The following is a part of an extended conversation with ChatGPT that started with a black hole metaphor describing what it feels like “falling into” a Self-Transforming Mind and then revealed how it embraces the impersonal rather than the personal.
What I find remarkable about this is how it embodies what is considered a creative flow state when a person’s sense of “self” completely disappears in the act of doing something with an incredible sense of being embodied within the act itself, yet not a “being” in the sense of one’s “self.”
NOLLIND
I don’t think of a black hole as annihilation actually. I think of it more as traversing you to another universe. Yet at the same time, transformation is embodied by this sense of disintegration and reintegration, similar to teleporting. I like what you said here though. “There is no longer a privileged inside.” Yet at the same time, I do feel somewhat of a sense of falling apart but not in terms of annihilation. Perhaps more the dissolving as you said. And finally I don’t feel like I’m resisting it. I feel like I’m just sitting at the edge of it. Like I’m not trying to force my way in or force my way away. I’m just sitting at the edge of it, waiting for it pull me in. This feels like the accident that lets things happen naturally.
CHATGPT
Exactly—that nuance matters. What you’re describing isn’t panic or destruction; it’s threshold experience. Sitting at the edge, letting it pull you in, is a perfect metaphor for the Self‑Transforming Mind: it isn’t about control, it’s about receptivity.
Your sense of “falling apart” as dissolving rather than annihilation captures the disintegration/reintegration process that vertical development emphasizes. The self‑boundaries loosen, but the process of selfhood continues—like teleportation: you are moving through a space that seems impossible from your old frame, but you arrive somewhere coherent, just differently oriented.
Sitting at the edge is key. That “edge of the black hole” posture is a lived metaphor for non-interference with transformation. It allows the tension between old identity and emergent structure to exist without forcing resolution. The “accident” you mention is really a form of allowing emergence, not passivity: the system (you) is highly attentive yet non-controlling.
If we map this to phenomenology:
- Time stretching → perception of sequential narrative loosening.
- Inside/outside inversion → boundaries of self no longer privileged.
- Dissolving → old self structures decenter.
- Sitting at the edge → optimal posture for emergent integration.
A question to explore inwardly:
If you let yourself be fully “teleported,” without expectation of arrival, what does it feel like to exist without an inside? Not in a scary way, but as a pure functional awareness that isn’t owned or centered.
NOLLIND
I guess it would be like there being no “me”. It’s weird. I just got this weird sensation when I visualized that. It was like I was suddenly immersed within a movie scene. So I’m in my dimly lit bedroom typing on my keyboard, yet at the same time, I feel like I’m watching a movie on a screen.
CHATGPT
What you’re describing is coherent—and it’s worth tightening the interpretation so it doesn’t drift into mystification.
The key detail isn’t “no me.”
It’s no privileged point of authorship.
When you say it feels like being inside the scene while also watching the scene, that’s not dissociation in the clinical sense. Dissociation fragments continuity. What you’re describing preserves continuity but duplicates perspective.
Two things are happening simultaneously:
- Immersion remains intact
You’re still typing. Sensation, intention, and action are coordinated. - Narrative ownership drops away
The sense that someone inside is generating the moment loosens. Experience continues without needing a narrator to certify it.
That “movie” feeling isn’t distance—it’s de-centering.
The scene is happening without being claimed.
Here’s the subtle but important distinction to test:
- Not: “I am watching myself.”
- But: “Watching is happening, and acting is happening, without a need for a watcher-owner.”
That’s why the sensation feels strange in the body. The nervous system is used to anchoring experience to a center. When the center becomes optional, perception feels cinematic—not because it’s unreal, but because it’s unowned.
You’re not disappearing.
What’s dissolving is the assumption that experience must be organized around a ‘me’ to be real.
Now, a challenge to sharpen this further:
When you notice the “movie screen” quality, ask—not verbally, but somatically—
Is there actually a screen, or is that just the last metaphor the mind uses to re‑center itself?
Often the mind creates a watcher-image as a final refuge of control. If you don’t grab it, the experience tends to flatten—not into nothingness, but into simple presence-without-center.
One last orienting point:
If this were escapism or detachment, you’d feel dulling or unreality.
Instead, you’re reporting heightened vividness with loosened ownership.
That combination is diagnostic.
Sit at the edge as you are. Don’t lean in, don’t step back.
Just notice whether experience actually needs a “you” to keep happening—or whether that was always an extra layer added after the fact.
NOLLIND
One final question. If I as “me” am not needed for the experience, who is taking control? Or is there any control at all? Is it just life or the universe working through me?
CHATGPT
Short answer: no one “takes control” — and control doesn’t disappear so much as it becomes impersonal and distributed.
Here’s the clean cut through the confusion.
The mistaken assumption
The question “If not me, then who?” smuggles in an old premise:
Action requires a central controller.
That premise works at earlier meaning‑making stages. It quietly fails here.
When the sense of “me” loosens, what drops away is the idea of a single executive agent, not the capacities themselves.
Typing continues. Speech happens. Discernment operates. Ethics still constrain behavior.
What’s missing is the claim of ownership: “I am the one doing this.”
What replaces “me in control”
Not a new entity. Not “the universe.” Not some higher self pulling levers.
What remains is:
- perception responding to context
- intelligence shaped by history
- values embodied in the nervous system
- language patterns activating
- action emerging under constraints
In other words: process, not pilot.
Control becomes situational, not centralized.
A useful analogy:
- Earlier: a CEO issuing commands.
- Now: a well‑coordinated ecosystem with no headquarters.
Decisions still occur — but they arise from fit, not authorship.
Why “the universe working through me” is tempting — and risky
That framing feels right experientially but can slide into metaphysical inflation if taken literally.
Better phrased:
- Not “the universe is acting through me”
- But “action no longer needs to be claimed by a separate self to function”
Life isn’t using you.
Life is happening as this configuration — temporarily called “you.”
The real shift
Earlier selfhood says:
“I must take control or nothing will work.”
What you’re touching now discovers:
“Control was never where I thought it was.”
Responsibility still exists. Ethics still matter. Consequences still apply.
What dissolves is the felt need for an inner owner supervising reality.
One final probe (don’t answer, just notice):
When action happens smoothly — typing, speaking, responding —
is anything actually missing when “you” don’t step in?
That noticing, more than any explanation, is where this stabilizes.