Collected here are some notes, observations, and other materials not included in Project Metamorphosis. The chronology is non-linear and at times mixed.
The indeterminate nature of being is perceived by the mind as emptiness or, in other words, as indeterminacy.
A mind not yet fully inquired into cannot be empty – abiding in indeterminacy is unbearable; it is pure meaninglessness. Such a mind avoids indeterminacy by filling the emptiness with activity: defining itself as someone or something, playing roles, generating judgments, meanings, and concepts.
Reactive, void-filling activity is a consequence of the unconscious (unlived) content of consciousness. The practice of self-inquiry is aimed at revealing this content and illuminating it with the light of consciousness. The hidden content is lived through, activity ceases. Indeterminacy remains.
At a certain stage, the practitioner recognizes himself as a kind of laminar flow (process), passing through him and simultaneously being him. This flow is consciousness.
Having studied the properties of the flow and the "place" from which it originates, the practitioner discovers a change in the mode of perception: the distance between the observer and the observed disappears. Deprived of its usual coordinate system, thinking undergoes a "shift." Such a mode of perception can be called "parallel" or "immediate."
Immediate perception occurs as the simultaneous perception of two "layers." The first "layer" (mundane or sensory) is the awareness of the seen/heard and other felt phenomena; the second layer is the perception of indeterminacy (reality).
These two "layers" are perceived simultaneously, without interfering with each other – the "layers" are nested within each other.
The perception of reality is accompanied by the suspension of memory and mind. In indeterminacy, there is nothing for the mind to notice, nor for memory to retain – in that "area," mind and memory cannot perform their functions.
Due to the nested nature of the "layers," the practitioner understands the very fact of looking into reality. However, this understanding does not allow one to remember the "content" of reality.
In the early stages of such dual perception, lapses in memory occur. Most often, the practitioner does not remember what happened a minute or an hour ago, does not make plans, for he simply forgets them. The clarity and depth of perception itself, meanwhile, do not change, but peculiarities in memory function are observed.
Gradually, the practitioner adapts; the overlapping of the "layers" ceases – their mutual fusion occurs. This leads to the simultaneous perception of both "layers." Such perception is not fragmentary, requires no effort, and becomes everyday.
The first sensory "layer" occupies a secondary place and is perceived as translucent: distinctly but detachedly, like an incorporeal echo of what has already happened. This "layer" is "interpretation." Interpretation occurs within the boundaries of the practitioner's body.
The second "layer" is devoid of any properties. This is what can conditionally be called reality. The perception of the second "layer" is not "practical experience" in the usual sense; it is unconditional indeterminacy. The first "layer" (the echo) emanates from the second – from reality.
Such dual perception is always "fresh," unburdened by the "past" and not directed toward the "future"; duration and accumulation are absent.
Here, the "freshness" of perception is aptly described as the inertia of the perception process itself. Initially, before the fusion of the "layers," the inertia is significant – perception "lags behind" reality, taking its own delay for the "solidity" and determinacy of being. As practice progresses, as the i-filter thins and the inertia decreases, the "layers" gradually converge until they fuse – the delay disappears. Perception becomes inertialess and instantaneous.
One cannot say that these two "layers" are one thing. At the same time, one cannot say they are separate – no "layer" exists as something independent. Any attempt to positively define the nature of the "layers" will be false.
The first "layer" of perception is determinately nothing; the second "layer" is indeterminately nothing. Here lies the boundary of language's capabilities. Beyond this, there are no words.
Direct perception of reality occurs in the direction that the practitioner found while executing points 1-2 and maintained through point 3 (the practical method).
In immediate perception, distance is absent: the observer and the observed merge. Practice continues as abiding in indeterminacy.
The division into layers of perception is conditional and has no relation to ontology. The properties of the "layers" are investigated through direct experience, and the division into "primary/secondary" arises as an unavoidable interpretation of experience when writing notes.
Properties of thoughts. Here, the category of "thought" extends to diverse reactive and background activity in consciousness: thoughts, the inner voice, images, sensations, emotional responses, the background coloring of sensory information, urge-driven impulses.
In the course of practice, thoughts significantly change their properties: the intensity of their impact on attention, their "volume," their "density."
At the very beginning of the active phase of practice, the "volume" of every thought was approximately equal to that of normal conversation; the "density" and texture were akin to dense felt; the degree of impact was near maximum. An arising thought was accepted unconditionally, was a stable and temporally invariant phenomenon: the content could change, but the belief in the "solid" nature of the phenomenon remained unchanged. Not even a shadow of suspicion arose that the properties of thoughts were not constant.
The starting point of the practice of self-inquiry is chosen as the moment when a noticeable change in the properties of thought occurs. The properties change simultaneously in all thoughts, regardless of their content. When the practitioner notices the change in properties of what had been a stable fact his entire life, his belief in thoughts is lost. The practitioner explicitly sees the unstable, transient nature of thoughts and is deprived of this support.
The original, stable thoughts pass through stages: they fade with the loss of density, then a framework without a shell remains, then the framework degenerates into something like fast "breezes," then the "breezes" lose speed, calm down, and appear as condensations. These condensations also gradually decrease in size, losing "density" and "weight." The inner voice "turns off" somewhere after the "lake."
By approximately the end of the formless phase of practice, the properties of thoughts are roughly as follows: the "volume" becomes akin to the noise of blood flowing through vessels – a rustle; one must listen intentionally to hear it. The "density" is comparable to a piece of down caught in a spiderweb; the degree of impact decreases to a minimum – a thought no longer fills the field of perception but arises as a blurred condensation on the periphery of the field of perception.
In the completion phase, the act of observing mental activity in consciousness loses its meaning: the observer and the observed merge, what is observed is indeterminately nothing. The activity that is still present belongs to the category of "determinately nothing" – there is no movement of the mind, but there is an echo of bodily processes with an intensity approximately at the level of thermal noise.
Both "nothings" are only nothing. The determinate "nothing" differs from the indeterminate in that it happens – as an extremely brief moment of perception. The moment of perception determinately happens, but has no duration and does not accumulate into a sequence. The completion phase consists of this moment, which has no trail of accumulation.
A distinctive feature of the practice is a sensation mentioned in the "Report": "an unusual, soft sensation arises in the body-consciousness, which is difficult to describe due to its simplicity and depth."
This resembles a soft and deep disinterested pleasure, not causing habituation. It is a simple sensation, yet it contains a great deal. It is difficult to find a suitable definition for it, so it is conditionally called "disinterested pleasure."
The sensation of "disinterested pleasure" arises when consciousness notices itself. This occurs when the practitioner begins to see the light in consciousness. The appearance of the light in the field of perception and the appearance of the sensation of "disinterested pleasure" are directly connected. This sensation fills the entire body, sometimes completely, sometimes partially overlapping other bodily sensations.
Simultaneously with the sensation of "disinterested pleasure," a sweet-sour taste arises in the mouth. This taste is concentrated on the palate; it intensifies slightly if the tongue is pressed against the palate. At the same time, a slight coolness is felt and saliva with this sweet-sour taste is secreted. Simultaneously, something like a movement and outward pressure occurs in the forehead and, to a greater extent, on the crown of the head.
As practice progresses, consciousness becomes devoid of artifacts; the light of consciousness ceases to stand out in contrast against their background and becomes an everyday, constantly present phenomenon. The same happens with the sensation of "disinterested pleasure" and the sweet-sour taste in the mouth: they become part of the practitioner's daily life.
Based on observations, this can be approximately interpreted as follows: the light is the "visual aspect" of consciousness, "disinterested pleasure" is the self-sensation of consciousness, the sweet-sour taste is the taste of consciousness.
In the early stages of practice, after crossing the "black lake," the practitioner loses sexual attraction – it irreversibly fades (extinguishes). The attraction does not disappear instantly, but over about a month to six weeks.
Gradually, the practitioner's dreams become increasingly dim. He discovers that during sleep, a memory of the practice (the rules) surfaces, and the practitioner begins to practice periodically while dreaming. He does not realize that he is asleep but simply performs point 3 of the practical method. Gradually, the clear boundary between sleep and waking erodes – all of this becomes the first sensory "layer" of perception. Practice in dreams does not always occur: during periods of fatigue, illness, or recovery, the practitioner does not dream.
At this stage, the practitioner sees the flow that passes through him and is him. Initially, the flow had a bluish tint; later, the tint disappeared, and the flow became colorless or simply white. The flow has the property of splitting (branching) into different parts of the body. The branches from the main flow cause various activities inherent to different parts of the body.
The splitting of the flow occurs due to obstacles (artifacts): obstacles divide the flow, directing its individual streams to different parts of the body. The elimination of artifacts eliminates the splitting of the flow. The flow passes from bottom to top in a single "channel." The single "channel" is located vertically, approximately from the tailbone to the crown of the head.
It sometimes happens that a branch from the main "channel" arises. The practitioner observes the branch; over some time (minutes, tens of minutes), it withdraws back into the main "channel," following the tendency not to split.
Later, dreams change their properties; they are perceived as if through frosted glass and proceed as abiding in a space filled with diffuse light. Through the light, faintly felt movements are visible.
As dreams were transformed, it turned out that posture matters. Sleeping on the left side or on the back is noticeably more saturated with activity, with movements in consciousness. Sleeping on the right side is calm and transparent. In the area of the heart there is an observable region that manifests itself as the source of mental activity. Sleeping on the left side creates pressure on this area, and movement (activity) arises in the dream. The difference in activity (between the left and right side) is significant (several times).
The practical study of the flow led to the understanding that the living body is something like a lens that focuses consciousness into itself. The flow does not enter the body from somewhere outside but is a concentrate of what is already there. Thus, one possible interpretation of the practical experience: consciousness is a direct property of space. This is a working premise.
Consciousness is a process of whole and unstructured (non-discrete) self-knowing. The process implies dynamics, hence the term "flow" is used.
It follows from the premise that the flow of consciousness is inseparable from the body: consciousness is not created by the processes of the body itself, nor is it borrowed from the surrounding space, but is already "contained" in the substance of which the body itself consists. Substance here is a condensate of space (the "material" aggregate state of space).
The organization of substance can be broken down into quantitative and qualitative. With quantitative organization, mass increases (the amount of substance). With qualitative organization, the organization of that mass grows more complex.
The qualitative organization of substance into a body, and the various processes that emerge from that organization, concentrate the living process of consciousness, manifesting what is already present as a property of space: consciousness is a natural and fundamental property, but it manifests gradually (concentrates) as the organization of substance becomes more complex.
An analogy: gravity does not manifest itself without mass or the interaction of masses. Gravity is not transmitted as an external property of mass (through radiation, for example), but is always present as a property of space and manifests when conditions arise for it.
If we unfold the working premise, the following emerges: as the dynamic (living) organization of substance becomes more complex – structures, processes, algorithms, the network of interconnections – the concentration of consciousness increases. Perhaps a stone also possesses consciousness, but in a very dispersed form due to the simplicity of the stone's structure. As the complexity of organization increases, the ability to self-replicate appears, along with metabolism, reactions to stimuli (feedback) in simple organisms and plants. In animals, the flow of consciousness is even denser: a central nervous system appears, reflexes, emotions, memory.
In humans, due to even more complex organization, the flow of consciousness exceeds a certain critical magnitude and becomes sufficient for consciousness to notice itself: first as a doer, and then as the absence of the doer.
An intermediate conclusion from the working premise is as follows: consciousness is not a new entity nor a special substrate; consciousness is not binary (either present or absent) – it is a manifestation of a natural property of space, expressed in varying degrees of concentration (a gradient of the property).
The flow of consciousness in the body has a tendency to be in a single "channel" – this tendency makes the flow laminar. Any turbulence or artifact (obstacle) in the main flow is immediately noticeable and subject to reverse transformation (return) into the flow.
Due to the flow's tendency toward unity, the practitioner does not seek interaction with the surrounding world. He does not avoid interaction but reduces it. Interaction with the human part of the surrounding world is like traversing severely rugged terrain. This inevitably deprives consciousness of laminarity, requiring strength and time for restoration. The practitioner performs only those actions that are minimally necessary. This is dictated not by preferences, but by the properties of consciousness-body.
Practice is not controlled but self-regulates, flowing as a balancing act at a moving point of equilibrium. Equilibrium arises naturally, from the fact that life and the practice of self-inquiry are not separate.
In the course of practice, the practitioner's lifestyle has changed significantly. He has lost almost everything he once had: work, property, most relationships, etc. The practitioner ceased to invest energy in maintaining his former lifestyle. Without effort, the framework of his former life collapsed; the flow of events swept away the remnants of the structure.
Left without means, the practitioner tried to engage in income-generating activities (skills and knowledge are present). However, he discovered that he has neither interest nor incentives to pursue them – the mechanisms that create involvement in human activity do not work in him. Without interest and a willingness to play roles, any participation in human activity ceases on its own. The practitioner does not engage in anything incompatible with him. Life itself decides what it will be.
Liberation from suffering occurs not as an acquisition of new qualities, but as a loss of the mechanisms that produce suffering. Along with these mechanisms, the transmission of suffering through the complex network of interactions is lost. The changes in lifestyle and the reduction of interaction with the surrounding world are a consequence of the loss of the mechanisms of suffering.
In Project Metamorphosis, less is written than is left unwritten. The project is a blueprint for a fishing rod and one variant of its assembly and use. The world is much more complex and diverse than its description. Reality is unattainable and always one step ahead of any theory, any interpretation, any understanding, no matter how complete it may seem. A theory or model that claims completeness creates the illusion of finality, and therefore such a theory or model is false.
The practitioner is not separate from the world but is its inseparable part, containing the entire world within himself. By right of inseparability, the practitioner has a legitimate opportunity to investigate himself and see the entire world. At its limit, such self-inquiry does not give the researcher any advantages but leads to the completion of a cycle that once began by a chance coincidence of circumstances.
Having seen the entire picture of being, the practitioner is deprived of the ability to speak about it. Any words are merely a crude interpretation, something extremely secondary in relation to what they are directed at. However, even if a more or less suitable array of words is selected, it will be of no use: experience is not transmitted by words, words do not change the practitioner, they do not lead to a direct perception of what the practitioner is, what the world is. The simplest solution in such a situation is the transmission of a tool, by means of which any person can see everything for themselves.
In this world are gathered those who have not completed. Everyone is in the same position: there are no achievers, no cognizers, there are only different phases of a single unfinished process.
One of the issues to which very superficial attention is paid in Metamorphosis is the inheritance of imprint layers. Through a complex network of interactions, they become a kind of condensation nucleus, around which the body-lens is formed.
Inheritance exists; however, the mechanism of inheritance itself and what exactly is inherited are quite difficult to describe. For such a description to be coherent, a "supporting framework" in the form of a cosmological model would be required, where the mechanism of inheritance takes its regular place like a gear taking its place in "its own" clockwork mechanism. Such a model-"support" implies combining facts and theories from different fields of science. The result would be something redundant and slippery (speculation): a mixture of the falsifiable and the unfalsifiable. Such a mixture is capable of destroying the structure of the entire project.
The mechanism of inheritance is useful in that, with its help, the practitioner can remember the reason for appearing in this world, remember past attempts to complete the cycle. This gives the opportunity to include the past in the current experience. However, such remembering has meaning only in the context of continuing self-inquiry – as a stage of practice, but not as an independent result. If self-inquiry has reached the inherited layers, then the remembering of past attempts will occur without cosmology and metaphors.
The crisis is a symptom of the instability of a structure. The crisis is not anthropomorphic – it contains no hidden meaning or message. It is not a punishment, not a retribution, and not a lesson, but a direct consequence of the structure having reached a critical mass and being unable to sustain itself: it presses on itself, approaching collapse (falling in on itself).
In the context of self-inquiry, the crisis is not something external (an event or a phenomenon), but a consequence of the properties of that "i" structure that is experiencing the crisis. For the structure itself, it looks like a turning point (a fork or a bifurcation point): instability and load are felt physically, the question "what to do next?" arises acutely. On one side of the fork is the retention of the accumulated; on the other is the loss of the accumulated with an unknown outcome.
If a crisis has begun, then most likely it will not exhaust itself on its own and will not be healed by time. The accumulated tension strives toward discharge.
The beginning of a crisis assumes two probable ways out of it. The first: the complete or partial collapse of the "i" structure. The second: the transformation of the structure into a different state with different properties. There are also other, intermediate exits, but they are variations of the first (collapse): compromise, cosmetic repair, treatment of symptoms. The intermediate variants are unstable and differ in how quickly the outcome arrives: the mass of the "i" structure continues to increase due to "supports" and "patches"; stability does not increase. Due to the greater mass, a repeated crisis turns out to be more large-scale.
The crisis – both individual and more extensive – does not exist in isolation from the conditions where it matured and began: the crisis is conditioned by context. The scale of the context determines the scale of the crisis, but does not determine the method of its overcoming or the variant of the exit. Regardless of scale, each person passes through the crisis and emerges from it individually. Human society is not a collective organism, but a multitude of structurally related individualities.
The ways out of the crisis for society and for the individual person coincide. Both exits – collapse and transformation – are symmetric and have equal rights to be chosen.
However, this symmetry does not mean a symmetry of consequences. Collapse is the complete or partial disintegration, followed by the erection of the "i" structure on the same foundation. The cycle repeats. Transformation is the gradual dismantling of the entire "i" structure, the replacement of the foundation with another, one that excludes accumulation (of mass). The cycle ceases.
A foundation consists of the root premises or axioms at the very base of any structure or system. The entire construction relies and is built upon them; therefore, the foundation is usually invisible and most often accepted unconditionally. In the practice of self-inquiry, the foundation determines the potential of the entire practice and the route: where the practice can go, and where it cannot.
Mathematics, as a complex and precise (low-noise) system, experienced a crisis in the early 20th century (Russell's paradox, the support in the form of Hilbert's "Program," etc.), which led it to self-inquiry. The result was Gödel's incompleteness theorems. Mathematics did not collapse but "saw" its limitations. This turned it into a deeper and more stable discipline. Gödel's theorems rid mathematics of the illusion of self-sufficiency. Incompleteness turned out to be not a defect, but a door.
Gödel's theorems prove nothing in the practice of self-inquiry. However, they can be used as a guide-limitation for determining the methodological basis (foundation) of self-inquiry and for removing naive claims to the achievement of completeness and finality (of cognition, of understanding).
The foundation of practice does not provide ready-made answers; its function is to provide the researcher with the opportunity to find incomplete answers independently, without relying on anything else. The incompleteness of answers does not allow one to be satisfied with intermediate results but gives the inquiry the possibility of going beyond its previous limits. Incompleteness here is not a limiter but a natural driving force (the asymmetry of being).
Example: the premise "I am not the body." The body, one way or another, is present; without the body, life will not happen. Therefore, the premise "I am not the body" is false. The practice of self-inquiry built on this premise has an unstable foundation and a short route. When the answer to the question "who am I?" is found, the practice closes in on itself and turns into a constant proof that "I am not the body, but that (the found answer)." The found answer is a closed self-persuasion, having a false foundation at its base.
Acknowledging incompleteness – "I am the body too" – opens up space for inquiry: the body is not accidental and is inseparably connected with the "i". This connection can be investigated, and one can discover what was previously invisible due to ignoring or denying the given.
Thus, any determinate support – a concept/authority – sooner or later turns out to be false. Concepts divide reality into parts, fragmenting it. Authority is an intermediary between the researcher and the subject of inquiry, working like a game of telephone. Therefore, no wisdom, opinions, or quotes from authoritative people can be used as a fundamental premise (support) for the individual practice of self-inquiry. The foundation can only be a process (procedure).
One can rely on a procedure that distorts neither itself nor the researcher. Such a procedure must not contain falsehood. The absence of falsehood stops the going in circles – a criterion of truth that does not create dependencies and closed loops. This turns the focus by 180°: from the attitude toward the subject of inquiry to the quality of the researcher himself.
A person has a quality that fully satisfies this condition. It is a basic quality, available at any moment and in any place. It requires no belief and can be used as a stable foundation for the practice of self-inquiry, possessing the maximum possible potential. This quality is honesty.
Honesty is the absence of fear and falsehood.
Falsehood.
The flow of being is the given.
The flow of being is isotropic – it contains no privileged streams. A human is part of the flow, and without exception lives through everything that happens in life. This means that all possible events happen to a human, including those that are difficult to live through, both physically and psychologically. Difficulties activate the survival mechanism – a doer arises. Among other things, such a doer engages in evaluating what is happening and making efforts in various attempts to create a different "given," preferable to the doer – a false one.
Falsehood is local and is confined to the doer. Falsehood is an effort of the doer that distorts the perceived given. The resulting outcome requires control and work against the inevitable pressure of contradictions. The results accumulate and gradually become the "body" of the doer – the costly work of maintaining the "body" turns into background, unconscious processes. The "body" of the doer is the interpreting filter.
Honesty cannot be defined positively – it is an absence. Honesty begins automatically where the efforts to maintain the local distortion of the given cease. Therefore, honesty, as a procedure of discernment, introduces no distortions – absence does not require effort to arise, to be protected, or to be maintained.
Intensity of Practice.
Any investigation or study (of a discipline, a language, etc.) requires the application of effort. The distinction between the practice of self-inquiry and, for example, the study of physics lies in the properties of the subject under investigation. A physics textbook is passive: it does not engage compensatory mechanisms to avoid discomfort, does not react to the reader as an existential threat, does not generate loss of interest, doubt, or sudden fatigue, and does not send the reader off in search of a "more better" textbook.
The subject of study in the practice of self-inquiry is the structure of the human "i". This structure has boundaries and expends energy on maintaining and defending them. The structure of the "i" actively resists investigation – this is a threat to its existence. The structure of the "i" is extremely adaptive and capable, up to a certain degree, of absorbing (assimilating) the practitioner's efforts directed toward its investigation. Applying effort at 50% and at 95% is equally futile for self-inquiry: the expended energy will be absorbed, transformed, and used by the structure of the "i" for its own defense.
The intensity of applied effort at the initial stages is decisive. Overcoming the threshold of resistance and the adaptive tricks of the "i" is possible only at an intensity of effort close to the maximum possible in each current situation. This condition is binary: either this way, or it will not work at all. Half-measures will not work due to the properties of the subject under investigation.
The intensity of executing the practical method prior to the first noticeable result (the change in the properties of thoughts) was sustained at the limit of available strength: 5-7 hours a day over a total duration of approximately 8-9 months. Time was not planned or set aside specially; the execution of the method occurred directly in the flow of everyday events, in every available minute. 5-7 hours is the total time of all fragments of practice per day.
The 8-9 months of the preliminary stage (before the start of the active phase) included experimentation with the practical method. The method described in the "Report" has been verified and is ready for use. The execution of an already prepared method reduces the preliminary stage by at least half (to 3-5 months) at the same or similar intensity.
Such intensity is also useful in that, at the very early stages, it manifests self-pity in the practitioner. Self-pity appears in periods of intense fatigue and despair, when the practitioner is ready to give up everything. The manifestation of self-pity helps to discover its source.
In the active phase, average intensity decreases due to the peculiarities of the phase: "rollbacks," "dark nights," etc. However, on days when it was possible, the execution of the practical method amounted to 4-8 hours a day.
Overcoming the threshold of resistance does not mean that practice proceeds without difficulty from that point on. The structure of the "i" will resist as long as it exists. A marked change in practice occurs after crossing the "black lake." After the "lake," active resistance ceases, but inertial resistance remains in those areas of consciousness that have not yet been transformed.
As one advances in practice, its character changes: what previously required effort becomes everyday life. By approximately the end of the formless phase, an inversion occurs: now effort is required for what was everyday life before the beginning of the practice of self-inquiry. Practice does not end; its vector changes.
In the context of self-inquiry, knowledge (understanding) is not the acquisition of new information, but the loss of ignorance.
Consciousness, as the main subject of inquiry, cannot be positively defined: it is neither an object nor a process measurable by conventional methods. However, such an indeterminate subject can be investigated by itself, without involving additional means.
In the process of self-inquiry, it is discovered that, despite the diverse content, consciousness contains only consciousness. The content consists of the same consciousness, but in a different state of aggregation. Like ice floating in water.
In the notes, there is a mention of the light of consciousness. The light appears when the "solid" state of aggregation of consciousness is locally transformed into a formless primordial state. This empty primordial state is perceived as light – consciousness notices itself, discovers itself as light (within itself). Simultaneously with this, the sensation of disinterested pleasure and a taste in the mouth appear.
The light of consciousness is visible as long as there is a contrast with the "dark," unexplored areas where consciousness is still in its "solid" form (artifacts). As the inquiry progresses, as the artifacts are transformed (their state of aggregation changes), they disappear. The light of consciousness fills the previously "dark" areas, the contrast disappears – the light becomes a natural background and is no longer distinguished as a phenomenon. Such an everyday natural background is beyond form and action: it does not need support, it does not need to be known, remembered, or believed in.
The light of consciousness and other phenomena are not the goal of practice, but technical indicators (road signs) of the practice.
Knowledge (understanding) can be partial, complete (conditionally), and ignorance (so-called ignorance).
Partial knowledge is visible and can be defined. The determinacy and visibility of partial knowledge stem from its incompleteness and its contrasting prominence against the background of the "dark" unexplored areas of consciousness that the researcher has not yet reached. Partial knowledge is such because of the mixture of explored areas of consciousness with unexplored ones.
Complete (conditional) knowledge is the absence of artifacts in consciousness and cannot be defined (is indefinable). In the absence of artifacts, there are no hidden areas in consciousness. Complete knowledge is homogeneous, invisible, serves as background, and does not stand out in contrast – it is consciousness in its originally empty, formless state of aggregation. In complete knowledge, the researcher knows nothing – the distance between the knower and the known is absent.
Complete knowledge is complete with the caveat "conditionally," because it is limited by the framework (conditions) of living, individual practice. Incompleteness is conditioned by the living body of the researcher. The body is a given and the initial conditions (entry point); it has needs, limitations, and peculiarities; without it, self-inquiry will not happen. The body is like a cylindrical lens focusing consciousness into itself. At the same time, the light of consciousness does not come from somewhere; the body itself shines into itself and focuses the light of space-consciousness, of which it consists.
Complete knowledge is free space-consciousness; complete ignorance is the same space, but in a "solid" form, without gaps. Complete knowledge and complete ignorance are symmetrical and homogeneous: on the one hand, the homogeneity of unfilled space; on the other, the homogeneity of filled space.
A researcher who lacks the living experience of free space-consciousness may mistake a concept (form) for its absence, and one-off insight-events for liberation from form. This is possible as long as a stable gap does not appear in the "solid" filling of consciousness – the "cocoon" cracks, and through this gap consciousness notices itself. Thus, ignorance turns into partial knowledge. Now the researcher clearly sees this and can contrastingly distinguish the explored from the unexplored.
Accumulation and loss are different phases of the same process. Accumulation requires activity: protection, confirmation, maintenance, reinforcement, and the one who does all this. Loss has completely different properties: it needs neither protection, nor maintenance, nor the investment of effort, and has no doer.
The loss of ignorance is the transformation of the "solid" form-structure that closes free space from itself by itself. Loss is not the recognition of something specific, not a movement toward something, but the release of what already is.
Unconditionally complete knowledge is unattainable. Only different degrees of ignorance are attainable.
The completion of practice occurs with the death of the body. Death is the event horizon of life.
All that the practitioner possesses is understanding. This must be given away. Understanding must be packaged in the form of a gesture of non-addressed help and released into the flow of life.
Such a gesture simultaneously performs two distinct actions. First: the flow of life picks up and carries the gesture of help to whoever needs it. Second: the gesture liberates the practitioner – the reason for which the practitioner appeared in this world ceases; he ceases to be a node in the complex network of interactions.
Regarding the first action. The recipient is unknown; the practitioner does not know and cannot know the result – life itself will take care of it. The practitioner performs only his part of the action.
Regarding the second action. The practitioner must find and implement a non-trivial solution to the paradox: to fully give away understanding and not leave himself as a pointing monument. What the found solution will be, in what form understanding is given away – depends on the practitioner himself, on his inherent predispositions and qualities. The solution to the paradox is individual.
What matters is the quality of the gesture and other properties. The gesture must be profitless and transparent in due measure; it must not point to itself; it must not be manipulative and/or intrusive – this would devalue the gesture. The action must be minimally necessary and, at the same time, complete – containing all understanding in a concentrated form. Such is the nature of the flow of life: a tree gives away a seed, which contains the tree within itself, receiving nothing in return, not knowing what will happen next. The great within the small.
The "teacher syndrome" can manifest itself in any phase of practice. The "syndrome" relies on a legitimate, natural foundation: the offering of help and the transmission of understanding are built into the structure of being – it is a necessity, like passing a relay baton: a cause passing itself into its effect. This necessity can be appropriated by the remnants of the practitioner's i-filter at different stages of the practice of self-inquiry. Help turns into a disguise, used for the self-preservation of the i-filter and for obtaining benefit. Therefore, the question of "teaching" is highly ambiguous, lacks clearly defined boundaries, and requires attentive consideration.
Probable consequences for the practitioner: an unexplored lacuna remains – the role of "teacher." The role deprives the action of functional completeness: it preserves what should be given away. An incomplete action does not liberate the practitioner from the complex network of interactions – the relay baton has not been passed. The mechanism of inheritance leaves a preserved residue of the i-filter for the next cycle of practice.
The prevention of the "teacher syndrome" is the continuation of the practice of self-inquiry until the practitioner's death.
There is no one to evaluate the functionality of the action: in this world there are no "completed" ones, no experts in this area; all the living are equally unfinished and still in process.
Life is irreversible: it is not possible to return from beyond the event horizon of life and redo things. The action – passing the relay baton – is done "blindly," even if it seems that there is a semblance of determinacy and control. There is no possibility to find out the result and make a correction.
Such is the given.
About the project
On the surface of this world, stones are found. If you find a pair of stones with certain properties and strike them against each other, sparks will fly. If you place tinder in the path of the sparks – it will catch fire. Burning tinder and dry sticks – you get a campfire. On a campfire, you can boil water. The stomach does not hurt from it, as it hurt from "raw" water.
The project does not claim to know the composition of the stones or to understand microbiology. The project has a practical orientation: "making a fire" for "boiling water."
The project was created retrospectively, after the "water boiled." There was no plan; the project arose spontaneously. At every stage of practice, around every turn, there was only the unknown – the practice proceeded "by touch," through trial and error. Along the way of self-inquiry, notes were made. Later, they were collected together, gradually taking the form of what is called Project Metamorphosis.
In the project, necessity and fatigue from the pain "in the stomach" are mixed in equal measure.