By Satyabrat Borah
In the quiet recesses of human thought, where the tangible meets the intangible, lies a profound mystery: the nature of reality itself. For centuries, philosophers, scientists, and mystics have grappled with the question of what constitutes the world we perceive. Is reality an objective expanse of matter and energy, indifferent to our existence, or is it something far more intimate—a creation woven from the very fabric of our consciousness? This idea, that reality emerges not as an independent entity but as a product of mindful awareness, challenges the foundations of our everyday assumptions. It posits that what we call the world is not a fixed stage upon which we perform, but a dynamic canvas painted by the observer. At the heart of this notion lies another: consciousness as the delicate boundary between the self and the world, a permeable membrane that both separates and connects, defines and dissolves.
To understand this, we must first peel back the layers of conventional wisdom. In the Western tradition, reality has long been viewed through the lens of materialism, where the universe unfolds according to immutable physical laws. Thinkers like René Descartes, with his famous declaration “I think, therefore I am,” inadvertently planted the seed of subjectivity by anchoring certainty in the mind. Yet, Descartes himself drew a sharp line between the res cogitans—the thinking substance of the self—and the res extensa—the extended substance of the material world. This dualism created an unbridgeable chasm, suggesting that consciousness observes reality from afar, like a spectator at a play. But what if this separation is an illusion? What if consciousness is not merely a passive witness but the active architect of the scene?
Enter the quantum revolution, which in the twentieth century began to blur these lines in ways that echo ancient intuitions. In the famous double-slit experiment, electrons fired at a barrier with two slits produce an interference pattern, behaving as waves when unobserved, but collapsing into particles when measured. The act of observation alters the outcome. Physicists like Werner Heisenberg and Niels Bohr wrestled with this, leading to the Copenhagen interpretation: reality at its most fundamental level is probabilistic, shaped by the observer’s interaction. John Wheeler, a pioneer in quantum information theory, took this further with his “participatory universe” concept, arguing that the universe requires observers to bring it into being. We do not discover reality; we co-create it through acts of measurement and perception. This scientific whisper aligns with the philosophical thunder of idealism, as espoused by George Berkeley, who proclaimed “esse est percipi”—to be is to be perceived. In Berkeley’s view, objects persist not through inherent substance but through perpetual perception by a divine or collective mind. Extrapolate this to the individual: your reality, the chair you sit on, the screen you read from, exists because your consciousness sustains it in the moment of encounter.
Yet, this creation is not arbitrary or solipsistic, a dream spun from ego alone. Consciousness operates as a boundary, a threshold where the infinite potential of the self interfaces with the apparent solidity of the world. Imagine the mind as a vast ocean, boundless and fluid, lapping against the shores of form. The self, that core of “I-ness,” resides in the depths, a singular point of awareness amid the waves. The world, by contrast, presents as the shoreline,rocks, sand, horizon,distinct yet shaped by the tide’s caress. This boundary is not a wall but a skin, alive and responsive. It filters the chaos of pure potentiality into coherent experience. Without it, the self would dissolve into undifferentiated oneness, a state mystics describe as enlightenment or nirvana, where subject and object merge. With it, duality arises: me versus not-me, inner versus outer. This demarcation allows for the drama of existence—the joy of connection, the ache of separation, the pursuit of meaning.
In Eastern philosophies, this boundary finds elegant expression. In Advaita Vedanta, the non-dual school of Hinduism, consciousness is Brahman, the ultimate reality, and the world is maya, an illusion projected by the mind. The self (atman) is not separate from the world but veiled by ignorance, much like a rope mistaken for a snake in the dim light. The boundary here is avidya, or ignorance, which consciousness pierces through self-inquiry. Ramana Maharshi, a twentieth-century sage, urged seekers to ask, “Who am I?” to dissolve the illusory divide. Similarly, in Zen Buddhism, the koan “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” points to the absurdity of rigid boundaries, inviting direct realization of emptiness (shunyata). Consciousness, in these traditions, is the ground of being, and reality its ephemeral play. The world appears solid only because we cling to the boundary; release it, and all dissolves into luminous awareness.
But how does this boundary function in the mundane? Consider perception itself. Colors, sounds, textures—these are not properties of the external world but interpretations by the brain, a neural symphony orchestrated by consciousness. Neuroscientist Anil Seth describes this as “controlled hallucination”: our brains predict and construct reality based on sensory inputs, prior beliefs, and expectations. In experiments with binocular rivalry, where each eye sees a different image, consciousness flips between them, selecting one reality over another. There is no objective “out there” waiting to be seen; only the boundary of awareness decides what enters the self’s domain. Emotions amplify this: fear sharpens edges, making the world a threat; love softens them, revealing interconnectedness. The boundary is thus not static but malleable, sculpted by intention, culture, and experience.
This interplay has profound implications for how we live. If reality is a creation of consciousness, then suffering often stems from mistaking the projection for the projector. The ego, that vigilant guardian of the boundary, constructs narratives of lack, conflict, and isolation—wars over resources, anxieties over impermanence. Yet, by attending to the boundary, we can rewrite the script. Practices like mindfulness meditation train us to observe thoughts without identification, loosening the grip of duality. In a moment of pure presence, the self expands, and the world softens into unity. Artists and creators intuit this: a painter does not copy the landscape but evokes it through inner vision, birthing a new reality on canvas. Scientists, too, in moments of eureka, transcend the boundary, glimpsing truths that reshape our collective world.
Critics, of course, balk at this. Materialists argue that consciousness is an emergent property of brain matter, a byproduct rather than a creator. They point to brain scans showing neural correlates of experience, suggesting the mind is enslaved to biology. But this confuses the map with the territory. Just as a radio receives signals without producing them, the brain may channel consciousness without generating it. Near-death experiences, where individuals report vivid realities during clinical death,when brain activity flatlines,challenge reductive views. Tibetan Book of the Dead describes bardos, intermediate states where consciousness crafts realms from karmic seeds, unbound by flesh. Whether mystical or empirical, these accounts suggest the boundary persists beyond the body, hinting at a consciousness more fundamental than matter.
Extending this, consider collective consciousness. If individual minds create personal realities, then shared beliefs forge communal ones. Myths, religions, economies,these are mass hallucinations sustained by collective attention. The placebo effect exemplifies this: sugar pills heal because we believe they do, consciousness bending biology to its will. In quantum terms, entangled particles mirror this interconnectedness, where distant events correlate instantaneously, defying space-time boundaries. Perhaps society is a grand entanglement, where one mind’s focus ripples into others, co-creating the shared dream we call civilization.
As we navigate this boundary, a paradox emerges: to fully inhabit the self, we must transcend it; to embrace the world, we must recognize its illusoriness. Consciousness, as creator and boundary, invites us to play with both. In acts of compassion, they divide things, self extending into others. In solitude, it thickens, allowing introspection’s gifts. Ultimately, this perspective liberates. No longer victims of an indifferent cosmos, we become artists of existence, wielding awareness like a brush. Reality, once a prison of facts, unfolds as a poem of possibilities.
The statement “reality is a creation of consciousness” is not a dismissal of the world but an invitation to deeper engagement. And “consciousness is the boundary between the self and the world” reminds us that this engagement is intimate, ongoing, and alive. We stand at the edge, not as exiles, but as sovereigns—shaping, being shaped, forever dancing on the threshold. What world will you create today?
