There’s an enlightening book by the name of “Expanded Cinema,” penned by Jean Youngblood in the 1970s. Youngblood eloquently posits that cinema is a profound reflection of humanity’s enduring drive to externalise consciousness, projecting the inner realm onto the external canvas before our eyes. This notion of cinema serving as a mirror to our subjectivity stands apart, an unparalleled glimpse into the territory of our first-person perspective - a territory that diverges from the objective world we encounter.

Consider the spectrum of mediums; we encounter reality, and then we delve into our subjective vantage point. Even documentaries, while striving to present an objective view, invariably harbour inherent biases. News, for all its efforts, endeavours to showcase the objective sphere, and here is where cinema unfurls its singular prowess. It’s the only conduit that opens a portal to our subjective world—a world unlike any other.

Think back to a time when the term “photo play” graced the lexicon. Hugo Münsterberg, a cinematic trailblazer, probed the realm of film’s potency during its nascence around 1912. He drew a fascinating analogy, suggesting that the photo play aligns more with the intricate dance of the mind than it does with reality itself. Indeed, the cinematic close-up echoes the essence of focused attention, while the flashback artfully mimics the corridors of memory. Foreshadowing, in its subtle artistry, mirrors the cognitive act of peering into the future. Ponder this for a moment - cinematic cuts that segue between disparate scenes, seemingly disconnected. How do such shifts fail to jolt us into a cognitive whirlwind, devoid of cohesiveness? Remarkably, this phenomenon is grounded in our essence as humans. The persistence of vision, a uniquely human characteristic, binds together these sequences, just as we effortlessly weave together fragments of reality to shape our coherent perception.

My curiosity delved further, revealing the insights of a thinker named Georg Schmidand his work, “The Mind Screen”. Herein lies a fascinating proposition - that cinema embodies consciousness externalised. Picture this: you find yourself enveloped in a dimly lit room, a colossal screen poised before you. In this obscurity, your corporeal vessel fades into the background, dissolving. You’re unburdened, stripped of distractions. The objective world retreats, and in its stead, you’re thrust into a subjective dominion unbounded by time and space. The screen flickers to life, and an extraordinary fusion takes place. Your consciousness commingles with a distinct manifestation of its very process. Akin to gazing into a mirror of consciousness, the film serves as an uncanny reflection - a reflection that, at its core, is an external embodiment of consciousness itself.

We’ve got all these films by Stanley Kubrick, like “2001: A Space Odyssey,” “A Clockwork Orange,” “Full Metal Jacket,” and more. These movies really dig deep into our minds, getting under our skin and into our collective thoughts.

We almost put Stanley Kubrick on a mythological pedestal, and it makes sense. When we watch his films, it’s like we’re journeying into these mind-bending places together. Our minds get wrapped up in his crafted worlds, and suddenly, we’re exploring realms he’s conjured up.

And that’s not all. Watching a movie is like looking into a mirror for our thoughts. It’s our consciousness meeting itself, a reflection of our inner workings. Filmmakers are like conductors of this intricate experience, guiding us on these mental adventures.

When we surrender ourselves to these films and their creators, it’s like a ticket to a different plane of existence. We become part of something bigger, something archetypal. It’s like tapping into a shared consciousness, a collective mindset that bridges the gap between us all.

Terence McKenna once said, “Find the others.” And it’s true. When you meet someone who loves the same movies, there’s an instant connection. It’s like a secret club, a wink of recognition that says, “Hey, you’re into this too.” It’s why events like Comic Con have such passionate followings. They’re like these fully realized alternate worlds that we can step into and experience together.

And you know what’s even cooler? The whole concept of gaming and virtual reality - it’s just a continuation of this idea. We’re diving into these shared mental spaces, living out adventures in our minds that feel oh-so-real. It’s all about imagination, and these experiences are like bridges that connect us, allowing us to explore together.

So, don’t doubt it. Our minds are powerful, and movies, along with other experiences like gaming and virtual reality, are proof that our imagination is real. They’re like these collaborative mental creations that let us embark on journeys beyond the ordinary.

This rich tapestry of thought underscores an essential truth: cinema enables a profound convergence with characters, a juncture of viewpoints. We’re not mere spectators, merely observing a spectacle from afar. Instead, we’re intrinsically interwoven into the cinematic narrative, embedded within the character’s psyche. This process of embodying a character’s perspective beckons forth a form of transcendence. In assuming the viewpoint of another, we inhabit their world, becoming them, and yet, paradoxically, retaining echoes of ourselves. It’s a deeply phenomenological experience - one that delves into the very essence of existence.

The Greeks offer a dichotomy that’s relevant to our discourse - Chronos and Kairos. Chronos, the structured progression of time, measured in hours and minutes, forms the foundation of cinematic chronology. But within the movie theater, a transition occurs. Enter Kairos - an experience not governed by the rigidity of time, but a lived myth, an epoch where moments linger, bend, and expand. Kairos stands as a portal to a dimension that transcends the clock, where our consciousness intersects with the ethereal substance of the narrative.

The act of assuming another’s viewpoint, embracing an alternate existence, initiates a transformation - objectively marked by hours, yet imbued with a depth of experience beyond the temporal. It’s a psychedelic journey, an expedition into the kaleidoscope of consciousness that echoes for far more than the film’s objective duration. This journey, though distinct from our biographies, reverberates with archetypal resonance. It’s a phenomenon that defies easy classification - one that necessitates contemplation from the transpersonal sphere.

Intriguingly, this cinematic communion bears remarkable potential for therapeutic release. For those ensnared by the trappings of an overly assertive ego, a cinematic experience can offer potent medicine. The act of losing oneself in a film, relinquishing the clutches of autobiographical selfhood, is a liberating venture. Herein lies the transformative power of cinema - an elixir that extends beyond the self, channeling catharsis and enrichment.

In summation, my admiration for cinema resonates deeply - a sentiment akin to a potent drug that I unabashedly savour. The allure of cinema lies in its capacity to unravel the tapestry of subjectivity, to merge minds and transcend boundaries. It’s a treasure trove of transcendence, a medium that distills the very essence of existence into vivid frames that kindle our collective imagination.