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The late morning sun bore down relentlessly as I navigated my way from my Airbnb to Assi Ghat in Varanasi, India. The walk seemed longer than expected, and the warm February air only added to my exhaustion. I had missed my morning flight home, and the astronomical surge in airfare left me with no choice but to extend my stay. As I wandered through the throngs of people, I felt a growing sense of detachment, a deepening disillusionment with the spectacle before me. Vast crowds, labyrinthine traffic jams, desperate motorbike rides to bypass the gridlock, makeshift settlements of Aghoris, and endless rituals—was this really where humanity found solace?
All of this had unfolded within twelve hours—a journey of 120 kilometres from Varanasi to Prayagraj, where the Mahakumbh was in full swing. Millions of pilgrims had gathered, seeking purification in the sacred waters. But as I stood there, watching waves of people immerse themselves in the river, a question gnawed at me: Could true renewal really be found in an external act? Were these people seeking meaning, or merely clinging to an illusion?
At the heart of this gathering, beyond religious symbolism and planetary alignments, lay a deeper inquiry: What does it truly mean to seek the nature of reality and the meaning of our existence? What if existential clarity is not found in these rituals but in our most fundamental connection with the world around us?
As I wandered past the riverbanks, I finally settled into a café—one that claims to be India’s first pizzeria. I ordered my usual: a black coffee and a fresh apple pie. As I took a slow sip, I felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness. The scent of incense and wood smoke, the distant echoes of temple bells, the rhythm of oars slicing through the river—these once-familiar sensory experiences felt devoid of meaning. I had seen it all before, and yet, I was no closer to understanding anything.
By mid-February, many Aghoris and tantric from the Kumbh Mela migrate from Prayagraj to Varanasi, setting up temporary camps along the Ganges. At night, the sight is hauntingly beautiful, especially near the two ghats used for cremations. These ascetics, covered in ashes, walk unperturbed among funeral pyres, completely at ease with death. Their behaviour, often erratic and challenging conventional norms, pushes the boundaries of societal expectations. Yet, their comfort in the presence of mortality is what fascinates me most.
Watching them, existential questions rise like a tsunami in my mind. What truly separates life from death? Consciousness, as we define it in scientific terms, is merely the awareness of self and surroundings. But how does it appear and disappear with the collapse of something as fragile as the human body? Like a wave that rises and falls with the tide, does consciousness dissipate when the breath ceases, or does it transcend beyond?
Of course, there are religious and scientific explanations to these questions. But does dissecting them through established narratives lead to clarity, or merely another layer of confusion? As Jamie Wheal points out in Recapture the Rapture, modern society suffers from a collapse of meaning. Institutionalized religion and liberal ideologies, once beacons of existential understanding, are losing their grip. The very structures that once inspired now often serve as instruments of division and control. If religious congregations become mere social or political tools, they risk disorienting the genuine seeker.
The true journey of existential inquiry requires an elemental approach—one that transcends dogma and politics. Through the lens of reductionism, we can reach the core of creation and understand how our consciousness interacts with it. At the foundation of our awareness lies the interplay of our senses with the fundamental elements of nature:
- Earth – Smell
- Water – Taste, Sensation
- Fire – Digestion & Vision
- Air –Breath, Touch, Embrace
- Space – Sound
At this elemental level, meaning does not emerge from collective belief systems but from an intimate, personal engagement with the world around us. True understanding must begin within the individual before it can extend to the universal. Rather than looking outward for validation in grand religious gatherings, true seekers must delve into the foundation of human perception.
These congregations may provide a sense of belonging, a temporary relief through the belief in washing away sins and guilt. But do they truly direct humanity toward a deeper existential quest? Where, then, does one go to search for real answers?
This is where the Lab for Self-Discovery (LSD) emerges. To unravel the true nature of existence, we must strip away external influences and engage deeply with the elemental forces shaping our perception of reality. This requires a structured space where individuals can explore breath, sound, touch, and sensation—the fundamental principles that is registered on the sheet of consciousness.
A Lab for Self-Discovery would not be a place of faith or dogma but a space for experimentation—a fusion of deep personal reflection with scientific observation. By engaging with the elements at their most raw and visceral level, we may come closer to understanding not just the nature of consciousness, but the meaning of existence itself.
And yet, for the first time in a long while, I felt something akin to hope. What if we could build a system that empowered individuals to find their own truths, unburdened by societal expectations? What if we could create a space where people could explore the depths of their consciousness—not through ritual, but through direct, unfiltered experience?
Only through such an introspective laboratory can we begin to decipher reality—not as dictated by societal structures, but as experienced by the self in its purest form. Perhaps the next great journey of human discovery does not lie in the heavens or in religious doctrine, but in the fundamental forces that shape our very being.
And so, as I take another sip of black coffee and a bite of warm apple pie, I realize: the path to understanding begins not in collective myths, but in our own interaction with the world, in the simplest yet most profound experiences of life. In this, there is hope—not just for me, but for all of humanity.
These pieces are being published as they have been received – they have not been edited/fact-checked by ThePrint.
Soul’s musing