This Consciousness that is aware

This Consciousness that is aware
Of Neighbors and the Sun
Will be the one aware of Death
And that itself alone

Is traversing the interval
Experience between
And most profound experiment
Appointed unto Men —

How adequate unto itself
Its properties shall be
Itself unto itself and none
Shall make discovery —

Adventure most unto itself
The Soul condemned to be —
Attended by a single Hound
Its own identity.


    -Fr817, J822, sheet 60, late 1865


I find this poem haunting because it leads me to imagine my own death. But it’s also transformative because it leads me to question identity. I’m reminded of Dickinson’s famous statement, “If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.” This poem took my head off.

Let’s start at the beginning. We could spend a while just focusing on the first line of the poem. It’s like a mantra. THIS Consciousness that is aware. This CONSCIOUSNESS that is aware. This consciousness THAT IS aware. This consciousness that is AWARE. 

That first line speaks to pure awareness, a state prior to identity, but the next line gives us two objects of our awareness, which, together, sum up life; neighbors and the Sun.

Neighbors, of course, is a neighborly way of saying “others.” We can only be aware from our own center of consciousness, but then there are all of those other consciousnesses which we can only be aware OF. It is in comparison to these “others” that identity is formed.

The Sun is a compact symbol of life-source and force, of light and warmth, of a power beyond ourselves, and, also, simply, of day. This is a poem, after all, contemplating death. The self is saying goodnight neighbors, so long old Sun.

So if you had to boil awareness down to only two things, it might be neighbors and Sun. And then, finally, the third thing, death.

That lone consciousness…

Will be the one aware of Death
And that itself alone

You were aware of life, and now you will be the “one aware of death.” The singular “one” is echoed in the next line in the word “alone.” All alone you will be…

traversing the interval
Experience between
And most profound experiment
Appointed unto Men —

You will experience this interval between life and death. To think of this as an experiment, indeed, the “most profound experiment appointed unto men” is pure Dickinson. Death as an experiment? What does this mean? It means, I think, that we can’t know the results of our experience with death until we go through the process. What will be the result of this experiment? How will you experience your own death?

How adequate unto itself
Its properties shall be
Itself unto itself and none
Shall make discovery —

This is tough to get and we see here just how formidable a philosopher Dickinson was.

The phrase “adequate unto itself” reflects on the self-sufficiency of consciousness. Dickinson seems to be saying that whatever "properties" the self possesses, they will be adequate (sufficient) for itself, by its own nature. Nothing external is needed for its fulfillment.

That word “adequate” though makes me wonder if this state is something we may achieve, or something that inherently just is?

The answer lives in the tension between being and becoming. Dickinson seems to say the soul is what it is, sufficient unto itself, and no one can know it but itself. But as readers, we may experience that truth as something to grow into, learning to believe in and trust that inherent adequacy, to live from it, not search for it in others’ eyes.

Perhaps that is the quest of the “adventure” pointed to in the next stanza,

Adventure most unto itself
The Soul condemned to be —

Life and death are a kind of epic quest that happens entirely within. The word condemned is a telling one. We are trapped in our own consciousness. The adventure is a scary one, a battle. The adventure is grappling with isolation, and finally, the loss of identity.

It’s heroic in a quiet, harrowing way.

An “adventure unto itself” implies a quest for understanding, yet Dickinson says “none shall make discovery.” Even as the soul journeys inward, it can never fully know itself. Consciousness is bottomless.

Those final lines are the most thought-provoking and transformative.

Adventure most unto itself
The Soul condemned to be —
Attended by a single Hound
Its own identity.

The adventure for the soul is in the attempt to shake the hound of identity. It’s this that makes death such a terrifying prospect.

We're attached to identity because it is our sense of continuity and the coherence of all of our memories, our thoughts and feelings. We build our identities like narratives. We don’t just live, we interpret our lives, and identity is the spine of that interpretation.We're attached because identity gives meaning to our experience. It allows us to be seen and remembered. Without that story, we feel lost.

To let go of identity even for a moment is to fall into mystery, to admit you don’t fully know who you are, aren’t in total control of yourself. 

That’s terrifying. And also, maybe, where freedom begins. When the hour comes, can we best the hound of identity? And how about starting now?

I think of the epitaph on Keats' grave, "Here lies one whose name is writ on water."

And I also think of Dickinson's poem which seems to be about Keats, Fr448, "We talked between the Rooms/ Until the Moss had reached our lips/ And covered up — Our names —"

    -/)dam Wade l)eGraff 

Identity by Alfred Gescheidt

P.S. I just finished writing about Fr823, in which this idea of "experiment" comes back, and now I'm more inclined to think the experiment Dickinson refers to here is whether or not we can learn to love. It's more about what we do with that "interval."