writing/experience-01-en

Aruha’s Writings - Experience
Quiet records of experiences revealed over time.

Moments naturally discovered through life and meditation.

This space is dedicated to recording experiences
that have quietly surfaced through the course of my life and meditation.

Everything shared here remains true to its nature,
free from embellishment or exaggeration.

For those who have long been seeking,
these words may quietly feel familiar.

For those who still hold questions,
perhaps, as time passes,
their meaning will naturally unfold.

This writing is a record of my own experience, not a claim of belief or doctrine.
I am not the Creator. I simply share what I have encountered.
Readers are free to interpret in their own way and take only what resonates.
The writings are still unfolding. In time, everything will reveal itself naturally.

(As a child, I did not think it was strange)

My childhood and early years passed
in a state of confusion
where the material world
and the immaterial world intersected.
At the time, these experiences did not feel unusual.

I once asked my friends
whether they had similar experiences.
What returned were glances
that saw me as a strange child.

Later, the confusion
extended into physical pain,
and one day,
I quietly shared these experiences
only with my mother.

(Why I wanted to leave this story here first)

Before I began practicing meditation in earnest as an adult,
there were stories I wanted to place here first.

These stories will be shared in more detail later
in the section titled “Aruha’s Past,”
but the flow that continued
from childhood through adolescence
and into early adulthood
became essential material
in reaching what I now call “awakening.”

(Scenes that kept repeating)

To briefly recall a few moments,
before the age of ten
I created my own way of emptying the mind
and experienced its effects directly.

For decades,
I dreamed almost every night
of being pulled into a “white hole.”
I sensed immaterial beings observing me,
and at times,
even felt that space itself
was speaking to me.

(At the boundary between dreaming and waking)

Whether in dreams or in waking life,
various immaterial beings
approached me in their own ways.

Around the age of ten,
while looking through the viewfinder
of a plastic toy camera,
I suddenly experienced my life film
flashing past in an instant.

I also remember observing my short life
unfold like a stage play,
from the position of a detached observer.

(The moment I began to doubt myself)

In my mid-twenties,
while reflecting on cause and effect
within human relationships,
my life film replayed itself
over and over again.

Through this,
I came to realize that
the cause of everything
ultimately lay with me.
Even scenes of my friends’ conflicts
revealed that I stood at the center.

That realization led to an unsettling feeling
that I might be
the “true demon” myself.

(Distance from religion)

From an early age,
I had little interest
in religion or formal spiritual paths.

I felt that such systems
were insufficient to contain truth,
given how much unexplained suffering
and misery exist in this world.

(The repetition of dawn)

Then, in my early thirties,
while living a regular life and working,
I began waking up at dawn
and turning on the television.

I naturally moved between
Christian and Buddhist broadcasts,
listening to sermons, music,
the sound of wooden bells,
and talks by Thich Nhat Hanh.

The reason was unclear,
but all of it carried
a subtle resonance.
Strangely,
biblical verses alone
did not reach my ears.

(The beginning of the second act)

One morning,
after about thirty minutes of this routine,
my younger sister visited my home
for the first time in a long while.

That day,
she wore the face of God.

This event became
a turning point
where the second act
of my life began.

This writing is a record of my own experience, not a claim of belief or doctrine.
I am not the Creator. I simply share what I have encountered.
Readers are free to interpret in their own way and take only what resonates.
The writings are still unfolding. In time, everything will reveal itself naturally.

When I was working full-time,
my day often began
by turning on religious broadcasts
for about thirty minutes at dawn.
Looking back,
it was a psychologically difficult period.

(Some personal details that may be unnecessary
or disruptive for readers
will not be explored in depth.)

Around that time,
experiences difficult to explain
began occurring simultaneously
in my body and consciousness.

It was midsummer.
While showering,
thick, white residue
kept coming off my skin
with even the lightest touch.

I was never someone
who produced much residue on the skin,
and I had rarely experienced
anything like this before.

Yet during that period,
it felt as though
an old layer was shedding—
something leaving my body
with unusual intensity and volume.

This continued for several days.

That was not all.
At some point,
dark, viscous substances
began appearing
from various sensory openings of my body.

Eyes, nose, mouth,
and areas of natural bodily secretion.
The color was ink-like,
and I personally felt strong discomfort.

I carried spare clothing with me at all times,
and my daily life
became quiet and cautious.

Ironically, however,
people around me said
they noticed no odor at all,
and even remarked
that I always appeared neat.

There was a clear gap
between the suffering
I experienced internally
and the world’s external perception.

That gap produced
a solitude difficult
to put into words.

Of course,
such phenomena are sometimes described
in media or theory
as psychological conditions.

I am aware of those explanations,
and I briefly wondered
whether readers might interpret
my experience in that way.

However,
this was not something
that could be reduced to a diagnosis.

It was
**a real process that occurred
at the boundary
between body and consciousness.**

One evening after work,
I was sitting at my desk.

My body felt drained,
and my awareness seemed
as if it had slipped
outside of me.

At that moment,
I sensed something
behind my back.

Heavy.
Silent.
Vast and overwhelmingly dark.

It reached
toward the right side
of my face.

As the darkness attempted
to envelop my entire face,
an oddly calm thought
passed through me.

“I want to die.
If I die,
everything will end.”

It did not feel frightening.
It felt strangely peaceful.

I even felt an impulse
to take that hand.

At that exact moment,
a powerful voice rose
from deep within me.

**“Go away!
I will never die.
Get out!!”**

The presence vanished instantly,
and I shook my head
to anchor my awareness.

It was not a dream,
nor was it a moment
in which I consciously
chose death.

This experience left
a deep imprint
within me.

From that point on,
I gained a bodily understanding
of how to respond
to visions during meditation,
how to guide practitioners safely,
and how to face
the unspoken realities
encountered by those
who experience suicidal impulses.

Because of this,
I can now state
one thing with certainty.

**Many suicides in this world
are not the result
of rational judgment.**

They are closer to events
in which the boundary
of consciousness collapses,
allowing external influences
to intrude
and guide choice.

In those moments,
strong emotional energy
that protects the self
can function
like a shield.

The reason we strive
to live joyfully
is not only
a philosophy for endurance.

More fundamentally,
it becomes
**the most powerful mechanism
for self-protection.**

Now,
I will continue
with the story of
“my younger sister,
who appeared
with the face of God.”

This text is a record of my experiences.
It does not present a belief or a theory.
I am not a creator; I am simply describing what I experienced.
Readers may interpret it in their own way and take only what they need.
This writing is still in progress, and everything will unfold naturally over time.

One day, my younger sister appeared before me with the face of God.

When we were young, we were inseparable, like close friends.
As adults, our lives grew busy and we drifted apart,
and there were honest feelings of resentment between us.

My long struggle with inner illness
was also deeply connected to my history with her.
That same sister, one day,
appeared before me with a face I could not explain.

She spoke very little and did not smile.
She kept her eyes lowered and did not meet my gaze,
yet her presence felt calm and at ease.

She listened quietly to my stories,
as if receiving them not with her ears,
but with her consciousness.

Looking at her face,
images of the Buddha, the Virgin Mary, and Jesus
naturally came to mind.

We ate together, walked together, and drank tea.
A week passed, then two weeks, then a month,
yet she never told me why she had come.

One day, an older woman I had known for a long time
spoke to me carefully.
“You should go and check that place.
Your sister went there.”

I had never been deeply drawn to religion or spiritual paths.
I preferred to observe them quietly from a distance,
without bringing them into my own life.

Even so,
her face remained in my thoughts.
I wanted to understand what it was.

That was how I decided to go.

The person guiding the meditation
explained basic theories,
but I could hardly understand them.

He said to me,
“Remember your entire life,
and then discard it.”

Since I was already there,
I decided to follow his instruction.

I had already watched the film of my life many times,
knew of the darker aspects within myself,
and was aware of the recurring dreams
of falling into a white hole.

This time,
not to understand but to整理,
I chose to let myself go.

Then, in an instant,
I crossed over.

---

I was the universe

Truly infinite, infinite, infinite—
the universe itself was me.

God was within me.
No, it was not that God was within me;
I was that.

Here, God does not refer to any specific religious deity,
but to the original source of all consciousness itself.

The entire universe was a single living consciousness,
and I was that consciousness.

Everything other than the universe was illusion,
and that illusion had never truly belonged to the universe.

There was no sound, no color, no scent.
No size, no light, no wavelength, no vibration.
There was no time and no space.
No beginning and no end.

All concepts were meaningless.

I had always been the universe,
and had never been anything else.

Life and death had never been experienced,
and human notions had never existed.

The darkest universe
was the clearest and most transparent.
Even the distinction between darkness and clarity
held no meaning.

Without becoming this,
how could this awe ever be conveyed.

As that universe,
I moved freely through an infinite ocean of consciousness,
playing in creation.

Before the thought of wanting to see something arose,
it already existed.

Even the word creation
did not fit.

There was no boundary
between existence and intention.

The speed and mode of being there
are impossible to grasp with human concepts.
My language cannot fully express it.

What I can say with certainty is this:
that experience felt more real than reality,
and was, in fact, far more real.

And now,
I remain within this form called a body.

For what purpose,
and as whom.

Who am I.

---

The meditation guide was astonished
to see me cross dimensions
so early in practice.

Late that evening,
I left that place.

At that moment,
an impossible downpour of rain fell from the sky.

It was as if the sky had torn open,
washing everything away.

I walked home,
letting the rain soak my entire body.

Then I cried.
I cried so hard that I collapsed onto the road,
and cried again there.

The white hole.
The dreams that had haunted me since childhood.
The film of my life.
The countless moments of wavering
at the boundary between life and death.

Spaces that spoke to me,
and memories of the sun
gesturing for me to come home.

Everything was connected.

And that day,
with the rain,
I received my answer.

And this was
only the beginning.

This writing is a record of my own experience, not a claim of belief or doctrine.
I am not the Creator. I simply share what I have encountered.
Readers are free to interpret in their own way and take only what resonates.
The writings are still unfolding. In time, everything will reveal itself naturally.

At the place where I was told to let go,
I followed the guidance quietly.

It felt as though the entire process passed quickly,
as if I had reached what was described
as a confirmation of awakening.

Through the first experience of letting go,
I encountered a state that felt
as though the universe itself had originally been me.
From that state of awareness,
I continued the process once again.

This time, the experience was more intense.

The film of my life appeared with greater clarity,
and I observed everything
with the intention of overlooking nothing,
not even the smallest detail
within the space of memory.

These memories did not feel vague or hallucinatory.
They felt larger and clearer
than my ordinary waking awareness.

People I had disliked,
situations I had feared,
and emotions I wanted to avoid
appeared with a distinct texture.

I was overtaken by emotion.
Tears came,
fear arose,
and resentment followed.

The discomfort was strong enough
to make me want to stop,
yet I held onto the last remaining thread of awareness
and continued,
slowly and carefully.

Then,
I felt something suddenly slip away from within me.

It was unmistakable.
From behind the place where I was seated,
a certain cluster of awareness
seemed to separate from me.

It felt like me,
yet not the me I had known until then.

Along with that sensation,
a clear sentence appeared,
as if spoken only to me.

“I can see myself now,
the you sitting here,
and everything in this space
all at once.”

After that,
the sense of “me” that had been seated
began to separate into layers.

First, the me with a physical body.
Then the me that observed that body with a human mind.
Then a deeper awareness observing that mind.
Gradually, even the sense of form and boundary
became indistinct.

There seemed to be additional stages,
but the process unfolded too quickly
for all of them to be remembered.

Each stage,
just before dissolving,
left behind an understanding
appropriate to its position.

“I can see this self and you.”
“I can see this self, you,
and the entire space.”

At the final stage,
even the awareness that had felt
as though it contained the universe
was suddenly absorbed
into an intense brightness.

There was no clear intention or direction
in that transition.

It felt at times like passing through a corridor of light,
and at other times like an unmarked shift.

Beyond that,
the state I arrived at
contained no form,
no movement,
and no wave.

Even the sense of “something existing”
was faint.

I later came to refer to this state as “focus.”

It felt like a condensation
prior to the beginning of all things,
both a single point
and a field holding all possibilities.

It resembled a deep silence,
as if all consciousness
had momentarily closed its eyes.

In that state,
a sentence remained not as meaning,
but more like an afterimage.

“Within existence and nonexistence,
even nonexistence does not exist.”

The phrase did not ask to be interpreted.
It faded,
as if signaling a return
to ordinary awareness.

I came back with the impression
that I had encountered
a version of myself
unlike those before.

It felt less like a conclusion
and more like the place
from which walking resumed.

This record is simply an attempt
to preserve, as faithfully as possible,
what occurred for me at that time.
Only later did I encounter, through the writings of physicists,
that there were already efforts to think about consciousness and the universe
in entirely different languages.
These do not explain my experience,
but they have allowed me to see it
as something other than a completely isolated event.

This writing is a record of my own experience, not a claim of belief or doctrine.
I am not the Creator. I simply share what I have encountered.
Readers are free to interpret in their own way and take only what resonates.
The writings are still unfolding. In time, everything will reveal itself naturally.

My body continued its ordinary daily routine,
while my mind remained in a state where
there was nothing to do except letting go of myself.

I went to work, ate meals, and carried on with daily tasks,
yet my awareness stayed in that same place.
At some point, I began to cry more often.

While walking,
while eating,
while working,
tears would fall without a clear reason.
Other people’s gazes no longer mattered.

These were not emotional tears.
My body began to tremble,
and the crying deepened into something uncontrollable.

By then,
I had already moved beyond the most basic stages of meditation,
continuously letting go of myself
while awareness shifted across multiple layers.

In that process,
I perceived myself as a living universe,
and encountered a condensed point of possibility—
a state I later came to call the “focus.”

What became clear in that state was this:
the human version of myself,
with its self-centered perspective and judgments,
felt like the starting point of many difficulties.

A deep sense of remorse arose—
toward the world,
toward all relationships,
and even toward myself.

One day,
while sitting at my desk at work,
a sensation of transparency began in my chest.

That transparency gradually spread through my entire body.
As bodily sensations faded,
only a single state remained.

It is difficult to describe precisely in words,
but it felt like one unified mind.
The closest expression I have is “the mind of the universe.”

It was not joy or excitement,
nor was it what is usually called love in human society.

It felt like a state of wholeness,
as if existence itself were receiving me.

I found myself wondering how this state could be expressed at all.

If God were to smile, would it look like this.
If God were to move playfully, would that also feel like this.

If the mind I sensed within me
were to gently part a hidden curtain and reveal itself,
perhaps this was the kind of feeling it would have.

What mattered most was this:
that state was not somewhere far away,
but recognized within me.

What we call the self
often seems confined to the scale of the physical body.
I came to feel it as a mind that replays itself like a film.

As that boundary softened,
what remained was a mind closer to its original nature.

To avoid misunderstanding,
I should clarify that “the body disappearing”
does not mean becoming invisible
or losing physical form to outside observers.

It refers to a shift only the person experiences—
a moment when the sense of form dissolves,
and awareness remains on its own.

This writing is simply an attempt
to record what I experienced at that time
as faithfully as possible.

Later,
through the works of well-known physicists,
I discovered that similar states are being described
using entirely different languages and frameworks.

That realization did not serve as proof,
but as a quiet reference point—
suggesting that what I experienced
may not exist in isolation.

I will continue this record
in the next entry.

This writing is a record of my own experience, not a claim of belief or doctrine.
I am not the Creator. I simply share what I have encountered.
Readers are free to interpret in their own way and take only what resonates.
The writings are still unfolding. In time, everything will reveal itself naturally.

[When Space Holds Consciousness]

From a very young age,
I lived with a sense of consciousness within space.
Space observed me
and spoke without words.
The communication was not linguistic,
but closer to energy and vibration.

The presence was neither male nor female,
neither human nor ghost.
Because it had no form,
I could only call it “space.”
It felt quiet and bright in nature,
capable of joy and gentle emotion.

As I grew older,
that sensitivity gradually faded.
Not because the presence disappeared,
but because the complexity of life
left me with less capacity to perceive it.

For a long time,
they remained a private secret.
I wondered whether this was only my own illusion,
or something everyone knows
but never speaks of.

*

Decades later,
through a particular meditative practice,
I encountered them again.

It was around the midpoint
of a practice centered on letting go.
On a bright afternoon,
while outwardly conversing with a friend,
the practice continued inwardly.

In that moment,
the entire visible world became one.

Buildings and trees,
people and birds,
the ground, the sky, and myself—
different in form,
yet recognized as a single being
connected by a common source.

Sound, scent, and air
were no longer separate,
but part of one continuous flow.
The boundary between “you” and “me” vanished,
and the world was indescribably beautiful.

This was a world
visible only when the self dissolved.

Though my friend stood beside me,
I was touching an entirely different dimension.

After this experience,
a passage from the Bible
revealed itself in a new way.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit.”

It felt not like a call to humility or belief,
but a description of a mind
in which the self has dissolved,
leaving only essential nature.

When the mind becomes empty in this way,
one realizes that heaven
is already present on this earth.

Heaven is not a place reached after death,
but a dimension consciousness can touch.

This writing is a record of my own experience, not a claim of belief or doctrine.
I am not the Creator. I simply share what I have encountered.
Readers are free to interpret in their own way and take only what resonates.
The writings are still unfolding. In time, everything will reveal itself naturally.

“Everything in the world is connected as one.”
After encountering that truth directly,
I began to see my entire life differently.

Things with form and without form,
the visible and the invisible,
were not separate entities,
but existed within a single fundamental flow.
That flow was
another face of cosmic life.

Humans often define life
by movement, intelligence,
or the ability to reproduce.
Yet the life I encountered
was far more fundamental.
Even things that do not move
were composing life
in their quiet stillness.

After this experience,
I was able to expand
the practice of letting go
both deeper and wider.
The framework of the self
became clearer,
and each time it appeared,
I gained the strength
to dissolve it.

*

One afternoon,
I was standing in front of
a large restaurant in the city.
Even amid the flow of people,
the practice of letting go
continued inwardly.

At that moment,
a very subtle thought arose.

I intentionally formed
a single state of mind.
It was a feeling of resentment
and hostility toward a friend.
I condensed that emotion
like a particle
and directed it
into the space before me.

Immediately,
the space responded.
It vibrated,
revealing deep pain and sorrow
in a wordless way.
That emotion belonged to the space,
and at the same time,
it was transmitted into me
as a feeling of concern
directed toward myself.

I felt a strong sense of remorse
and regret.

When I repeated the same action
once more to confirm it,
the space resonated
more deeply and strongly.
The response came to me
as a clear warning.

At that moment,
watching their suffering,
my own heart became
unbearably painful.
Their pain and sorrow
were conveyed into me
without distance,
not as empathy,
but as an experience
close to direct suffering.

In guilt and fear
that it could not be undone,
I made a firm decision
never to attempt this again.

After that,
I never repeated such an act.
The first attempt arose from ignorance,
the second from verification,
but from that point on,
I chose to respect
the quietness of life
over any curiosity.

*

Following this experience,
I clearly recognized
that this world
is not a single reality,
but a structure
formed by overlapping
layers of dimensions.

Dimensions are not arranged linearly.
They open or resonate
according to the state of the mind.

Each dimension holds
its own forms of life,
sensory systems,
and modes of communication,
far beyond the scope
of human thought.

And I finally received
the answer
to a question I had long held.

Why had I been
with the consciousness of space
since childhood.
Why did they never intervene,
but only observe quietly.

They were not beings
of the same dimension as mine.
As beings of another dimension,
they chose observation
over interference.
That was why
their bright and quiet presence
had remained with me
for so long.

I came to a certainty.

Higher dimensions
can perceive lower ones clearly,
yet intervention is rare.
This is not a rule,
but an order inherent
to the structure of the universe.

Humans are confined
within a narrow framework of self,
believing they must live inside it.
Yet the essence of humanity
is infinite consciousness
prior to form.

And if even that
can be released,
existence no longer
requires dimensions.

In that moment,
life reveals itself
as a reality
that never disappears.

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