The cosmos is conscious.
Consider. You are a conscious being. You are part of the cosmos.
I wonder how anybody can look on the universe as something apart from themselves. Is it the great “out there”, and the timid creature behind our eyes and between our ears? Is it two things, or one?
It cannot be two or three or a great number. The cosmos is one thing, and we are part of it.
We are not our bodies. We may lose a limb and remain the same. We can lose our eyes and all our senses, and still the essential “I” is there unchanged. Perhaps a little uncomfortable, but still able to use insight, reason, emotion to contemplate the world.
We are not our minds; the chattering thoughts of our brains. We are not our memories, skills, emotions. All these come and go. We forget things all the time, we lose the habits and the ways of our childhood, we fall still in meditation. But we remain, observant.
We are not some vital force. There is no such thing to be found. Life is chemistry and electricity, down to the smallest units. Is a cell alive? If so, what is life? We may discern every function of the cell, and find nothing but chemical reactions and the movement of electrical charges.
In my earliest experience of Sanskrit, I was told that the highest principle was comprised of infinite truth and knowledge. In short, Plato’s realm of forms. The bricks and mortar of the universe, the atoms and ripples of energy are not reality. They come and go, and we may observe their passage, remaining unchanged.
If we can observe something, we cannot be what we observe. We may look at every atom of our embodiment, every chemical reaction, every zing of charge along our neurons. Whatever it is that we are, it is not these islands of flesh and blood that house our awareness.
The best description of consciousness that science can come up with is that consciousness is an “emergent function”. In short, something that cannot be found in the physical world, but is a conceptual entity of some sort.
So, dear reader, you may be asking what the teaching of reality – and my summary above is of the work of that name by Ādi Śaṅkara – has to do with the writing of erotica.
Our awareness of sex is not the physical rubbing together of body parts, nor is it the various sensations that flow in through our sensory organs. Our sense of pleasure, of joy, of love is somewhere within. The words I write are not the body parts, nor are they anything physical that can be stacked up and arranged to provide an orgasm, or a sigh of satisfaction, or the realisation of affection and love. We, as readers, do that all by ourselves, and my stories merely shine a light on the path to bliss.
Image: Outlook India