What happens in the brain during higher states of consciousness? Is consciousness no more than the product of the human brain, as neuroscientists believe?
The neuroscientists’ basic premise—that consciousness has solely a biological basis—is an inadequate explanation. Furthermore, when neuroscientists like the Nobel Laureate Eric Kandel insist that a consciousness has solely a biological basis, they are deeply misleading people.
For lack of a better phrase, ‘mystical experiencing’ is valid. But though it goes far beyond them, into dimensions that will forever be unknown, any explanation of mystical experiencing has to be compatible with neuroscientific discoveries.
A so-called mystical experience, which has occurred perhaps a dozen times in me to this degree, comes to mind.
At the time, I was living in a river-less town in the geographic center of California. So at least once a week, I’d take the 20-minute drive to meditate along the Merced River, the same waterway that runs through stupendous Yosemite Valley in the Sierras to the east.
There was no park or even protected area, just a riverine environment with a lush variety of plants and quite a few species of birds. Many times powerfully meditative states were generated by the passive observation in nature at this place.
But something happened there once, which has happened a few times before and since, that would, if it persisted, be
diagnosed as agnosia—the loss of the ability to recognize objects or persons. It certainly was no disorder of the brain however, but an effect of the highest states of consciousness of which human beings are capable.
What is meditation? One simply sits, preferably outside, and lets the senses attune to the environment. Then, with inclusive, undirected awareness, one watches thoughts and emotions as they arise, including the secondary reactions of judgment and evaluation. As attention gathers, watch the watcher—the illusory entity that habitually splits itself off from the entire movement of thought/emotion.
There isn’t a system or technique for awakening meditative states, but simply a process of allowing the brain to be open to all the senses, and through passive watchfulness, quicken awareness and gather attention. In so doing, the watcher falls away, and there’s just watching, listening.
This process went very far on this particular day. Not only did the chatter of thought and the chum of emotion end, bringing ‘the peace that passes all understanding.’ But in addition there was a state the Greek’s called “aesthetic stasis,” in which one is so overwhelmed by visible and invisible beauty that physically, one literally can’t move for some seconds.
As has happened on a number of occasions in such a state, one has to think about functions that are normally semi-automatic, like driving. Most people would view this as an unwanted condition, but I assure you it is the furthest thing from it. Everything is new, yet one retains the knowledge necessary to perform essential functions—just more consciously and with greater care.
Since the slate has been temporarily wiped clean, or at least the movement of psychological memory halted, the ability to recognize familiar people and objects significantly decreases as well. Though such an experience can be disquieting, especially the first time it happens, it’s actually deeply joyful and regenerative, and can also generate some funny moments. Of course, when it’s occurring, one has to have the faith and confidence that nothing harmful or unhealthy is happening.
An intense meditative state (minus the aesthetic stasis obviously) continued as I drove back to town. The mind/brain was completely quiet and empty, and was filled with the scenes unfolding before one as if seeing them for the first time. No, more than that. It’s like having been blind and suddenly being able to see again, accompanied by explosions of light, color, sensation, and joy.
As I entered town, memory returned enough to recall that I’d planned to have lunch with a group of friends at a college cafeteria. Parking at the college, I walked into the large, open, and crowded dining hall, and was struck by a sea of unrecognizable faces. I felt a moment of bemused panic, but it quickly gave way to amused wonder.
Just I was asking myself how was I going to recognize my friends in such a state (of ‘agnosia,’ though I didn’t know the word at the time), a voice rang out from the table next to where I was standing.
“Marty, what the hell are you doing?” The rebuke brought me back to ‘reality’ from a state that was neither reverie nor trance. I turned, and with sudden recognition, saw my half dozen friends sitting at the table staring at me.
Laughing at how ridiculous I must have looked, and how ridiculous the situation was, I simply said, “Friends, I couldn’t explain it to you in a hundred years.”
Martin LeFevre