The Experience of Consciousness: Buoyancy

Gravity can be understood not only as a physical force, but as a tendency toward orientation. It is a predisposition to move—or to be drawn—in a particular direction. Orientation in the opposite direction could be described, metaphorically, as antigravity.

The decision to orient in one direction or another precedes physical movement. That decision arises within consciousness. Here, consciousness refers not to abstract awareness, but to a prior impulse—a thought-force or inner inclination that comes before action takes form.

Gravity may also be described as attraction: the pull of a larger body upon smaller ones. The more objects gathered within its influence, the stronger and more unquestioned that influence becomes. Over time, what began as attraction starts to feel natural, inevitable, even unquestionable.

To offset gravity’s pull—especially when it becomes habitual—there must be a counterbalance. That counterbalance can be described as antigravity: not resistance, but a competing orientation. When both forces are equally present, a state of suspension becomes possible. In Great River terms, this is neutral buoyancy.

There is a familiar saying: What goes up must come down.
We rarely hear the equally valid inverse: What comes down must go up.

The first reflects a gravitational bias. The second restores balance.

When both orientations are held equally, suspension becomes possible. But when only one orientation is habitually acknowledged, we become predisposed toward it—toward descent, toward heaviness, toward what pulls most strongly. This predisposition does not remain abstract. It shapes mood, perception, belief, and behavior. We find ourselves drawn toward people, ideas, institutions, or goals with greater “mass.” We may even describe ourselves as feeling “down.”

Over time, the ability to think freely diminishes—not because free will has disappeared, but because its operating range has narrowed. What we call “free thinking” often occurs within a highly constrained field, yet we mistake that constrained movement for genuine freedom.

In this condition, larger forces—social, psychological, ideological—exert disproportionate influence. The individual becomes easier to steer, not through coercion, but through orientation. Like static on a radio, gravitational interference reduces clarity. And without clarity, choice weakens.

If a smaller body is born, lives, and dies entirely within the gravitational field of a larger body, no alternative orientation is known. When no alternative is perceived, choice does not disappear—but it becomes invisible. Action then feels compulsory rather than chosen. This is the root of the common sentiment: I feel as though I am living a life not entirely of my own choosing.

Within such a field, the experience of force replaces the experience of choice.

Suspension restores perspective.

When belief is suspended—not rejected, but temporarily released—orientation loosens. Neutral buoyancy becomes possible. From this position, we are no longer pulled exclusively toward what is heaviest or loudest. Awareness regains flexibility. Jiu becomes available.

This is not opposition to gravity. It is balance within it.

From neutral buoyancy, we can witness the forces acting upon us without being unconsciously carried by them. We remain grounded while not being bound. We regain the ability to choose orientation consciously, rather than by habit.

This is the suspension of belief—not disbelief, but freedom from automatic alignment. It is the condition that allows clarity to return, and with it, genuine choice.