What Spiritually Awake People Feel in Crowds by Alan Watts
You know, there's a very peculiar thing that happens to people who have undergone what we might call a spiritual awakening. They find that crowds, gatherings of people, what we would ordinarily think of as perfectly normal social situations, become extraordinarily difficult to navigate. I don't mean difficult in the sense of social anxiety or shyness, though it might appear that way from the outside. I mean something far more subtle and far more profound. When you wake up, when you see through the game that most people are playing, when you recognize that the emperor has no clothes, you begin to experience crowds in an entirely different way. It’s rather like being the only sober person at a party where everyone else is intoxicated. You can see what’s happening with a clarity that's almost painful, while everyone around you is completely absorbed in the drama, completely identified with the performance.
Let me describe what this actually feels like because it's quite remarkable. When a spiritually awake person enters a crowd, the first thing they notice is the noise. I don’t mean just the physical noise, though that's certainly part of it. I mean the psychological noise, the energetic noise, the noise of a thousand different egos, all clamoring for attention, all trying to assert themselves, all desperately attempting to be seen, to be heard, to matter. It's like walking into a room full of radios, each tuned to a different station, all playing at maximum volume. And the awake person can hear all of it simultaneously. They can feel the anxiety radiating from one corner, the anger pulsing from another, the desperate need for validation coming from someone nearby, the performance of superiority from someone else. It’s overwhelming in a way that's very difficult to describe to someone who hasn't experienced it. You see, most people are so identified with their own internal noise that they don't notice the noise of others. They're so busy with their own thoughts, their own concerns, their own little drama that they're essentially insulated from the collective cacophony. But the person who has awakened has in a sense dropped their own noise or at least learned not to identify with it. And so they become extraordinarily sensitive to the noise of others. It's rather like what happens when you stop talking yourself. Suddenly you can hear what everyone else is saying. And when you're in a crowd, what you hear is not particularly pleasant. You hear fear masquerading as confidence. You hear emptiness pretending to be fullness. You hear the desperate hunger for meaning, for connection, for something real, all covered over with layers upon layers of social performance.
Now, let me be clear about something. The awakened person doesn't judge this. They don't look down on people in crowds and think themselves superior. That would be just another form of ego, another form of separation. What they feel is more like compassion mixed with a kind of existential exhaustion. They can see the suffering so clearly, can see how everyone is trapped in their own little prison of self- concern. And there's a deep wish that people could see what they're doing to themselves. But there's also the recognition that you can't force anyone to wake up, can't rescue anyone from their own illusions.
Another thing that happens in crowds is what I might call energetic invasion. You see, most people have very poor energetic boundaries. They're constantly leaking energy and simultaneously trying to take energy from others. This is what most social interaction actually is, though people don't realize it. It's an unconscious exchange or more accurately a battle for energy. People try to make themselves feel more substantial, more real, more alive by drawing attention, by dominating conversations, by making others laugh, by impressing others with their accomplishments. The awakened person can feel all of this happening, can sense the constant pull and push of energy, the grasping and the defending, the inflating and the deflating. And because they're not playing this game anymore, because they're not trying to get energy from others, they often become a target. People unconsciously sense that here is someone who has energy to spare, someone who isn't defending themselves in the usual way, and they gravitate toward them trying to draw from that well. This is exhausting. Imagine being a source of water in a desert. Everyone who's thirsty will come to you, will want something from you, and you cannot serve everyone without depleting yourself. And so the awakened person often needs to withdraw, needs to protect their energy, not out of selfishness, but out of simple self-preservation.
There's also the matter of authenticity, or rather the lack of it. In crowds, people are almost never authentic. They're playing roles, wearing masks, performing versions of themselves that they think will be acceptable, impressive, worthy of love or respect. And this performance is so automatic, so habitual that most people don't even know they're doing it. But the awakened person can see it clearly, can see the gap between what people are presenting and what they actually are. This creates a very strange situation because the awakened person having dropped most of their own masks, having learned to simply be what they are without pretense, now stands out. They seem unusual, perhaps too direct, perhaps too quiet, perhaps too unwilling to engage in the usual social games. And this makes others uncomfortable. People sense that this person is not playing by the rules, is not participating in the collective performance. And this is threatening to them because it reminds them unconsciously of their own inauthenticity.
The awakened person often finds themselves isolated within the crowd, present but not truly participating, observing but not deeply engaging. They become like a mirror and people don’t particularly enjoy looking into mirrors that reflect their true face rather than the image they've constructed. There’s another aspect to this that's worth exploring. In crowds, there's a kind of collective consciousness, a group mind that forms. People start to think and feel in unison, influenced by the mood of the group, the expectations of the gathering, the unspoken rules of the situation. This is why crowds can become mobs so easily. The individual consciousness gets submerged in the collective and people do things in groups that they would never do alone. But the awakened person doesn't merge with the collective in this way. They maintain their individual awareness even within the group. They can observe the formation of the group mind without
being absorbed by it. And this again creates a sense of separation of being alone even in the midst of many people. They're like someone watching a film while everyone else is inside the film completely identified with the story.
Now let me talk about something else that happens. The awakened person, having recognized the fundamental unity of all existence, having seen that there is no real separation between self and other, might expect to feel more connected in crowds. After all, if we’re all one, if the boundaries between individuals are illusory, shouldn't a crowd be an experience of profound unity? But paradoxically, the opposite often happens. The awakened person feels more separate in crowds precisely because they can see the unity while everyone else is acting out the illusion of separation. They can see that all these people desperately trying to assert their individual importance, their uniqueness, their separateness are actually expressions of the same consciousness, waves on the same ocean. And watching consciousness attack itself, compete with itself, judge itself, all while pretending to be separate is a kind of cosmic tragedy. It's rather like watching your left hand fight your right hand. You know, they’re both part of the same body, but they don't know it. And they're earnestly trying to defeat each other. It’s absurd. It's painful. And you can’t really participate in the battle because you see its fundamental meaninglessness.
Let me tell you about another dimension of this experience. In crowds, there's an enormous amount of unconscious agreement. Everyone has agreed to pretend that the emperor is wearing beautiful clothes. Everyone has agreed to take seriously things that are not serious. To be concerned about things that don't really matter, to value things that have no real value. Money, status, appearance, all the games of ego are treated as if they were profound realities rather than collective hallucinations. And the awakened person, having seen through these games, now finds themselves in a very awkward position. They can’t pretend to care about things they don’t care about. They can't generate enthusiasm for pursuits they recognize as empty. They can't participate in conversations that seem to them to be discussions about nothing at all. And so they often appear disengaged, uninterested, perhaps even arrogant or aloof, when really they're just unable to play along with the collective fantasy. This is why awakened people often prefer the company of nature or animals or children or simply solitude. These don't require the performance. A tree doesn't need you to impress it. A cat doesn't care about your status. A child, before they've been fully conditioned, still has some connection to reality, some authentic presence. And solitude, of course, requires no performance at all. You can simply be what you are without the constant negotiation that human society demands. But here's something important to understand. When I say that awakened people find crowds difficult, I don’t mean they avoid them entirely or that they're incapable of functioning in social situations. Many awakened people navigate crowds quite skillfully. They've learned to be in the world but not of it, as the saying goes. They can participate in social situations without being absorbed by them. They can engage in ordinary conversation without getting lost in it. They can play the social games when necessary without believing in them. It's rather like an actor who knows they're in a play. They can perform their role. They can say their lines. They can interact with the other characters, but they never forget that it's a performance. They’re simultaneously in the play and outside it. And this dual awareness allows them to function in crowds without being overwhelmed by them. But it does require energy. It requires a kind of constant vigilance, a maintaining of awareness while navigating a world of unconsciousness. And this is tiring in a way that most people don't understand. It's not that the awakened person is weak or antisocial. It's that they’re operating at a different level of awareness. And maintaining that awareness in a sea of unconsciousness requires effort.
There's also the matter of pace. Crowds move at a certain speed, think at a certain frequency, operate on a certain level, and the awakened person often finds this pace exhausting. Conversations that seem to circle endlessly without ever touching on anything real. Social gatherings that seem designed to prevent any genuine connection. Professional situations that seem to value appearance over substance, performance over authenticity. The awakened person often wants to move slower, to go deeper, to speak about things that matter. But crowds don’t typically operate this way. Crowds stay on the surface, where it's safe, where nothing too real can threaten the collective comfort. So, the awakened person often feels like they're being asked to run when they want to walk, to shout when they want to whisper, to perform when they want to simply be.
Now I want to address something that might be troubling some of you. You might be thinking, "Well, this sounds rather lonely. If awakening means becoming unable to connect with most people, unable to enjoy normal social situations, isolated and exhausted by crowds, then who would want to wake up?” This is a fair question. But here's what you need to understand. The isolation, the exhaustion, the difficulty with crowds, these are transition symptoms. They occur because the person has awakened, but is still living in a largely unawakened world. They are between two worlds, no longer fully part of the sleeping world, but not yet fully established in the awakened state. As awakening deepens, as it becomes more stable, something shifts. The awakened person learns to be with the unconsciousness of others without being disturbed by it. They develop what you might call compassionate detachment. They can see the suffering, can feel the noise, can recognize the games, but they're not bothered by it in the same way. They understand that everyone is exactly where they need to be, playing out exactly the role they need to play, learning exactly the lessons they need to learn. And from this place of deep acceptance, they can actually connect with people in crowds in a way that wasn't possible before. Not through the usual social games, not through the performance and pretense, but through a kind of silent understanding, a recognition of the shared being beneath all the social noise. They can meet people in the still point beneath the chaos, in the awareness that witnesses all the drama without being caught up in it. This is what I would call true social presence. Not the performance of being social, not the effortful attempt to connect, but a simple resting in your own being while allowing others to be what they are. And paradoxically, this kind of presence often draws people, though they might not know why. They sense that here is someone who isn’t trying to take anything from them, isn’t trying to impress them, isn't playing the usual games. And in that spaciousness, real connection becomes possible.
So yes, awakened people often find crowds difficult. They feel the noise, the grasping, the performance, the unconsciousness. They get exhausted by the constant energetic demands, the inauthenticity, the superficiality. They often need to withdraw to protect their energy, to return to silence and solitude. But this is not a problem. This is not a sign that something is wrong with them or that they've awakened incorrectly. This is simply what happens when consciousness becomes more aware of itself while still operating in a field of relative unconsciousness. It's temporary. It's a transition. And it's teaching them something essential about the nature of existence, about the difference between being and doing, about the importance of preserving your inner silence while engaging with the outer noise. And ultimately this difficulty with crowds is preparing them for a deeper kind of connection, a more authentic kind of relationship — a more genuine way of being with others that doesn't depend on the usual social games, but rests in a recognition of our shared being, our fundamental unity, our collective participation in this extraordinary mystery of existence.
Thank you.
