Premise: I am not what I am aware of; those are objects of awareness. Rather, I am awareness itself.

Let’s unpack that. Of what am I aware? Of physical sensations (sight, sound, smell, touch, taste) along with emotions and thoughts. Seven types of sensations: five related to the (purported) external world, and the emotions and thoughts that constitute our inner world.

Sensations are objects of awareness—they are what we are aware of. More importantly, that is all we are directly aware of. I can be 100% certain I see a color or feel a pain. I can be 100% I have the sensation of seeing water. Those sensations may occur when I’m awake or when I’m dreaming. The sensations exist; the purported matter behind them may or may not.

We are only directly and certainly aware of sensations. Thus, matter is a theoretical construct. Matter is an idea I use to understand sensation. What we call a coffee mug, for instance, is a bundle of visual and tactile sensations. If I hold the (purported) coffee mug, I feel tactile sensations. And that’s all I directly and certainly experience. The coffee mug existing as a material thing is an idea. If I dream that I’m drinking a cup of coffee, all the sensations exist, but the material object we call a cup does not. Similarly, in the normal waking state, all the sensations are there, but the material object we call a cup may or may not exist. Representative realism says the cup exists externally as a material object. Berkeley’s idealism says only the sensations exist. I say maybe the cup exists externally; maybe not. I don’t know. I know it exists as an idea which explains my sensation. Beyond that, I cannot say.

Although the argument and conclusion may seem shocking, it occurs regularly in philosophy. Descartes’ evil demon; the brain in a vat; the Matrix movie; the universe as a computer simulation; the holographic universe—all question or deny an external world consisting of matter.

As an aside, I’ll point out that the argument remains essentially unchanged even if we add sensations (intuition or ESP, for example) or subdivide a sensation (for example, divide thought into creative thought, as when writing a novel, and logical insight, as when following a mathematical proof).

But suppose the external world of matter does exist, just as we think of it does when not reflecting philosophically. It’s a world of people, buildings, trees, and highways. Which is a world of molecules, which, in turn, is a world of atoms, etc. We currently reach bottom when we get to the General Theory of Relativity and the Standard Model. Even the purported external material world, when we look deeply enough, seems to evaporate in a mist of mathematical abstraction.

Where is that nice, solid external material world? That world that seems so real and stable until we think about it a bit? “Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.” Nursery rhyme? Or deep philosophical insight? Or a bit of both?

All I can be certain about is my awareness and my physical, emotional, and mental sensations. The external world is probably there. For day-to-day purposes, I assume that is it. But awareness and sensation are all that I know with certainty exist. To paraphrase Descartes: I am aware of sensation; therefore, I know I exist.

But sensations constantly change. My thoughts and emotions can change in a few minutes. My body changes more slowly, but changes nonetheless. It appears that I—my deepest enduring I, the I that has always been here, my indisputable self—is awareness.

I can speak of my sensations as something I possess; the phrases “my body,” “my feelings,” “my thoughts” make sense. The phrase “my awareness” does not make sense, because awareness is not something I have. It’s not a possession. Rather, it’s what I am. It is me and I am it. I usually think of myself as a body existing in an external world of matter. Which is fine in the day-to-day world. It works. There’s a moving bus, and I’d better not step in front of it or my body may be injured. “I” may be injured. But in a stricter sense, if we require the I to be enduring, then it appears awareness, consciousness, is the only possible candidate. The body is something I possess; not something I am. More exactly, the body is an idea which represents certain of my physical sensations. The sensations exist; the body is an idea which makes sense of them.

That is the case for the premise “I am not what I am aware of; those are objects of awareness. Rather, I am awareness itself.“ But even if it’s true, so what?

The answer depends on the reader. One person may find the argument silly or irreverent and dismiss it from mind. I find reflecting on it somehow peaceful and reassuring. Now and then there’s a hint of fullness, of the present moment being complete and adequate. Doubts and worries fade. At its height, there’s the paradoxical feeling of “I’ve never felt better about living” coupled with “If I was going to die the next minute, it wouldn’t matter one bit.” Fullness. Not a static fulness. Rather, an effervescent fullness. Existence somehow feels like it’s humming or ringing, like it’s being continually renewed and recreated, like a water fountain’s spray is continually recreated moment to moment by the water’s movement.

At a height beyond what I’ve experienced lies an ecstasy which the mystics describe as supreme, surpassing anything imaginable. “It shines with the brightness of 10,000 suns.” Critics say the mystics’ ecstasies have a sexual element; some go so far as to describe the ecstasies as the result of suppressed sexuality. I believe there’s a fundamental difference. Belief in material bodies existing in an external material world seems prerequisite for sexuality. In sexual experience, the body is experienced as real. Can the ecstasy of someone who clearly realizes that they consist of awareness, along with a constantly changing stream of physical, emotional, and mental sensations, be genuinely sexual? Perhaps not. Perhaps the ecstasy of the mystic can be described as sexual ecstasy without the sex. It sounds paradoxical. But much that the mystics say is paradoxical. Why? Critics say because the mystics are saying nonsense. Others say it’s because the mystics are trying to describe a reality for which words fail.

The above argument is my own thoughts, but it does owe a debt to Advaita Vedanta, as presented on YouTube by Swami Sarvapriyananda of the Vedanta Society of New York.