My first thought was, “Am I dead?”
My second thought was, “I’ve been here before. I’m back home…”
It seemed I was stuck between the not-quite-dead and the barely-alive. At some point, I’d have to push one way or the other, but not yet, not now…
Let’s rewind slightly to how I go there. I rarely interrupt my sleep with such mundane things as going to the toilet or having a drink, but on that night I woke up; it was 3:10 in the morning. I shuffled to the bathroom; my left shoulder was aching quite severely. It was probably due to being on the computer for too long, or carrying books at an awkward angle; it could, of course, have been due to something more serious.
As I finished relieving myself, I felt a sudden belly ache and a rush of nausea. I tried to breathe calmly, but that was of little use as I was bent double, not knowing whether I was about to throw up or pass out.
I passed out – but not quite.
Works on spiritual practices and mysticism have a tangled relationship with words. Grammar works largely on the basis of subject-object-verb, with a few frills thrown in to make it more flexible. But experiences that are in their essence ineffable are not only hard to articulate, but are also liable to be incomprehensible to another person! So instead of attempting to describe the indescribable, most schools of esoterism focus on techniques to reproduce the same experience in the adept - then the words will make sense.
The void has numerous synonyms across cultures: the Sanskrit word “sunyata” is usually translated as emptiness but has a variety of meanings depending on the philosophical context. My own preference is for the Dzogchen term “rigpa”. This is not “mere emptiness” but a profound experience of the root of consciousness. It is the “ground state”, “naked awareness” or “primordial purity”. The void is "empty" in the same sense as the "quantum vacuum" is not. You can read up on all these terms, but what do they feel like?
Let’s go back to me lying on the floor of my bathroom, but definitely not unconscious! This short period was before the internal voice kicked in. So there really was… nothing! No senses at all; I could not hear or feel anything, had lost all contact with my body and its inputs. There was just a pure awareness – awareness of the darkness of the void. Not the darkness of night or of closing one’s eyes – it was the total darkness of absence. The best way to think of it is as being consciously asleep.
We think of sleep as being unconscious, yet there are Dzogchen sleep practices that teach how to remain aware through the process of falling asleep and dwell in that core consciousness, without objects or thoughts. “Dwelling” is a good word here, letting the ground state of existence support one’s awareness.
And it is not a cold darkness; it is not the inhospitable darkness of outer space. It has a peace and tranquility of its own, a feeling of “being home” and of replenishing and cleansing one’s consciousness. These feelings are not connected to our normal emotional centres, but are rather indivisible from the experience.
All of this, without either body or mind, is my experience of the void.
Then, suddenly, the inner voice appeared.
The experience of the void was still there, but now it supported the first manifestation: my inner voice. That was the transition between the pure experience and a kind of syncopated experience. Before I continue, there is one question I have asked myself since: “How do I know the experience happened if there was no subject-object relationship?” Well, it leaves a memory of the experience, a memory of the pure consciousness. Hence it is different from deep sleep, which leaves no memory at all.
My first thought was, “Am I dead?”
My second thought was, “I’ve been here before. I’m back home…”
It seemed I was stuck between the not-quite-dead and the barely-alive. At some point, I’d have to push one way or the other, but not yet, not now – it was far too tranquil and beautiful to disturb!
Indeed, I had had this experience before (and since), as a child. I must have been 7 or 8 years old; I cannot remember my age but do recall being just tall enough to see myself in the bathroom mirror. I used to wonder a lot about why the universe operated in the way it did. What was I doing here? Why are things so predictable? Why is it all so dull? And especially, I wondered why I felt like me. Did everybody just feel like themselves, or did everybody feel the same?
I used to stare at the mirror until the image disappeared and the world turned to black – that was interesting, but didn’t help much! I then tried to think about how I could separate my mind from my body to see which one was really me. I didn’t succeed in astral flying, but I did manage to experience this vast void. The experience never lasted for very long, but I was able to repeat it. Then, for some reason lost in the fog of memory, I forgot how to do it and my attention turned to other things. My questions hadn’t changed very much, but I looked outwards for answers: whether in theoretical physics, mathematical constructs, ancient civilisations or neuroscience. Eventually, the scientist and the mystic merged in my mid-20s as I re-experienced that “homeland”.
So, back on the bathroom floor again, caught between two worlds, but not really caring much about that. The experience was not ephemeral this time; I could experiment. I tried turning my head – nothing. I tried spinning around in space; I even tried to somersault – nothing. I stared deep into the void and saw that it was not totally black; it appeared to gently sparkle, like a diffraction pattern or a kaleidoscope of deepest granite. There was no tunnel of light, no numinous beings, no message – just a big cosmic bath!
“So what do I do now?” I said to myself. My voice was still a distant planet within the immensity of the void, but it was the only manifesting reality that I had to play with! “If I’m really dead, I should know soon enough. But if I’m not dead, for example, if I’m in a coma, then nobody is going to find me for days!” I didn’t really want to leave this place, but it was logically easier to prove I was alive than dead.
Then the idea formed that I should try to reconnect to my senses. If that failed, then I was possibly stuck in a coma, or the cosmic welcoming crew was very late indeed! So, by force of will I expanded my mind… and felt an electric shock at the base of my skull. That’s it! That kick-started a cascade of electricity that swam slowly through my body. It went down my spine, across my shoulders, down my arms to my fingertips; it also spread slowly around my body and down my legs. I tried to move during this period, but figured that nothing was going to happen until the whole nervous system was fully reconnected.
This was a slow process, at the speed of biology, not of light. It was also a reminder of how important our electromagnetic body is, without which our physical body is mere meat. It was finally over, the electrical reboot was complete – I opened my eyes.
Once I eventually got back to my bedroom, I noticed the time was 3:25 am. Never did discover whether it was a small heart attack or some other syncope. All systems looked fine once I was checked over at the local hospital.
One of the hardest things to do is to fully integrate the experience of the void with daily life - to have one's presence guided by this core consciousness. However, in times of stress or agitation, or just plain indifference, there is a space that forms - and informs - that there is an inner core that is adamantine and untouched by the projections of this world.
images: my original, pixabay (edited)
words: approx +1300
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I hope this will help expand people's views on the limits of human experiences.
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