The quiet, terrible language of the Infinite

It was a quiet beach, the kind where the air feels heavy with secrets and the waves whisper ancient truths. Lol no, it was just a beautiful, desolate beach. There was one solitary dog to give me company, but after a while he too, ran off into the bushes seeking more thrilling adventures.

I found a seat within a natural rock formation, something that, in hindsight, resembled a throne carved by time itself. I had my headphones in, the volume low enough to let the ocean breathe around me. Then, Ustad Shujat Khan began to play.

It wasn’t just a song. It was a journey, twenty minutes(or three hours? idk) of music that unraveled something deep within. Without realizing it, my body began to sway, moving with the rhythm of something I couldn’t "see", but definitely felt a presence. The music, the waves, the wind were not separate forces. They were one, and I was first an observer then an active part of their dialog.

The world came alive. Everything, every grain of sand, every ripple in the water, felt sentient, humming with the same consciousness. It wasn’t a fleeting sensation. It was full blown visions. Myself as a happy child, laughing under an open sky. A rainforest, dripping with vibrant life, alive in its stillness. I wasn’t just present. I was part of something vast, something infinite. And the overall "theme" was that "love is not only enough, it's everything."

This is really bad and amateur writing, but people better than me have tried and utterly failed to describe the shattering exquisite pleasures of a mystical experience.

Apparently, this is a thing.

Michael Pollan, in his book(and Netflix series) How to Change Your Mind, talks about mystical experiences having qualities that are ineffable and noetic. These moments are impossible to fully describe and carry a profound sense of truth and significance. For me, this wasn’t just a poetic abstraction nor was it temporary madness. It was real, tangible, as if the universe itself extended a hand and whispered, “Here you are, and we are all watching and delighting in you.”

Science too, has begun to unravel these threads. "Eigenmodes of the Deep Unconscious" by McGovern and colleagues bridges Carl Jung's ideas of archetypes with modern neuroscience. Experiences like mine might tap into deep, universal patterns of the "collective unconscious." (That's actually something I had dismissed as voodoo earlier, but now... I can't.) The study describes how altered states, whether through dreams or psychedelics, liberate archetypes hidden within our psyche, revealing primordial stories and images that are both deeply personal and universally shared. This resonates with how, in that moment by the ocean, everything felt both intensely mine and a part of something far greater.

Another eerily interesting study: "The entropic brain: a theory of conscious states informed by neuroimaging research with psychedelic drugs" led by Robin Carhart-Harris and his team from Imperial College. Mystical experiences, whether induced by psychedelics or otherwise, often lead to profound changes in one’s outlook and emotional well-being. These shifts include a newfound connection to the world, a reduction in negative patterns, and a heightened sense of purpose: all outcomes I can -now- deeply relate to. My own destructive habits have dulled, and decisions now seem guided by an inner voice I had not known existed.

Since that day, I’ve changed in ways I still don’t fully understand. My destructive habits seem to have dulled, their grip loosened. I am calmer, more attuned to an inner voice that feels older than me, helping with decisions big and small. Even creativity has blossomed—I owe this blog itself to that one encounter.

So, that encounter with Mother Infinite was back in March. Now about 8 months later, I returned to the same beach, trying to recreate the conditions of that first experience. I was thirsty for some more of that delicious drink, but I didn’t expect it to happen again. But sure enough, as the music started and the waves echoed, that connection reignited, instant and undeniable. It’s like tuning into a frequency that is always there, just waiting for us to listen. One fairly contentious theory about consciousness is that the brain doesn't generate or produce consciousness, but acts as a receiver, tuning itself to the larger cosmic consciousness ~out there~.

An invitation

The world, with its relentless rules of society and commerce, demands our attention for survival. But stepping away, "disconnecting to connect" is really the best thing. Whether through meditation, therapy, or even psychedelics (in legal and guided contexts), there are practices that can lead us toward this awareness. As Pollan suggests, these moments remind us of our intrinsic unity with nature and existence itself. Now, when I pause to notice a stray bird song or the solitary beauty of a city tree, I feel that faint, unmistakable connection to the cosmos. I dearly hope this connection stays for life, in the face of status meetings and consumer apps and Elon Musk's latest shittery.

If this post resonates, you might also enjoy reading "The Grains Beneath Our Feet", where I explored the profound wonder hidden in the smallest things. Sometimes, it’s the seemingly banal that holds the deepest truths.

Such moments may be fleeting, but they remind us of something eternal: we are leaves in the infinite forest, notes in nature’s quiet symphony, whispers carried through time. In this boundless dialogue, there is always more to hear, always more to learn.