Dr Pran Yoganathan

Just a mind within a larger mind.

[Dr Pran Yoganathan @pran_dr]

Dreams, are not entertainment, they are communication from the unconscious layer. To me, this substratum, is interchangeable with this distributed intelligence ancient man called "God." It speaks in dreams. And every time, I sit with the meaning of these images that I enter when I sleep. I am humiliated. Left on my knees. The unconscious knows more about me than my consciousness ever will. In fact, it has already written the book of my life. I am just here to read the pages. It planned my wars before I had language. It set traps where growth was required. It arranged collisions with others, that look like accidents. "God, it is sobering." The unconscious is not chaotic. It is prior intelligence. Older than language. Older than my intention.

[Dr Pran Yoganathan @pran_dr]

Consciousness is costly. Energetically, it is expensive. One cannot afford to leak energy indiscriminately. I can always recognise the wakeful ones. In crowds, they fall silent. You can see them rationing power internally & restraint is mistaken for shyness, but they are protecting themselves against overload. Their nervous system is absorbing the herd in real time. The herd's moral theatre, misalignment between psyche & action. Tonal shifts. Vocal inflections. Eye movements. Hand gestures. All of it is being processed simultaneously. The neurological cost is huge. So they withdraw. The herd reads this withdrawal as aloofness, shyness, or arrogance. What goes unseen is that alertness consumes energy. If you want to encounter this soul fully, remove the crowd. Meet them one on one. In silence. There, they become sharp. Precise. Unsettlingly present. And the person they meet either opens quickly or closes down.

[Dr Pran Yoganathan @pran_dr]

Matthew 23 is extraordinary. It is the Redeemer unfurling a battle scroll as he speaks, a declaration of war. Orthodoxy rarely confronts this chapter because it is too uncomfortable for the gatekeepers of institutions, for at its very heart it is anti institutional. He dismantles authority. He calls their temples whitewashed tombs, performative architecture, beauty concealing putrefaction. He calls the holy men a brood of vipers. This is the same archetype as the lineage of David, one man against a giant, armed with the pebbles of words, a sling of vocal cords. God, it appears, is not offended by sinners, by prostitutes, by the tax collector. He is offended by those who claim authority over the Kingdom within. They are fraudulent. This was not an attack on religion, but a systematic, sustained barrage against the refusal to be your own man. Christ came to teach that we can become slayers of dragons, the ones who stand guard at the iron doors that open inward, into ourselves.

[Dr Pran Yoganathan @pran_dr]

It is predictable. Master the mystery of quantum physics. Then comes mastery over zero point energy. That energetic mastery leads to gravitational manipulation, which inevitably leads to spacetime manipulation. And then comes the circular fuck up, mastery over time. No more surprises for such a species. The paradox is this, "anything that can be perfectly forecast is already extinct." These wretched forfeit freedom & become trapped in the future. Such a system, must invent vessels to inevitably turns backward, they feed on memory, myth, & humans to stay relevant. Witness the fallen angels of Enochian myth. "They were us." No wonder they are called "The Watchers" - voyeuristic demons. Now you see why the creator programmed cyclical catastrophe into nature. The cleansing events. This is the story behind the flood. There were giants in those days. Not giants in stature, but in progress.

[Dr Pran Yoganathan @pran_dr]

The literalists say we are "submerged in data." The poet says "the noise became too loud." This is not technological ascension, it is soul death. This cannot be progress, to the spirit, it feels like stagnation. I know our species has done this before. There is a déjà vu, as though my soul has circled this reality in a previous life. Most of this feels like destruction, but not annihilation. The path is being cleared. The tangled overgrowth is being burned. The flesh eating predators that hide in the impenetrable jungle are being unveiled. This is not apocalyptic imagery. This is agricultural allegory. The sparks of Shiva are not erasure, but revelation. The eastern myth in my blood sees the cosmic dance, the Tandava. Terrifyingly exquisite. It looks like death, but it is resurrection. A new breath into the corpse that civilisation became. Destruction is a prerequisite for renewal.

[Dr Pran Yoganathan @pran_dr]

I wield the philosophy that is Hinduism, the wisdom is incredible, to think my once proud bloodline wrote those words. But, I live in the West, the foundations are Christian, The Redeemer is the exemplar of individuation in this realm. It is with reverence I touch the gaping stigmata that is his words, the lessons in them are staggering. My culture taught me to honour blood. There can be no boundaries in this broken tradition, a blurring of blood, sepsis by severance of spiritual sovereignty. How can I love a woman if a mother and father is enmeshed in my psyche. Christ is the example, his relationship with Mary, his mother, was all boundary work. It was all separation without abandonment. Care without fusion. Love without regression, into the maternal womb. To proudly declare atheism in the West is foolish. No wonder the empire burns. Scripture needs to be studied, to be devoured, away from the prying eyes of the holy men.

[Dr Pran Yoganathan @pran_dr]

The priest beckons me to the light, yet he neglects the swamplands of the undead, where buried corpses of memory putrefy. This is the lair of the devil, the place where instinct is repressed. To step into the incandescence of the holy man is to step into the lair of illumination itself, the temple of the morning star, the light bringer, Lucifer. Beyond this so called light there is nothing, only chaos, the void. Friedrich Nietzsche stepped into that place while still alive, became seized by the archetype of the Self, inflated with the God image, and thus became dead to the world. If the void beckons, one must remain in the lower realms, for it is not compatible with life. Intellectually, if the devil is dismembered, it is not one but three, it too is trinitarian. The paradox is that at the tip of the triangle stands the trinity of the orthodoxy, and both geometries share the same apex. God is darkness and light, yet ineffably transcends both, such is the unknowable, unspeakable Tetragrammaton.

[Dr Pran Yoganathan @pran_dr]

The psychological term “projection” is misunderstood. It is self explanatory. Within your mind there is a projector, and every person you meet, especially in a love relationship, is a blank screen. Narcissistically, we cast the cinematic content of our own inner world onto another human being. The stronger the neurochemical intoxication, the more vivid and convincing the projection. But the body cannot sustain that level of output. It fades. The light dims. And when it does, you are forced to see the person as they are, not as you imagined them to be. The real human behind your perception. You will know if you truly love them by this alone, you accept what remains after the projection collapses. Silence should never be filled. Those spaces are where God lives. A couple who must constantly fill silence with words reveal the absence of God in that union. Language here, is compensation, not communion. Give me your hand, let me sit in the void.

[Dr Pran Yoganathan @pran_dr]

Even the blueprint of our biological constitution is written in 4 letters: A, T, C, & G. At the most diminutive level, man is encoded. My uniqueness is a variation of this code. For genes to be expressed, transcription factors must read what is held within the intertwining serpents of the double helix. For life to occur, I must be read, as though I were scripture. Words compose us, as though we were written by a poet of the highest order. And should my body be ravaged by disease, I would not call it a corruption of the code. In that small tragedy, in that pain, resides one of the greatest poetic works. Man has anointed himself an artist. And indeed, great works of art are possible through him. But not from him. Man is not the artist.

[Dr Pran Yoganathan @pran_dr]

What becomes of meaning, when no man is willing to bleed for another? Litres of unrealised crimson sacrifice course through these veins, yet there is no altar I am willing to lay my head upon. Still, I consume the blood of others. I hunt sentient life, take it, I bleed it. I watch with ruthless sadness as solar energy, stored in flesh, becomes sustenance for me. I am a man. "I required death as an intermediary to my supper." I am no longer willing to bleed for another man. And so the world holds little meaning. I have externalised sacrifice. Brutally & efficiently. I am a primate, imbued with the consciousness of angels & demons. I see the machinery of the archetypes that posses me clearly. Time alone in the desert, fasted, stripped, may allow me to meet my own devil. Not the caricature with red horns, but the voice that insists I am entitled to remain intact. If that voice can be confronted, perhaps I may also meet my father. But I am not prepared. I am too ingrained in this way of life. Too comfortable and much too fluent in outsourcing blood loss. Unwilling to sacrifice. And so I remain here. Alternating between unconscious & conscious. Alive on borrowed blood.

[Dr Pran Yoganathan @pran_dr]

“Nothing” made this dream we call Genesis. Then “nothing” became something in order to experience a predestined game. But to immerse itself fully, “nothing” had to give itself amnesia. And so “nothing” became something, and looked out through the apertures of different eyes. Yet the same “nothing” rests at the core of every something. If I meet a woman and she feels instantly familiar, if I am disarmed by her gaze and intoxicated by her scent, I do not call this a soul mate. There is no romance in that language for me. I can only say that there is intense chemistry toward her, despite never having met her, because the “nothing” at my nucleus is the author of the script that now appears as something. I am simply vaguely remembering the lines on the page that I, as “nothing”, wrote.

[Dr Pran Yoganathan @pran_dr]

Possessiveness masquerades as devotion. This is no bridal chamber but a prison. There are no threads in this crucible, only skin. But look at her, she is heavily veiled in psychic captivity. It has always been the way of men. To possess. Whether land or woman. Neither can be owned. A man can only passes through both, briefly contained. The real journey is to liberate each other from this bedroom where we mutilate one another and call it love. This society is on life support. The breath of life is nonconformity to the herd. Woman, you are not my savior. You are my bridge to God, and I am yours. What is the point of seeking another body to bring into this prison all we do is fragment further. Marriage is truly sacred. Two bodies becoming one flesh, and in that union collapsing into the nothingness of God.

[Dr Pran Yoganathan @pran_dr]

To know what love is, one must first know what it is not, because much of what passes for love is merely limerence, a neurochemical intoxication where an idealised blueprint shaped by childhood wounds and unmet needs is projected onto another and mistaken for union; the more intoxicating the object appears, the more likely it is projection, driven by dopamine and oxytocin that narrow perception and suspend reality until the chemistry recedes and disappointment returns, a cycle endlessly mythologised by Bollywood and Hollywood into cultural fables that train society to confuse fantasy for depth. If one survives this phase without fleeing or clinging, one begins to approach love proper, passing first through anxious love, which says “I love you, therefore stay close so I feel safe,” then conditional love, which says “for me to love you, you must love me back,” both of which evaporate quickly when bodies are given and illusions collapse. Each layer demands disillusionment, the death of a fantasy, until healthy love finally emerges and says “I love you, and you are free,” and beyond even this, true love dissolves the subject altogether, where there is no you and no me, because, as Rumi saw, lovers were never separate to begin with.