I have to make several attempts at defining the concept of expanding consciousness so that it actually makes sense. Otherwise, it stays an abstract idea that you either eventually understand or you do not.
The first time I jumped out of an airplane, I was strapped to an instructor. I did not have much to do except stay calm and act like human luggage. I remember clearly that the most intense part of that first jump was the feeling of total detachment from anything solid. There was no earth beneath my feet and no airplane holding me up. We tumbled into the sky and accelerated fast. The noise of the wind was deafening. Some people experience sheer terror during freefall. Others feel total freedom. I was smiling like a maniac through my fear. I even laughed out loud, not realizing the instructor could never hear a thing over the wind.
That first jump gave me about sixty seconds of freefall at over 120 miles per hour. At that speed, your awareness narrows down to a few key things. You notice the ground, the horizon, the wind blasting into your face, and the wild sensation of falling. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that death is a possibility, but there is a strange calm that comes with trusting the system.
I loved the experience so much that I went back. In 1992, I enrolled in ground school and spent six hours learning about skydiving theory. I practiced body positions on the floor, pulled simulated ripcords in a training harness, watched instructional videos, and listened closely to safety briefings. Then, as long as the weather held up, you were scheduled for your first solo jump.
That jump was a different experience entirely. You had to remember everything. You had to stabilize your exit, check your altimeter, communicate with jumpmasters through hand signals, and at 5500 feet, you had to pull your ripcord. Once that parachute was open, you were truly on your own. In the event of a malfunction, you were trained to release the main chute and deploy the reserve. On one hand, you were still a novice. On the other, you were expected to be ready for anything.
By your seventh jump, the jumpmasters are no longer holding on to you. Maybe a camera flyer exits with you to film the freefall. Maybe you smile more. Maybe you notice things you missed before. You might even look down from two miles up and spot your car in the parking lot. By the fifteenth jump, you start thinking about random things during freefall. You might wonder if there will be traffic on the way home or whether the sushi place closes early on Sundays.
The more times you jump, the more your awareness expands. You start noticing not just the basics but the environment, your form, how you fall, and how you relate to others falling with you. You begin to control your movements, your orientation, your trajectory. You become conscious of more.
That entire experience reminds me of how consciousness expands in life. We are born into freefall. The rush of adrenaline, the blast of stimuli, the total immersion. Our awareness is limited at first. But as we grow and repeat experiences, our brain develops patterns. Repetition imprints the system. We learn by doing something over and over again. And we eventually gain the ability to override some of our instincts through awareness and intelligence.
This is why meditation is so powerful. At first, it may feel pointless. You might not relax. You might not concentrate. You may feel restless or distracted. But if you show up daily, even for just a few minutes, and commit to the process without skipping days, something will eventually shift. On some days, go deeper. Occasionally, retreat completely into the practice. But never skip the daily touchpoint. With time, something clicks.
You do not need to worry if it is working. It will work. It is not magic, but it is reliable. Just like skydiving, the more you show up, the more your awareness expands. And what once seemed impossible will eventually become second nature.