are made of molten stars.

Black holes are a mystery to us. I am not a cosmologist and deal with black holes in a popular scientific way with a philosophical interest. They mark a limit to our imagination. Gravitational force influences space and time, says science. Concentrated at a single point, it compresses matter to its pure substance, squeezing atomic nuclei and electrons together to form a mass (atoms consist essentially of emptiness). This mass attracts everything with its incredible gravitational force, bending and distorting space and time.

The black hole is surrounded by a threshold, an event horizon. Once this is crossed, there is no turning back, i.e. light is no longer reflected but absorbed. So we cannot see what is happening inside. Something similar seems to apply to time and space. Although black holes can move through our space-time, they themselves are virtually outside of it - which is really beyond our imagination. There seem to be a lot of them in our universe. Most galaxies seem to have a super large black hole at their center.

The limits of imagination

The physics of black holes poses countless puzzles and paradoxes. Above all, however, they reveal a limit. Our thinking is linear, i.e. our sense of time is in the now, which extends over a moment. It is situated within a temporal sequence, namely a past that preceded it and a future that is anticipated and will occur. The same applies to space: our imagination tells us that we can, in principle, move infinitely far in all directions within (3-dimensional) space.

These assumptions are wrong. They are nullified by black holes. For Kant, space and time were therefore categories a priori. In other words, they determine our perception and are not themselves the object of our perception; we cannot say anything about their actual nature. We move in space and time, but do not perceive them ourselves. Space and time shape our thinking, we cannot overcome them within our thinking. This makes it difficult to think about black holes.

But black holes are there, and for our thinking they fall into the ontological drawer of things we don't understand. Other things in this drawer are death, consciousness, spirituality. Black holes are similar to these things because they mark the limits of our imagination. However, they are also very different. We only know about black holes through science, outside of science we have no access to them. We only know death, consciousness and spirituality from our experience; science has little access to their essential qualities. Science's statements about death, consciousness and spirituality are unsatisfactory and reductionist.

Perhaps all 4, i.e. black holes, death, consciousness and spirituality, mark event horizons in different ways.

Speculation about other dimensions

I would like to speculate a little. If black holes are not part of our space-time, but are present in it at the same time, then perhaps they are part of another dimension. Perhaps there is an arrangement of black holes in another dimension that have an event character there. Perhaps our spacetime is just a property of another dimension.

In quantum mechanics, every atom 'knows' about the other atoms in the universe. The so-called interaction describes the phenomenon. If I change something in one place in the universe, the constellation of the universe as a whole is changed. This means that the information that something has changed is present at the other end of the universe, otherwise the laws of physics would be suspended. This complex information density is also annulled by black holes. What happens inside a black hole has no interaction with our space-time. Only the gravitational force of the black hole itself has an effect. Here, too, we quickly reach the limits of our imagination. Black holes also appear to be information holes.

But if our world is not primarily physical, but spiritual, how do black holes in the universe fit in? Do black holes also form spiritual holes?

Today, after many years, I may have arrived at the market here for the first time. There are so many economies here. Shopping - of course - routines too... Efficiency - the best for the best price. Meeting people, looking out for acquaintances. What I've never seen is the social aspect. People know each other and play music for each other. Sharing coffee and quiche, stories and singing together. How do you perceive a market, how do you participate in it? A person who sees himself as spiritual and energetic sat down next to me. He lives in the side street. He asked me if he could give me a message from the universe. Why not? We had a nice little chat about positivity, self-love, freedom and tolerance... 

Playing for the birds

I had sat down next to a guitar player, he was playing Latin American sad music, beautiful. He often just plays in the forest for the birds, probably used to play concerts. He doesn't take any money. A businessman wanted to leave money, there was no basket. He puts a euro on a box. That was an insult, alms that seem to make the giver feel good. But how petty is the perceived happiness when it is worth one euro? What is a person who plays for the birds supposed to do with one euro? He was not even noticed, an economic parallel universe.

What had happened? I became part of the market for a moment. I communicated in many different ways with the people who either have a stall there, or are neighbors who come for a little chat, and with children who are playing. The tourists suddenly became invisible. As if by magic, they were suddenly mere shadows. A liveliness of the here and now opened up for me, I was allowed to participate in it. When I left, I was bid farewell like one of them. We were there together for a moment. We shared it, enjoyed it, free as the birds.

The Kena Upanishad describes how the self as such does not exist. Who sees in seeing, who hears in hearing? This cannot be answered. In the Christian tradition, a self has been constructed for this purpose. I see, I hear, cogito ergo sum, imago ergo sum.... What is this cogito (I think), the imago (I imagine)? The I that creates identity, has responsibility, acts and interacts.

It seems clear that thinking, if it is conscious of itself, needs a point of reference. I write this, you read this... But this point of reference is a consciousness that constitutes the self in the first place, as an illusion. Recognizing consciousness and overcoming the self is the central core of Eastern meditation. Focusing on the here and now, perceiving sensory impressions and understanding them as such is a central part of spiritual practice. But where does imagination come from? Why can I conjure up memories, be caught up by them? What is the force that controls thought and creatively brings forth something new?

Bringing this restless self to rest is the first step towards bliss, a step towards nirvana. And yet it is this self that allows us to be together with others, that gives us an awareness that there is a consciousness beyond our self.

Stages of consciousness

Consciousness is general, i.e. it exists as such in the world. We participate in it. We can participate in it unconsciously, selflessly and contemplatively, acting and interacting. A self can be constituted that is not conscious of itself, but is its point of reference. It can grow beyond itself. Consciousness can transcend, dissolve and immerse itself, merge and empathize. Consciousness travels in the world of sensory impressions, memories and ideas. It connects and disintegrates. When we sleep, where is it? Who or what is dreaming? In a dissociation, a schizophrenia or a delusion, is consciousness torn apart?

In contemplation, consciousness is the other, in transcendence it is the resting point of clarity. In volition it is agent and in interaction it is self.

Cézanne drew and painted Mont St. Victoire over 80 times. From different perspectives, but essentially just the mountain. This mountain has been there for a very long time, it exists in another time. The fruit fly has one day to live, then it's all over. If we extend our time horizon, we think in generations. A few hundred years seems a lot to us; our cultural history began 5000 years ago. For a mountain, that's practically yesterday. What do we see when we see the same object at different times of day, in different seasons, in different moods and from different perspectives? Ourself, the perception of another? But never the mountain itself in its existence.

We know the moment, a lifetime, an epoch, we think about paleontology, geological time and cosmic times or chronons. How do we relate to this? How can our imagination reach these layers of time? Moreover, why do we explore the past and imagine the future? The synthesis of my experienced past and my expected future shapes the now. Only in this entanglement of time do we experience ourselves as individuals. But when we concentrate on the moment - the pure now - and lose our ego in meditation, we overcome it and are now fully present.

It is this contemplative experience of time when we look at the stars, or listen to the waves or crickets, the experience that our consciousness is always part of time other than the now.

I grew up in the country where cars were invented. The roads and cars here seem safe, or at least everything is done to make them safe. The accident is anticipated, the risk is calculated, possible collisions are calculated and the damage is minimized by modular design, so they say. We want to be prepared for everything here.

This logic of hedging, risk calculation and prevention is why I want to leave this country again. There is no room for the unexpected; this is only staged in high culture. But it would be much easier to open up to the unpredictable. To give room to improvisation, to allow the unpredictable and the unseen. Experience certainly teaches us this. We learn from accidents to build in such a way that it will be less bad the next time, and if we don't do this, then lawyers are waiting to sue: I sit in a technically highly complex device, and if something happens, I first ask the designer whether he/she could not have known this beforehand and who is to blame.

After all, machines are there to make work easier or to expand our senses. But here they are embedded in the social sphere and negotiated as such. Technology and its interaction dominate the discourse.

It is refreshing to see that in many parts of the world, technology is simply technology. It is accepted in its imperfection. It is sometimes smilingly called fate.

- make do -