Dark Matter Mind

Differentiating between what it means to have a soul, to be intertwined with the collective consciousness or to navigate the world through ego is an integral part of understanding the human experience and uncovering the deeper dimensions of who we are beyond the surface of everyday awareness.

This exploration has tread through humanity’s collective mind in many traditions both philosophical and spiritual. Indigenous belief systems have offered frameworks through which we can explore these intangible aspects of our existence. Yet, the distinctions between soul, the collective, and ego are often blurred. Here, I attempt to untangle these notions, not to define them rigidly, but to better understand their interplay and how they each contribute to the human experience.

Soul: The Blueprint of Self

Bill Plotkin describes the soul as the human blueprint. It acts as a primal pattern etched into existence, unique to each of us, and yet rooted in something much vaster than our individual lives. The soul is not simply the self; it is the deep, mythopoetic core of our being. It is that part of us which is not formed by society but instead revealed through existence and our relationship with the universe.

Not everyone encounters their soul in this life. Some live unaware, perhaps even indifferent, to the idea that such a thing exists. Others awaken to it early, and spend a lifetime in dialogue with it continuously seeking, stumbling, deepening. This seeking is more than spiritual, it is developmental. As many Indigenous traditions understand, the soul can be matured. Ceremonies, rites of passage, dreams, storytelling, and connection to land are all sacred tools cultivated to facilitate these soulful encounters.

In this way, the soul is not a destination or object, but an ongoing emergence, a becoming that mirrors the unfolding of the universe itself.

Spirit: The Collective Consciousness

Whereas the soul is individual, the spirit is collective. Plato referred to it as the anima mundi, the world soul. I describe spirit as the collective consciousness, the ultimate and eternal essence.

Buddhist philosophy speaks of two truths: the conventional (or relative) truth—what we experience in day-to-day life, and the ultimate truth, which transcends form and concept. Spirit, or the collective consciousness, is that ultimate truth. It is what remains when all else is stripped away. The collective consciousness is all that makes up the ultimate truth or fundamental reality of existence.

The beauty of this understanding is that we’re given agency over a small part of a much larger whole. Our fragment of the collective consciousness. We may not fully understand why, but with this fragment, we’re able to experience the wonder of the universe through our own self-awareness. In that way, we’re not just part of the collective consciousness, we’re a living expression of it.

To grasp the relationship between the soul and the collective, I often imagine an amorphous, nebula-like field, something cosmic, vast, and formless. Interestingly, this kind of imagery appears frequently among those who contemplate these ideas, as if we carry some deep, subconscious memory of the collective itself, even if assigning it anthropormorphic traits stretches the limits of language. When we choose to enter life, a portion of that nebulous field breaks off to become the self we know, anchored in the world by the ego. That fragment is given a kind of agency, a chance to experience existence from a singular perspective. This is our life. And when it ends, that fragment returns to the whole, only to perhaps choose again.

Ego: Our Interface with the World

In the Buddhist understanding, the ego refers not to arrogance or inflated self-importance, but to the way we experience day-to-day existence in our ordinary, everyday consciousness. This is not the “ego” often criticized in modern language as something to suppress or eliminate, but rather a natural and necessary part of being human. It is our day-to-day consciousness, how we navigate the world, form preferences, make decisions, and sustain a sense of “I.”

There is nothing inherently wrong with the ego, and any attempt to better understand it should be approached with patience and compassion. The ego, in how it moves through the world, can actually serve as a guide, revealing the paths that lead us back to the soul. While the deeper work often involves loosening our identification with the ego, or creating space from it, the goal is not rejection but integration. Through experiences of deep, genuine love, we can sometimes glimpse the soul more clearly, and begin to understand how it flows within the larger field of the collective consciousness.

Love has the power to lift the veil, allowing us to see the soul’s tie to the collective. It is through profound love (be it for another person, for nature, or for existence itself) that we sometimes catch glimpses of the soul, and in turn, the collective from which it emerged.

Bill Plotkin beautifully describes this relationship:

“In some traditions, it is said that the mature ego and the soul are lovers. Each provides the other with something essential and of ultimate value. Only the soul knows what the ego might find most fulfilling in life. Only the ego is capable of manifesting in the world the soul’s desires.” (Plotkin, Nature and the Human Soul, 2008, p. 43)

The Privilege of Conscious Self-Awareness

To be human is to live with the profound privilege (and burden) of conscious self-awareness. It is what sets us apart from other beings in nature: not simply that we know, but that we are aware of our knowing. We are fragments of the universe, temporarily forgetting our origin so that we may rediscover it again and again. This meta-awareness is the foundation of the ego, and with it, we’ve shaped a society disconnected from the movement and relationships of the natural world, often forgetting that we are still embedded within the larger fabric of existence.

Since the rise of organized societies, humanity has drifted from the deep, reciprocal relationship we once had with the natural world. As a species, we have not yet fully matured. But history shows us that moments of crisis often act as a threshold, offering space for transformation. In these disruptive times, we are given a rare opening to evolve the psyche of our species and deepen our relationship with life and our uncovering of the collective.

Nature itself offers the most authentic template for this maturation. The rhythms, relationships, and balance within ecosystems present a living model of what it means to be in harmony, both with the self and with the whole. Indigenous traditions have long recognized this and built systems of knowledge grounded in this understanding. They establish that every consciousness is given an invitation, and that living in alignment with this invitation is not just a personal fulfillment, but a contribution to the collective evolution.

Living in alignment with that invitation, especially in service to one’s community, is the path toward personal and collective maturation. This is how the soul reclaims its connection to the whole. But modern systems make this journey nearly impossible for many.

And yet, this inner work—this return—is the responsibility of every being. Only when each individual seeks their own growth and healing does the psyche of the species move forward. The ego conceals the soul until we learn that only a matured psyche, shaped by love, reflection, and purpose, can begin to understand not only how the soul emerges from the collective, but potentially why.

Without the ego, we would lack conscious self-awareness. We would simply be, much like other species in nature. As far as we can tell, a fox does not question why it is a fox. It does not question its place in the universe or grapple with its identity. It simply lives, letting nature shape its behavior and responses. In doing so, the fox avoids a fundamental kind of suffering, the kind that stems from disconnection. It does not experience a split between itself and the world around it, and therefore suffers no existential confusion about its place in the greater whole.

One might imagine it would be easier (or perhaps even preferable) to live as a fox, free from the burdens of reflection and existential questioning. But we are not foxes. We are human. And with that comes the capacity to reflect on existence, to wonder at our place in the universe, to fall in love with existence itself. This self-aware consciousness is our greatest crisis, but it is also our greatest potential. Without this awareness, we would lose the capacity to marvel at the mystery, beauty, and vastness of the universe we inhabit.

To live with conscious awareness is to walk a paradox, torn between our longing to return to the whole and our deep responsibility to exist as individuals within it. But this is the sacred work of being human: to tend the soul, to soften the ego, and to remember our place in the collective. In embracing this path, we return not just to ourselves, but to each other, and to the living world. The more we align with our inner essence, the more we contribute to the unfolding of a wiser, more mature humanity, one that might finally remember how to live in harmony with all that is.