What is consciousness?
If you can answer this question, you won’t need to ask any more questions. But heck, I’ll answer it for you.
Consciousness is just a word—one we invented and then loaded with all kinds of meanings. Right here, there’s a dog barking. Does the dog have consciousness? That depends entirely on how you choose to define the word. We invent it, give it layers of meaning, then stir in confusion.
And here’s where it gets tricky: this idea that consciousness is a thing—something separate—has been one of the seeds of separation in Western society.
Now, here I am, petting a dog and wondering what I’m doing. You’ve been told you “have” consciousness inside you—a special quality unavailable to trees or this dog. We usually grant dogs consciousness because we love them, but it’s still just our choice.
This notion—that consciousness is a distinct, definable thing—creates the split. Some people place it in the brain. Others in the belly. Some point to the pineal gland. Others say it permeates the universe. But whatever the theory, it’s still just a word we use to divide.
Meanwhile, this dog, tugging at his leash, isn’t worrying about whether he has consciousness. Those trees over there aren’t debating it either. This is the perfect example of how language—and the way we’ve been trained since birth—teaches us to see ourselves as separate, special holders of “consciousness.”
When did humans supposedly acquire it? I’m reading a theory right now that says apes gained consciousness after eating magic mushrooms, which “bloomed” their awareness. Suddenly, they became something separate. But that’s exactly the problem: the idea that we’re separate from everything else.
And this is what non-duality is about. Non-duality means “not two.” There’s not you and your consciousness. There’s not you and your unconscious, or you and your subconscious. There’s just… you.
So what is consciousness? In a way, you could say it’s nothing at all—which is profound, because nothingness, when you allow it, becomes the sea of everything. From there, we don’t need to pull out trees, dogs, and “consciousness” as separate categories. We’re simply alive—hopefully as fully autonomous adults—in the vastness of everything, being what we are.
The more we try to figure out what consciousness is, the further we step away from it. To define it, we have to put edges around it—and that very act pulls us from the thing itself.
Does this dog have consciousness because he wants off his leash? Maybe. Or maybe he’s just a dog. I’m just a person petting him. He’s cute, though you can’t really see him.
Life is life. Humans are humans. We don’t need mushrooms to “get” consciousness. Let’s just be here—in this living universe. Then everything is consciousness. Not “everything has consciousness”—everything is consciousness.
The trees are as fully in it as I am. The clouds are too. A sky of consciousness. An earth of consciousness. And here we are, participating in it every moment—except for the moments when we’re trying to define it.
So there you have it—the answer to the deepest question.