Consciousness as you know it, or as you conceive it, may or may not have an object but must have a substrate, something on which its natural confidence in its own continuity is based. In the first instance this is the body, and going further it might be the soul or the self, or God, something unknowable on which it rests, something of a different nature, say pure self-sufficient being. If consciousness were a computation it would be the 'computer' actually running that computation. The computation itself is a piece of abstract mathematics, existing only for consciousness without distinction from any other such computation, lacking the 'fire' which instantiates it. 'Consciousness only' teachings lack this element, it is only tacitly assumed. What could a consciousness e that was its own substrate? Is the notion coherent? All thought breaks off at this point.

There is always an 'I' and a 'me', a doubling that predates language, a strange unequal partnership. Things, all of life happens to me, while I am unchanged, uninvolved, detached, merely lending the awareness with which the me attains its self-reflection, its self-reference.

Under a rigorous idealism every thing that appears is refracted through some non-mental objectivity and so there is the least room for 'woo-woo'. Any direct influence of the mental on the physical would represent a breaking of the rules of appearance; the distinctive nature of the physical should mediate in an essential way any manifestation, which might as well be labelled, with some inaccuracy, causality. The background 'nothing' or 'emptiness' out of which you appear is just the same as that which lies behind every natural thing. The weirdness of the cogito belongs to everything you see, to even the most minute parts of your world, and not through you, but entirely in its own right.

Stillness, breath, the passing of time, a muffled roaring in the ears. Nothing to seek, nowhere to go, always here.

The senses are more or less objective, they give us back a picture of the world that is indifferent to intentional map created by will and desire and the shaping power of the Other. If it were not so we would have fewer choices, faces and things would loom at us as if in a nightmare, we would be constrained by the geodesics of space curved and knotted by desire and fear.

The world is not just appearance, at every moment it addresses itself to you, requires something of you, leaves you obliged to find out what that is ad to decide what action, or non-action, to do. You are not just the witness, although you are that too, but one such that the world's demand can be addressed to you.

Consciousness as an outwards process, if left to itself would become wildly divergent. The processes of life, of mere existence require a centripetal force, a continual pull towards the centre. These might be called consciousness and soul or eros and the death drive, or yang and yin, the opposing forces that give rise to all appearance.