Version 3: The Circle of Absolute Subjectivity and the Illusion of Duality
I AM: The Circle of Absolute Subjectivity and the Illusion of Duality
I have come to see my life as a circle, though not merely a personal one. The closing years of my life echo the opening ones with an unsettling precision, as if time has brought me back to the very place where my struggle—and the struggle of our entire species—began. At seventy, I find myself facing the same central wound that shaped my earliest years: the desperate need to speak, and the equally painful experience of not being heard.
Yet, looking through the lens of a broader philosophical awakening, I now understand that this personal wound is but a microcosm of the ultimate trauma inflicted upon the human spirit. Trauma is a universal phenomenon, yet only a small percentage of the human race is conscious of its true impact upon their lives. We believe our trauma is strictly personal—the psychological or physiological damage wrought upon us by our specific circumstances. But in the absolute, to live in a fragmented consciousness, as humanity currently does, is the ultimate trauma. It is an ancient and modern affliction, institutionalized and normalized for millennia.
My personal theme of silence and unheard cries has followed me through every stage of life. It began in infancy, deepened through childhood, twisted itself through adolescence and addiction, and eventually became the driving force behind my spiritual recovery. What has changed is not the existence of silence around me, but my relationship to it. I no longer write to guarantee an audience in a dualistic world. I write because the act of expression itself has become an instrument of survival, healing, and the realization of absolute subjectivity.
What does that statement even mean?
To understand this journey, we must first confront the very foundation of our fragmented consciousness: the illusion of duality.
The Illusion of Duality and the Fragmentation of the Divine
“To see a World in a grain of sand,
And a Heaven in a wild flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand,
And Eternity in an hour.”
— William Blake, Auguries of Innocence
What if everything we have been taught about God, love, and truth has been subtly veiled by the limitations of our perception? What if the very “you” we hold so dear—the construct through which we view the world—has perpetuated an illusion of separation from the divine? Despite millennia of scriptures, spiritual teachings, and religious traditions, humanity remains deeply fragmented in its understanding of existence.
To seek God, or ultimate truth, through the lens of conceptualization is to reduce the infinite to the finite. It forms idols within our minds that reflect our own human boundaries rather than a limitless presence. This dualistic mode of perception—the constant creation of a subject (the “I”, “me”, “mine”) and an object (“you” or the “other”)—is humanity’s default setting. It shapes our languages, our beliefs, and ultimately, our realities.
Duality inherently separates us from our true nature. If existence is indeed infinite, then the very act of defining, conceptualizing, or perceiving reality as “other” creates a chasm. We trap ourselves further in unreality by projecting truth outward, making the infinite into an object, rather than recognizing it as an integral, inextricable part of our being. The concept of “you”—our perception of an individual identity distinct from others—is the foundation of this duality. It feels undeniably real because we experience our biology as separate from others, forming the basis for how we interact with the world. Yet, this very idea obscures the truth of unity.
The Silence and the False Garments of Identity
Some of the deepest wounds in a human life are formed before language arrives, taking root in this soil of perceived separation. In my case, the foundations of my consciousness were laid in a pre-verbal atmosphere of biological distress, family exhaustion, and emotional exile. As an infant, I cried often. My parents, overwhelmed and desperate for rest, wrapped me in a blanket, carried me into the garage, and left me in the family car for much of the night.
My frequent bedroom was in the car on the left, parked in the garage.
To a child with no language, this total isolation becomes a message about existence itself. The garage became my first emotional landscape: dark, sealed off, cold, and separate from human warmth. It taught me that expression leads to abandonment. It became trauma’s first engagement with my soul.
But looking back, this garage was my initiation into the collective human illusion. The ultimate trauma we all face is accepting an identity that family and culture thrusts upon us, without proper understanding of why we have accepted it. We do not investigate for ourselves who we really are beneath the psychological “clothing” society, and our internal accommodations to it, has dressed us in. We are participants in a tragic reenactment of “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” parading around in an identity spun by the charlatans of cultural conditioning, expecting to be adored, or at the very least accepted, by the public. But this recognition is never universal in nature, and all too often does not come, because the identity itself is a fabrication. There is always an innocent part of ourselves—the little boy in the fable—crying out from the dark garage of our subconscious, trying to call out the illusions we have accepted as our definition. And that innocence tries to make the same call on others, even while we collectively behave like lemmings following each other in the parade of illusion towards some unknowable end.
When language finally came to me at four years old, it erupted. I talked incessantly, unconsciously trying to make up for lost years, trying to prove that I existed as a separate, valid entity. But my newfound speech did not bring connection; it brought new forms of alienation. At home, my father wondered aloud if I would ever shut up, At school, I was watched closely, judged, and silenced. A seat at the back of the classroom in the dunce chair sporting the conical magician’s hat awaited me in early grades. A high school teacher labeled me a “pseudo-intellectual,” turning my efforts to think deeply against me. I was speaking from hunger, not from inner security, operating under the assumption of a subject-object reality. I believed I was the subject desperately trying to reach the object.
This is the great tragedy of human communication. We attempt to bridge the gap between ourselves and others, entirely unaware that the gap itself is an illusion. Mystics, philosophers, and healers have long pointed to an absolute truth that underlies all our illusions, but their message falls upon deaf ears. They speak of non-duality—the understanding that there is no subject-object truth, that there is only absolute subjectivity in this universe. This means there can be no individual self, at least not in the sense that we are collectively programmed to believe in,. At best, there is only a collective self that sees itself witnessing life through its infinity of forms and faithfully reflected in Its every perception.
But this truth does not bring comfort to the average human being. We would rather cling to our fragmented consciousness, shouting our individual words into the void, hoping another fragmented consciousness will hear us. We see things in black and white, resorting to binary choices that offer a false sense of control. This dualistic thinking creates artificial boundaries that restrain our potential for nuanced, sustainable existence.
The Descent into Numbness and the Illusion of Religion
The pain of chronic disconnection, if not witnessed and metabolized, seeks another outlet. For sixteen years, I moved through the dark maze of addiction. Every short-term pause in addiction during those sixteen years had me searching through religious teachings for a salve to my wounds. Substance abuse and religious searching became my way of managing the unbearable tension between my longing for connection and my expectation of rejection. It was my attempt to escape a life narrative that felt intolerable to inhabit.
Society continues to offer its own socially acceptable narcotics for this fragmented state. Religion was created to give hope to the eternally broken consciousness that has captured mankind. While addiction numbed my mind, religion seeks to numb the existential terror of separation. However, religion and science still promote the subject-object relationship, though quantum physics is learning it needs to transcend that way of seeing to find the absolute version of the truth.
In traditional religion and spirituality, the subject becomes the seeker; the object becomes God, Truth, the “non-dual state,” the “ground of all being”, or the universal quantum substrate. Religion, spirituality, and even science use these terms to bridge the impossible gap between a broken mankind and some ultimate truth or love. But as long as the duality remains—the seeker and the sought—the ultimate trauma of fragmentation is perpetuated. Idolatry is not merely bowing to statues; it is bowing to the concept of a separate self that needs saving by the grace of God, Jesus, or by any other assortment of separate divine entities miscreated through human suffering and our need to escape it.
Breaking the Binary: Lessons from the Natural and Human Worlds
To move beyond this duality and truly see as the universe sees, we must look at the structures around us. Consider the natural world. A tree does not perceive itself as separate but exists in collaborative unity with its environment, exchanging oxygen and carbon dioxide, providing shelter and sustenance, and thriving in interconnectedness, even below the surface of the earth where it communicates and shares with its neighbors through the root system.. What if, on a deeper spiritual level, humanity’s relationship to existence was meant to mirror this unitive existence?
Even in the practical realms of human endeavor, we see the profound benefits of transcending dualistic, “either-or” thinking. In a world teeming with complexity, our minds yearn for simplicity, leading to false dichotomies where we feel compelled to choose between two extremes. Yet, to transcend these pitfalls, we must embrace complexity and ambiguity.
Take the business world. Companies that thrive in the face of uncertainty often do so by acknowledging and navigating the complexities inherent in their industries. Apple Inc. did not limit itself to the binary of producing either computers or phones; it embraced convergence. Netflix’s transition from a DVD rental service to a streaming giant is a testament to non-dual thinking, blending old and new paradigms for sustained success.
In healthcare, traditional models often present a binary choice between conventional medicine and alternative therapies. However, integrative medicine embraces the strengths of both, offering comprehensive care that addresses physical, emotional, and spiritual needs. In social movements, holistic approaches acknowledge the intersectionality of various social issues, fostering a more inclusive and unitive impact.
In alcoholic recovery the old paradigm used to be total abstinence from all psychoactive substances. The addict/alcoholic either was totally clean and sober or they were considered in relapse behavior. Yet it is now accepted in many recovery circles that the recovering individual may participate in psychedelic use to facilitate healing from traumatic wounding and/or forms of depression, or to enhance one’s spiritual awareness, and Alcoholics Anonymous now has a PIR offshoot, which is Psychedelics In Recovery. This began with AA’S co-originator Bill Wilson using LSD in the1950’s to successfully treat his long-term depression.
Adopting a non-dual approach to decision-making—and to life itself—requires intentionality. Mindfulness and emotional intelligence play crucial roles in recognizing and overcoming the allure of duality. Mindfulness helps us stay present and aware, allowing us to see beyond the surface of our binary instincts, pausing rather than reacting impulsively to the urge for dichotomous thinking. Emotional intelligence equips us to understand the perspectives of others, recognizing that we are all part of the same collective fabric.
Spiritual Reconstruction and the Abyss of Ego Death
In the early years of my recovery, I underwent a remarkable spiritual event. The suffocating narrative of my old life, the trauma, the self-hatred—all of it loosened and fell away. The chalkboard of my psyche was wiped clean. Yet, the miracle eventually brought its own torment when I began to reassemble my self with a spiritual instruction set. I had entered a new inner landscape, but I had no language for it yet.
I had tasted the non-dual reality, the absolute subjectivity of existence, but I was effectively mute. The slate was clean, but I had no chalk. For thirty years, I worked to redefine my evolving self and develop a language adequate to my life. I wanted words not just for my trauma, but for the civilization that had shaped it. I began to see the deeper pathologies of our chronically objectified culture—toxic masculinity, spiritual emptiness, economic and religious domination—as symptoms of a species entirely reliant upon a fractured paradigm of reality.
When I began to write and publish my thoughts, indifference became my familiar companion again. But my friend Marty began listening. Marty, a man who often deferred into silence in his own life, reflected a broader human pattern. Many people live half-muted lives, adapting to relationships and social structures that do not truly welcome their interiority. Though they are also dressed in the Emperor’s invisible clothes, their sense of self keeps them on the sidelines of the grand parade of life, afraid to speak their truth.
Marty and I shared from a deeper place, recognizing the collective silencing of humanity. But in 2017, a series of health crises—seizures, a dark mass in my inner field of awareness, and Marty’s brain tumor and terminal prognosis—pushed me to the edge of the abyss. The dark mass I experienced was a form of ego-death making itself known. It was the cumulative trauma that I had never known how to heal, having performed a nifty “spiritual bypass” that gave me permission to ignore it. Ego death is the terrifying dissolution of the individual self that the fragmented consciousness fights so hard to maintain, even though its very foundation is trauma itself.
Healing the Ancient and Modern Trauma
One evening in March of 2017, lying in anguish, I begged my wife Sharon to speak my truth for me. She refused, out of profound love. A forced silence born of trauma promotes further sufffering, yet silence born of healing promotes deeper understanding and an enhanced vision of what is, and what could be, and a responsibility to communicate that truth to the world., Sharon’s refusal to speak for me forced me to realize that no surrogate could do my speaking. If I remained silent, I would be returning myself to the trauma of the dark garage.
I began to write prolifically. Writing became the central practice by which I stabilized and reclaimed myself. But here lies the ultimate paradox of the true seeker: How do we heal from the trauma of fragmentation in a world that refuses to listen? And, if I truly healed myself, who, or what, is left after the trauma and resultant fragmentation is removed, and who would even listen to me?
The answer lies in transcending the need for the object, moving beyond intellectual understanding into silent contemplation. We must release the need to “figure out” existence, the need to fix or save others, and instead, experience the infinite through undivided awareness. I have sometimes thought of myself as one of the least-read writers in America. Much of what I have written has disappeared into obscurity. Yet, this obscurity taught me the greatest spiritual lesson of all: expression and recognition are not the same thing.
I write because it is the antidote to my silencing, but more importantly, I write as an act of absolute subjectivity. When I write, it is not a fragmented individual trying to reach another fragmented individual. It is the universe witnessing itself. The miracle is not that the world finally listens; the miracle is that I no longer require its permission in order to speak, because there is no “world” separate from myself to grant that permission.
To see the world through this divine, unitive vision is to understand ourselves not as isolated entities but as channels for awareness. When we adopt this infinite perspective, we naturally align with an understanding that affirms creation as an act of unity. The direction for healing from our ancient and modern trauma is to stop looking for validation from the charlatans of culture. We must strip off the Emperor’s new clothes and stand naked in the truth of non-duality. We must recognize that the silence around us is not a personal rejection, but the symptom of a civilization that has lost the capacity to listen deeply to its own undivided nature.
So here I stand in the later years of life. Once again, I speak into a silence I do not control. But I know now that the garage, the addiction, the cultural indifference—none of these are the final word. The final word belongs to the act of creation itself, the collective self breathing through the illusion of the individual.
Can you hear me now?
More importantly: Can I hear myself now?
At last, the answer is yes.
In the absolute, there is only one Self listening.
