The passion of consciousness

The article was originally featured in the journal Alternatives, Oregon, 2001.

Many years ago, in Morocco at the end of Ramadan, I both induced and received a remarkable insight into the nature of consciousness. I had travelled there with my wife Alicia and our two-year-old daughter, Sofiah, after leaving Tarifa in southern Spain, where the relentless winds had driven us to seek calmer shores. Arriving in Tangiers, we faced the challenge of being in a nation observing a strict fast while we were not.

One evening, seated in a smoky café listening to music, I decided to try the hookah passed around. Though I had not used any narcotic or hallucinogen for years, I felt the need to distinguish what is revealed (from the Divine) versus what is induced (altered states). The kif, a cannabis mix, triggered an unexpected state of glossolalia, and I sang the opening verse of the Qur’an. The trance deepened—I felt my entire being, down to the cellular level, praising Allah. I believe the musicians noticed and shifted the rhythm to match the experience, deepening the resonance. Though Alicia was alarmed, I could not explain it then. I walked straight to the mosque, held upright by an invisible force, electrified and silent.

Later, in stillness, I reflected: this was more than an altered state. It was a fusion of two paths. The Sufi term Tarik refers to psychospiritual techniques aimed at reaching God—methods of shifting states through will and breath. Hakekat, by contrast, denotes the grace-filled, spontaneous experiences from surrender. What occurred was likely both.

I worked as a cranial osteopath and acupuncturist in London and practised as an ontologist, seeking root causes behind illness, behaviour, and dysfunction. For over two decades, I’ve taught a method to discern these origins within individuals’ stories. I observe that dysfunction often signals a separation from the deeper source of knowing.

Ontologically, the human being is composed of four fundamental parts, reflected in embryological unfolding: the material body (our genetic structure), the vegetal self (physiology and basic life), the animal self (instinct and drive), and the human self (neocortex, language, abstraction). These layers interrelate but may become disordered, especially under stress or conditioning.

While visiting England recently, I was struck by how deeply my father’s mannerisms had shaped me. In a moment of confrontation over his racial views, I erupted. I saw in myself the same inflexible posture I was criticising. That night, in prayer, I recognised my own faults and asked to transcend the limitations of inheritance, to become more inclusive, more feeling, and less bound by reactive patterns.

Consciousness is determined by the niche we operate from—neurological, energetic, spiritual. From Neoplatonism to modern physics, there’s a consensus that the self functions across energetic strata. In Sufi terms, these are known as the nafs, aspects of [the lower] self that may become dominant or disordered.

These selves are not just metaphors. They exist within a physiological, ontological framework:

• The material self reflects inheritance and historical encoding.
• The vegetal self holds feeling and physiological regulation.
• The animal self provides instinct, sexuality, and drive.
• The human self enables cognition and reflection.
• The noble self—often glimpsed in mystical states—acts as a bridge to the Divine.

Each corresponds with a ‘heart’ in Sufi anatomy, aligned with the symbolic architecture of the caduceus, which contains four elements and a fifth emerging:

1. Integrity (staff) and the heart of earth — anchoring our material self in order, and understanding that this stoic of a heart, is strong, stable, fixed, dependable but unchanging.
2. Flexibility (snake) and the heart of water— allowing movement and change, and to be able to have  alove that is clean and pure, yet deep, wide, still, turbulent at times.
3. Reflectiveness (wings) and the heart of air — bringing clarity and light to our awareness and being above the petty ills of the ego and messy love.
4. Submission (dove) and the heart of fire— our surrender to a greater Presence, and to be the Light Bearer
5. Value (fifth heart) and the heart of Love— realising one’s worth not through ego, but through the descent of Divine Love.

My Morocco experience, mediated through the vegetal self (feelings), was a profound, drug-induced rapture. But it could only reach the level of its source—the plant kingdom. The illusion of transcendence belonged to the vegetal; the real transformation came later, in surrender and integration.

In our materialistic culture, we often use sensory input to alter state, seeking ‘aliveness’. Spiritual techniques can assist—but when feelings are exalted above instinct and action, transformation stalls. Feelings are vital, but they are not the summit. The true human path requires ordering these inner elements, putting each in its rightful place.

As I have surrendered to the Implicate—the organising principle of the universe—my ability to live coherently and with depth has grown. Consciousness becomes a state of knowing not just about ourselves, but about our relationship with the Whole.

— Solihin Thom, Oregon 2001