Collapse of Knower and Known

A woman asks about the significance of the Holy Spirit from a mystical Christian perspective. Rupert explains that from a conventional viewpoint, the Holy Spirit functions as the connection between finite being and God’s infinite being – essentially the link that makes relationship possible. From the non-dual perspective, however, the Holy Spirit would be being itself, since the individual has no separate being of their own. He concludes that origin, path and goal are one – being that shines in us as ‘I am’.

A woman asks about the nature of curiosity. Rupert explains that while curiosity typically centres on objective knowledge or unknown facts, all curiosity fundamentally represents the finite mind’s desire for its source – pure consciousness. Since the mind cannot formulate curiosity about formless consciousness directly, it manufactures objects to satisfy this deeper longing. True curiosity is infinite consciousness drawing the mind back to itself, using objects as ‘bait’ to lure the mind beyond its limitations into the true unknown.

A woman asks Rupert to comment on the quotation ‘Enlightenment is an accident and meditation makes us accident-prone.’ Rupert rejects this formulation, explaining it incorrectly implies enlightenment is an extraordinary experience reserved for lucky individuals. Instead, he describes enlightenment as simply recognising the nature of being – something simple, accessible to everyone, and not accidental. He illustrates this with a story of his godmother who had a genuine recognition at 17 but, without proper interpretation, spent her life longing to recapture that ‘extraordinary’ experience.

A woman describes feeling disoriented by heightened awareness during sleep – feeling awake while dreaming and tracking dreams in real time. Rupert acknowledges this as the wakefulness cultivated during retreats beginning to permeate all states of consciousness. He explains that the transitions between waking, dreaming and deep sleep are particularly auspicious times when consciousness releases one set of images before grasping another. These liminal spaces represent spontaneous meditation where consciousness shines alone, creating experiences similar to what the woman describes.

A man asks Rupert to elaborate on his previous statement that religion’s idea of soul is actually the mind. Rupert simply confirms they are the same thing, noting that ‘soul’ was the traditional 18th-century term for what we now call mind.

A woman seeks advice for responding to her scientific-minded husband who sincerely asked. ‘What is reality?’ After she shares her planned response (describing reality as ‘whole, unlimited, ever-present’), Rupert suggests an approach better suited to a scientist’s methodology – providing tools for self-discovery rather than definitions. He outlines three questions to guide exploration: Can reality disappear? Can reality change? Can reality be known by something other than itself? This scientific formulation of self-enquiry allows the woman’s husband to discover reality experientially.

A man asks about the process of realising the known, then realising oneself as the knowing, and ultimately when knower and known collapse into one. Rupert explains this progression: first recognising ‘I am the knower’ separate from what’s known, then realising that everything experienced is pervaded by knowing as its sole substance. Through investigating experience, one discovers that the only substance ever experienced is consciousness knowing itself – not a thing but the knowing element in all experience, just as the screen pervades every part of a movie.

A woman describes experiencing luminosity where darkness once was, bringing tremendous enthusiasm, and asks if there’s reason to curb this enthusiasm as some spiritual teachings suggest. Rupert affirms enthusiasm as the natural channel through which being’s innate peace and happiness express in the world – the impulse to share and create. The woman expresses relief at permission to feel good about mundane activities without self-criticism. Rupert reinforces this understanding with reference to the film Perfect Days, where a toilet cleaner finds equal peace in all activities because his happiness isn’t invested in content.

A man questions the nature of vision and light, exploring how movement relates to time and distance to memory. Rupert explains that perceiving faculties correspond to how reality appears – the mind comprises seeing, hearing, touching, tasting and smelling, so the world appears as sights, sounds, tastes, textures and smells. He clarifies that consciousness is both the ultimate reality of the perceiver and the perceived, with perception serving as the screen that divides this seamless whole into apparent knower and known. The man is advised not to expect appearance to change – only understanding.

A man explores Rumi’s statement ‘Silence is the language of God, all else is poor translation’, questioning whether words emerging from mind versus being affects their quality. Rupert explains that even words informed by highest wisdom fall short of describing reality, yet compassion compels speaking despite this limitation. Discussing poetry’s role, Rupert suggests the primary task is first emptying the mind to ‘hear the word of God’, quoting Meister Eckhart. The man reflects on George Steffens’s poem ‘The Word’, with Rupert explaining that true poetry has evocative rather than descriptive power – taking listeners to the place from which the words were conceived.

A man seeks confirmation of Rupert’s analogy involving Turner’s watercolour, where the moon appears as a white circle of unpainted paper. In this analogy, the white paper represents pure consciousness, within which a circle of perception arises. The waking and dreaming states are likened to the coloured content painted around this circle, while deep sleep remains as the untouched white background of consciousness. The man suggests that abiding in the true self during waking – seeing through the transparency of experience – would eliminate delusion in that state, leaving dreaming as the only remaining veil. Rupert affirms this interpretation.

A woman proposes that our nature encompasses both finite and infinite dimensions, suggesting a good life balances these poles without favouring either. Rupert clarifies that our essential nature can only be infinite – not both simultaneously. However, he affirms the questioner’s deeper insight: as human beings, we experience both infinite (our essence) and finite (our conditioned experience) aspects, and the art of living involves balancing these seemingly contradictory dimensions.

A woman asks about Ouspensky’s and Gurdjieff’s influence on Rupert’s development. Rupert explains that while Ouspensky particularly influenced his early studies, the teachings’ complexity often obscured their essential simplicity. Their ‘self-remembering’ technique corresponds to the direct awareness of being practiced in his current approach. Despite appreciating Ouspensky’s philosophical depth, Rupert eventually moved away from what seemed unnecessarily complex toward the clearer non-dual understanding he now shares.

A man shares feeling disturbed when quantum entanglement seemed to ‘prove’ materialism, then asks how Rupert would respond to a scientist claiming to prove consciousness mathematically. Rupert replies that consciousness is self-evident and requires no external proof – only consciousness can prove consciousness. He proposes a simple experiment: ask ‘Are you aware?’, ‘What experience enables you to say yes?’, and ‘What is aware that you are aware?’ This establishes consciousness as the most self-evident fact of experience. He concludes that contrary to scientific assumptions, it is matter – not consciousness – that remains mysterious despite millennia of enquiry.

A woman uses a painting analogy – suggesting we might infer pure consciousness behind experience like inferring canvas behind paint. Rupert redirects this approach, explaining consciousness is directly known, not inferred. We don’t think ‘I’m having thoughts, therefore I must be aware’ – we simply know we are aware. The experience ‘I am’ is consciousness knowing itself. After discussing awareness during sleep states, Rupert simplifies: one need not use complex analogies – simply asking ‘Am I aware?’ provides direct evidence, as answering requires being aware of awareness. The woman acknowledges overthinking the relationship.

A woman asks whether thoughts arising during meditation indicate an unquiet mind or awareness’s play. Rupert explains these thoughts stem from residual mind habits, distracting from the potential boredom encountered before reaching true being. He identifies two common escapes – falling asleep or following thoughts – but encourages sinking through this boredom to the peace beneath. While thoughts may still arise after finding this peace, one no longer follows them, having discovered the direct peace previously sought through thinking. Thoughts eventually quiet when no longer fueled by attention, though this is a side effect rather than a prerequisite for accessing being.

A man confirms there is no separate dreamer during dreams, only mind activity. Rupert agrees but notes the mind still localises itself as an apparently separate subject. When the man extends this to the waking state – consciousness appearing from a localised viewpoint – Rupert affirms this insight while acknowledging its potentially shocking nature. He clarifies that recognising oneself as the observer is a crucial first step, liberating one from identification with experience. Deeper investigation reveals this observer is not a finite, localised consciousness but infinite awareness itself – making the witness stage a necessary halfway step that ultimately must be transcended.

A man questions how mental music and self-narration relate to the teaching that thoughts concern past or future. Rupert likens these mental phenomena to wallpaper – not interesting themselves but preventing experience of the ‘boring white wall’ of empty space. The constant background activity ensures the mind stays occupied, preventing encounter with emptiness that might lead to discovering true nature. These mental patterns effectively layer experiential space – like adding photographs over wallpaper – ensuring one never faces the bare wall of pure being.

A woman expresses gratitude for Rupert’s ‘immense, selfless love’ and asks how he manifests it. Rupert responds that from his perspective, he’s simply being natural – not manufacturing anything special. When pressed, he shares the influence of his mother’s unconditional love, which gave him the experience of never feeling unworthy throughout life. He resists framing his work as a ‘calling’, seeing it instead as a natural impulse to share understanding. He recounts how his mother introduced him to non-dual teaching at fifteen, with Francis Lucille later describing this as ‘the mother handing her son back to God’. Poignantly, in one of their final conversations before her dementia progressed, his mother reversed this: ‘I thought that you handed me back to God’.

Referring to a previous question about love, a woman asks how Rupert’s experience differs from a ‘calling’ or divine purpose. Rupert rejects the notion of having a special calling, considering it presumptuous. Instead, he describes an unstoppable impulse to share that feels entirely ordinary and natural rather than divinely ordained. When the woman questions whether loving deeply could be described as ‘ordinary’, Rupert affirms it is indeed our natural state, though often obscured in early life. The woman observes that attaining this requires considerable work for many people. Rupert acknowledges he was fortunate – not only did his mother show him constant unconditional love, but she also introduced him to non-dual teaching in his teens. The woman shares her parallel experience of having a nun sister who served as her family’s spiritual guide despite difficult circumstances.

A woman asks about the significance of the Holy Spirit from a mystical Christian perspective. Rupert explains that from a conventional viewpoint, the Holy Spirit functions as the connection between finite being and God’s infinite being – essentially the link that makes relationship possible. From the non-dual perspective, however, the Holy Spirit would be being itself, since the individual has no separate being of their own. He concludes that origin, path and goal are one – being that shines in us as ‘I am’.

A woman asks about the nature of curiosity. Rupert explains that while curiosity typically centres on objective knowledge or unknown facts, all curiosity fundamentally represents the finite mind’s desire for its source – pure consciousness. Since the mind cannot formulate curiosity about formless consciousness directly, it manufactures objects to satisfy this deeper longing. True curiosity is infinite consciousness drawing the mind back to itself, using objects as ‘bait’ to lure the mind beyond its limitations into the true unknown.

A woman asks Rupert to comment on the quotation ‘Enlightenment is an accident and meditation makes us accident-prone.’ Rupert rejects this formulation, explaining it incorrectly implies enlightenment is an extraordinary experience reserved for lucky individuals. Instead, he describes enlightenment as simply recognising the nature of being – something simple, accessible to everyone, and not accidental. He illustrates this with a story of his godmother who had a genuine recognition at 17 but, without proper interpretation, spent her life longing to recapture that ‘extraordinary’ experience.

A woman describes feeling disoriented by heightened awareness during sleep – feeling awake while dreaming and tracking dreams in real time. Rupert acknowledges this as the wakefulness cultivated during retreats beginning to permeate all states of consciousness. He explains that the transitions between waking, dreaming and deep sleep are particularly auspicious times when consciousness releases one set of images before grasping another. These liminal spaces represent spontaneous meditation where consciousness shines alone, creating experiences similar to what the woman describes.

A man asks Rupert to elaborate on his previous statement that religion’s idea of soul is actually the mind. Rupert simply confirms they are the same thing, noting that ‘soul’ was the traditional 18th-century term for what we now call mind.

A woman seeks advice for responding to her scientific-minded husband who sincerely asked. ‘What is reality?’ After she shares her planned response (describing reality as ‘whole, unlimited, ever-present’), Rupert suggests an approach better suited to a scientist’s methodology – providing tools for self-discovery rather than definitions. He outlines three questions to guide exploration: Can reality disappear? Can reality change? Can reality be known by something other than itself? This scientific formulation of self-enquiry allows the woman’s husband to discover reality experientially.

A man asks about the process of realising the known, then realising oneself as the knowing, and ultimately when knower and known collapse into one. Rupert explains this progression: first recognising ‘I am the knower’ separate from what’s known, then realising that everything experienced is pervaded by knowing as its sole substance. Through investigating experience, one discovers that the only substance ever experienced is consciousness knowing itself – not a thing but the knowing element in all experience, just as the screen pervades every part of a movie.

A woman describes experiencing luminosity where darkness once was, bringing tremendous enthusiasm, and asks if there’s reason to curb this enthusiasm as some spiritual teachings suggest. Rupert affirms enthusiasm as the natural channel through which being’s innate peace and happiness express in the world – the impulse to share and create. The woman expresses relief at permission to feel good about mundane activities without self-criticism. Rupert reinforces this understanding with reference to the film Perfect Days, where a toilet cleaner finds equal peace in all activities because his happiness isn’t invested in content.

A man questions the nature of vision and light, exploring how movement relates to time and distance to memory. Rupert explains that perceiving faculties correspond to how reality appears – the mind comprises seeing, hearing, touching, tasting and smelling, so the world appears as sights, sounds, tastes, textures and smells. He clarifies that consciousness is both the ultimate reality of the perceiver and the perceived, with perception serving as the screen that divides this seamless whole into apparent knower and known. The man is advised not to expect appearance to change – only understanding.

A man explores Rumi’s statement ‘Silence is the language of God, all else is poor translation’, questioning whether words emerging from mind versus being affects their quality. Rupert explains that even words informed by highest wisdom fall short of describing reality, yet compassion compels speaking despite this limitation. Discussing poetry’s role, Rupert suggests the primary task is first emptying the mind to ‘hear the word of God’, quoting Meister Eckhart. The man reflects on George Steffens’s poem ‘The Word’, with Rupert explaining that true poetry has evocative rather than descriptive power – taking listeners to the place from which the words were conceived.

A man seeks confirmation of Rupert’s analogy involving Turner’s watercolour, where the moon appears as a white circle of unpainted paper. In this analogy, the white paper represents pure consciousness, within which a circle of perception arises. The waking and dreaming states are likened to the coloured content painted around this circle, while deep sleep remains as the untouched white background of consciousness. The man suggests that abiding in the true self during waking – seeing through the transparency of experience – would eliminate delusion in that state, leaving dreaming as the only remaining veil. Rupert affirms this interpretation.

A woman proposes that our nature encompasses both finite and infinite dimensions, suggesting a good life balances these poles without favouring either. Rupert clarifies that our essential nature can only be infinite – not both simultaneously. However, he affirms the questioner’s deeper insight: as human beings, we experience both infinite (our essence) and finite (our conditioned experience) aspects, and the art of living involves balancing these seemingly contradictory dimensions.

A woman asks about Ouspensky’s and Gurdjieff’s influence on Rupert’s development. Rupert explains that while Ouspensky particularly influenced his early studies, the teachings’ complexity often obscured their essential simplicity. Their ‘self-remembering’ technique corresponds to the direct awareness of being practiced in his current approach. Despite appreciating Ouspensky’s philosophical depth, Rupert eventually moved away from what seemed unnecessarily complex toward the clearer non-dual understanding he now shares.

A man shares feeling disturbed when quantum entanglement seemed to ‘prove’ materialism, then asks how Rupert would respond to a scientist claiming to prove consciousness mathematically. Rupert replies that consciousness is self-evident and requires no external proof – only consciousness can prove consciousness. He proposes a simple experiment: ask ‘Are you aware?’, ‘What experience enables you to say yes?’, and ‘What is aware that you are aware?’ This establishes consciousness as the most self-evident fact of experience. He concludes that contrary to scientific assumptions, it is matter – not consciousness – that remains mysterious despite millennia of enquiry.

A woman uses a painting analogy – suggesting we might infer pure consciousness behind experience like inferring canvas behind paint. Rupert redirects this approach, explaining consciousness is directly known, not inferred. We don’t think ‘I’m having thoughts, therefore I must be aware’ – we simply know we are aware. The experience ‘I am’ is consciousness knowing itself. After discussing awareness during sleep states, Rupert simplifies: one need not use complex analogies – simply asking ‘Am I aware?’ provides direct evidence, as answering requires being aware of awareness. The woman acknowledges overthinking the relationship.

A woman asks whether thoughts arising during meditation indicate an unquiet mind or awareness’s play. Rupert explains these thoughts stem from residual mind habits, distracting from the potential boredom encountered before reaching true being. He identifies two common escapes – falling asleep or following thoughts – but encourages sinking through this boredom to the peace beneath. While thoughts may still arise after finding this peace, one no longer follows them, having discovered the direct peace previously sought through thinking. Thoughts eventually quiet when no longer fueled by attention, though this is a side effect rather than a prerequisite for accessing being.

A man confirms there is no separate dreamer during dreams, only mind activity. Rupert agrees but notes the mind still localises itself as an apparently separate subject. When the man extends this to the waking state – consciousness appearing from a localised viewpoint – Rupert affirms this insight while acknowledging its potentially shocking nature. He clarifies that recognising oneself as the observer is a crucial first step, liberating one from identification with experience. Deeper investigation reveals this observer is not a finite, localised consciousness but infinite awareness itself – making the witness stage a necessary halfway step that ultimately must be transcended.

A man questions how mental music and self-narration relate to the teaching that thoughts concern past or future. Rupert likens these mental phenomena to wallpaper – not interesting themselves but preventing experience of the ‘boring white wall’ of empty space. The constant background activity ensures the mind stays occupied, preventing encounter with emptiness that might lead to discovering true nature. These mental patterns effectively layer experiential space – like adding photographs over wallpaper – ensuring one never faces the bare wall of pure being.

A woman expresses gratitude for Rupert’s ‘immense, selfless love’ and asks how he manifests it. Rupert responds that from his perspective, he’s simply being natural – not manufacturing anything special. When pressed, he shares the influence of his mother’s unconditional love, which gave him the experience of never feeling unworthy throughout life. He resists framing his work as a ‘calling’, seeing it instead as a natural impulse to share understanding. He recounts how his mother introduced him to non-dual teaching at fifteen, with Francis Lucille later describing this as ‘the mother handing her son back to God’. Poignantly, in one of their final conversations before her dementia progressed, his mother reversed this: ‘I thought that you handed me back to God’.

Referring to a previous question about love, a woman asks how Rupert’s experience differs from a ‘calling’ or divine purpose. Rupert rejects the notion of having a special calling, considering it presumptuous. Instead, he describes an unstoppable impulse to share that feels entirely ordinary and natural rather than divinely ordained. When the woman questions whether loving deeply could be described as ‘ordinary’, Rupert affirms it is indeed our natural state, though often obscured in early life. The woman observes that attaining this requires considerable work for many people. Rupert acknowledges he was fortunate – not only did his mother show him constant unconditional love, but she also introduced him to non-dual teaching in his teens. The woman shares her parallel experience of having a nun sister who served as her family’s spiritual guide despite difficult circumstances.