If you’re unfamiliar with Hofstadter’s definition of consciousness, refer to my blog post from last week where I summarize it.
Consciousness is the infinite spiral of self-reflection, which is inherently an isolating experience. It’s you constantly redefining how it is that your are separate and distinct from everything else.
Ergo, you are unique.
Ergo, you are alone.
Love is finding another consciousness to share in that loneliness.
Sex is clearly linked to love (not saying all sex is an expression of love, just that the two are related frequently). This next part is very anecdotal, but so is most of of what I say anyways. Deal with it.
When sex can be more described as ‘making love’, it’s got a synchronizing quality. The bodies tune to each other and you enter a flow/Zen kind of state. Words become difficult to use effectively, but also unnecessary. There’s a different form of communication, its bodily and non-verbal; using the face and hands, and especially the eyes. Possibly in a physical sense, your brain shifts away from the analytical and linguistic portions. This is actually what allows that intense Zen feeling to happen.
Back to love being what makes consciousness bearable. It’s this interlocking between two selves that breaks the barriers that the concept of ‘I’ entails. Literature is full of love because the people who so desperately need it are the ones really trapped in that cycle of consciousness. Therefore they are more introspective but also more lonely.