“When I think about the physiological state of transcendental consciousness, what comes to mind first is how I scan my body during meditation. It’s almost second nature now—how I settle into those first few breaths and start noticing the places where tension lives. My shoulders. My neck. My chest. Sometimes my jaw. They’re the parts of me that carry the day, the weight of thoughts I didn’t realize I was holding. I don’t force anything. I just notice.

As I inhale, I bring my awareness to those places. I breathe into them on purpose—like I’m offering them some room to breathe too. My breath isn’t just air; it’s like a gentle hand loosening knots, a quiet reminder that I don’t have to hold it all. I let the breath move into my shoulders and soften them. I invite it into my chest to ease that pressure that creeps in when I’m not paying attention. My neck lengthens a bit. My body starts to remember what ease feels like.

There’s something about that process that shifts everything. It’s not just relaxation—it’s like the body begins to settle into itself, and the mind follows. My heartbeat slows down, and there’s a sense of stillness that opens up inside me. I’m not thinking about being calm. I am calm. And in that stillness, I feel connected—not just to my body, but to something deeper, something wider. Like I’m tapping into a space beyond thought, beyond stress, beyond even emotion.

That’s where transcendental consciousness shows up for me. Not in some abstract spiritual high, but in this grounded, embodied awareness. It’s the feeling of being fully here—aware of my breath, my body, my being—and at the same time, feeling like I’ve let go of something heavy. The stillness doesn’t feel like escape. It feels like home.”

“I’ve written about my recent struggles with TM, which I’ve worked out with my TM instructor and am now back at it again on a daily basis. In one session following this, I had the most incredible experience. On this day, the waters of my mind were calm, slowly lapping against me as I floated on my back on top of the waves, staring up at the cloud-dotted blue sky.

As I closed my eyes fully and repeated my “mantra”, I began to drift down. Normally, I float slowly to the sandy bottom, feet first. This time, for some reason, I somersaulted my way down. Not in an expeditious, rushed manner, but slow, loopy turns. It felt exhilarating! Along the way, a milky-white Beluga Whale circled me, curiously calling out to me with its low repertoire of vocalizations. Perhaps these were my thoughts echoing along the way. I was no longer present as I silently drifted to the bottom. Stillness surrounded me, loudly. Usually, when I meditate, I am left in the inky darkness of the bottom of the ocean, but this time, the sunlight followed me down and bathed me in its bright rays. A peaceful, intimate feeling washed over me, and the rays were now radiating from me.

As I sat in silence, I could feel myself levitating. My mind was crystal clear, and I felt nothing, but at the same time, everything. It was almost erotic in a sense, or like an aphrodisiac. Time ceased to exist, and the universe tuned in.”