Reflections on Consciousness, Carnival, and the Fool’s Number
The number 11 has always felt odd, a perfect pair that never quite becomes whole.
And when it doubles itself, 11/11, something in the air stirs. Synchronicity, carnival, chaos. In the south of the Netherlands, it marks the day of the fools: the official start of Carnaval season. At exactly 11:11 a.m., the Raad van Elf or Elferrat (the Council of Eleven) — a group of local jesters, mayors, and mischief-makers — officially opens the festivities. Eleven has long been seen as the ‘fools’ number,’ symbolizing deviation from the perfect ten and divine twelve.
Maybe that’s why this day always pulls me toward questions that sound a little mad.
I’ve been circling the edges of consciousness lately: Philip K. Dick, scientists studying the split brain, and that strange boundary between what’s real and what’s perceived. Somewhere in there sits the idea that maybe we never truly see ourselves. The only version of “me” I’ve ever met is a reflection — a mirrored echo.
I think of that 1970 experiment by Gordon Gallup Jr.: the mirror test. When a chimpanzee saw a red mark on its face in the mirror, it didn’t reach for the glass — it touched its own skin. The first recorded spark of self-awareness in another species.
The Bicameral Brain and the Carnival Mind
There’s an ancient theory proposed by psychologist Julian Jaynes: that early humans once lived with bicameral minds — two halves that didn’t yet speak as one. One hemisphere issued commands as a divine voice; the other obeyed. A kind of neurological puppet show. Perhaps our myths of gods speaking from above are really the leftover memories of our own inner dialogue.
Sleep-deprivation taught me that firsthand. After nights without rest, the world shifts — not into madness, but into something too awake. I’ve learned that consciousness is fragile; it bends easily under exhaustion, stress, or awe. Yet that bending might be where new truths appear.
Who’s Watching Through Your Eyes?
Every morning, I meet my reflection — blue eyes (though my wife insists they’re grey) staring back. Who is the one seeing through them?
If I close my eyes, am I still there?
The philosopher Thomas Metzinger once argued that there is no such thing as a ‘self’ — only the brain’s best simulation of one. Neuroscientists have even shown, through Libet’s experiments, that the brain decides milliseconds before we become conscious of deciding. Free will, it seems, might be a postscript.
It sounds absurd, I know. But look closely: the world behaves like memory, not matter. It keeps only what it needs to sustain continuity, like a bank ledger carrying forward balances from the last closing. Maybe reality reconciles itself in the same way — line by line, belief by belief.
The District of Souls
Lately, I’ve imagined life like a quiet, communal Truman Show — not a cage, but a covenant. Each of us plays a role in watching over our small districts: the streets, the children, the fragile safety between houses. Maybe awareness itself is the network, and kindness the algorithm that keeps it running.
It hurts, though, to see how easily that system breaks — to witness cruelty, especially toward children. That kind of darkness shakes even the most philosophical mind. There are things no consciousness should justify.
The Beautiful Madness of Being Human
So yes — today is 11/11, a date that mirrors itself, the carnival of consciousness. Maybe it’s the perfect reminder that “crazy” is a spectrum we all live on. The artists, the scientists, the sleep-deprived dreamers — we’re all somewhere between awareness and illusion.
If you ever find yourself wondering whether you’ve lost your mind, you probably haven’t. You’re just paying closer attention to it than most.
Keep searching. Keep sharing.
Not just on 11/11, but every day. With your tribe, with your mirrors, and with the madness that makes you human.
What's on your mind?