The key to all doors
Human architecture
Oksana Morozova

Dedicated to all Sensitives

Photograph Bikram Gartaula

Cover designer Margarita Prokazova

Editor Oksana Morozova

Proofreader Oksana Morozova

Translator Oksana Morozova

© Oksana Morozova, 2026

© Bikram Gartaula, photos, 2026

© Margarita Prokazova, cover design, 2026

© Oksana Morozova, translation, 2026

ISBN 978-5-0071-3875-8

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

⠀

All that is left for people, spiritually, is to be sensitive.

No lust for truth.

No viewpoints.

Anyway, all good books are written for no one but oneself.

— B. K.

India · Goa · Morjim — Arambol

South America · Chile · Viña del Mar

India · Himachal Pradesh · Naggar

India · Uttar Pradesh · Varanasi

2022—2023

Introduction

What lies before you is more than a book.

It is a space where personal experience, observation, and knowledge gradually converge at a single point — the place where a person begins to notice again what they once stopped hearing.

Much of what you find here may feel unfamiliar. Especially if you are used to books leading toward a conclusion, explaining, proving, and providing a ready-made answer. This book takes a different path.

First, you will have to move through what may seem like theory. But do not rush to look for final answers in it. What appears as knowledge in the opening pages will gradually become a map. And then — a tool, through which you may begin to see not the text itself, but yourself.

That is why not everything here needs to be understood at once.

Sometimes what matters is not how quickly you find the answer, but how precisely you notice the question. And not whether you agree with the author’s thought, but whether something happens within you as you read.

The author does not set out to instruct, persuade, or offer yet another system to believe in. Some things cannot be handed over in finished form. They can only be recognized within yourself — at the moment when what you have read ceases to be a thought and becomes your own observation.

That is why this book may become something different for each person. Sometimes — a mirror. Sometimes — a point of reference. Sometimes — a method. And sometimes — a door you could not have noticed until you learned to look differently.

Do not try to move through it as quickly as possible. Some things here must first pass through consciousness, then through the body, sensations, and feelings, before they can become truly understood.

And if at some point you feel that you already understand what this book is about, — perhaps that is precisely when the most important part begins.

The book does not decide anything for you.

It only returns your attention to the place where decision, knowledge, and perception cease to be separate things.

And from there begins what cannot be done on another person’s behalf.

This is your territory now.

An open reality

We are used to living in a reality we can make sense of. It is easier for us when there is a reason behind what happens, a name for it, and some kind of script we can follow. So we naturally try to make the world predictable — even when it is not.

But the more closely we observe ourselves, the clearer it becomes: the familiar picture of the world does not account for everything we are able to perceive.

Uncertainty, solitude, freedom of choice, and the knowledge that our own lives will one day end are all part of being human. We cannot fully protect ourselves from them. But we can learn not to run from them, and not to build artificial structures simply to make ourselves feel safe.

In this sense, growing up is not about collecting answers. It is about learning to stay with what is happening, even when there is no answer yet.

The modern world constantly demands our attention. Cities, the endless flow of information, work, communication, the sheer number of stimuli — all of it affects the body, the mind, and the way we experience things. That is why the ability to recover and return to ourselves is no longer a luxury. It has become necessary for maintaining inner balance.

Returning to yourself

Transformation does not always begin with something changing on the outside. Sometimes it begins with something much simpler: the ability to notice what is happening within you.

What is happening in your body?

What thoughts are occupying your mind right now?

What are you actually feeling?

What do you want, and what has come from somewhere outside you?

When these layers begin to work together, you gain a clearer understanding of yourself and a more precise sense of what is happening around you.

Going deeper into subtler states does not necessarily mean stepping away from ordinary life. If anything, it can make your presence in it more complete. You still live, work, talk to people, make decisions — but you begin to perceive what once slipped past you unnoticed.

This book does not offer ready-made answers to every question. Rather, it creates a space for observation. Some answers are found in the experience itself, not in explanations.

We can say a great deal about the human being, consciousness, and the nature of the world. But language always reaches a limit. Some things cannot be fully put into words. They can only be felt and experienced.

There is a vast world around us, and the human being is part of it. Within this life, each of us has the opportunity to explore our own perception — through the body, consciousness, and sensation.

We are capable of feeling what is happening and being aware of it at the same time. It is in this meeting of the two that a rare precision becomes possible — the ability to see ourselves before a familiar explanation has had time to replace what we actually feel.

What Really Matters?

A feeling often arises before we have time to put it into words. Then the mind steps in: it compares, weighs, looks for a reason, and makes a decision.

That is why it can be useful to pause and ask yourself:

«Do I really want this?»

«Do I really need it?»

Questions like these bring your attention back to your own experience. They help you tell the difference between your own impulse and something you have taken on under the influence of other people, circumstances, or a familiar pattern.

Inner alignment does not come from eliminating contradictions. It comes from being able to recognize them and understand what is actually happening within you.

What can lead you off course

There are a few risks worth keeping in mind on the path of inner development.

The first is losing touch with reality. Sometimes going deeply into practices and inner states can lead a person to neglect the body, everyday life, and the ordinary responsibilities of being human.

The path of renunciation has its own history and its own place. But there is another way — not to leave life behind, but to become more attentive within it. To stay in the body, take part in what is happening, and at the same time continue to explore your own perception.

The second risk is giving your freedom over to an outside authority. A teacher, a community, or a particular system can be helpful as long as it helps a person understand themselves more clearly. But when that help comes at the cost of giving someone else the right to decide for you, inner development gradually turns into dependence.

The same is true of material resources. You cannot buy inner peace by giving everything you have to someone in the hope of receiving ready-made answers in return. Maturity begins when you learn to take responsibility for your own life and your own resources.

Third, there is a risk that new knowledge begins to feel like proof of your own uniqueness. New abilities, intense states, and unusual experiences can easily become a source of pride.

At that point, it is worth remembering something simple: an experience is still just an experience. It does not make one person greater than another, nor does it free us from responsibility for what we do.

That is why inner development requires not only openness, but also the ability to stay grounded.

We may see more, feel more deeply, and become aware of things we once overlooked. But that is no reason to detach from life. If anything, the wider our perception becomes, the more important it is to stay connected to the body, consciousness, and ordinary reality.

The world may turn out to be far larger than the familiar picture we have made of it. But an open reality does not begin with grand explanations.

It begins when a person can see what is happening, feel it, and resist the urge to turn everything they do not understand into either an illusion or a ready-made answer.

This is where the next level of perception begins.

What happens

As life speeds up, we gradually lose touch with something that once came naturally: the ability to feel, to perceive, and to find our bearings without the mind constantly stepping in.

These abilities do not disappear. We simply stop relying on them.

What was once a direct way of experiencing the world is slowly replaced by habits, social conditioning, and the constant activity of the mind. More and more often, we think about what is happening before we have a chance to feel what it is doing to us.

The wonder of being born: how we first perceive

A child enters the world already able to feel.

Long before learning to explain what is happening, give it a name, or form an idea about it, the child is already responding — to a voice, a touch, closeness, tension, warmth, absence. The world reaches us first not as an idea, but as something directly experienced.

This is where knowing begins.

A sensation does not wait for consciousness to give it permission to arise. It comes before explanation.

That is why the ability to sense is not something we have to learn. We enter the world with it.

Later, something else happens.

The child enters a world where every sensation gradually acquires a right and wrong name, an acceptable and unacceptable response, a reason, an explanation, and a judgment. They learn to see themselves through the eyes of others, absorbing their fears and expectations, their ideas of good and bad, strength and weakness, of who they are supposed to be. And little by little, they build an inner picture of the world. Along with it comes a subtle substitution: a person begins to trust not what they directly perceive, but what they have been taught to perceive.

They may feel one thing and tell themselves another, sense tension and call it tiredness, not want something and find a thousand reasonable reasons to agree, feel that something is wrong and convince themselves that everything is fine. Over time, this becomes so familiar that they stop noticing the discrepancy itself. They go on believing they are simply being themselves, even as much of their inner voice may have been assembled from the voices of others.

Society inevitably plays a part in shaping who we become: it gives us language, rules, the experience of relationships, and an understanding of boundaries and responsibility — all of which are necessary for becoming an adult. But being an adult on the outside does not necessarily mean being mature within. You can learn to take responsibility for your decisions, work, sustain relationships, and follow the rules — and still never learn to distinguish your own feeling from your own desire, your own fear, or your own no.

Maturity, then, is not always measured by how much a person knows or how much they can endure. Sometimes you can see it in a person’s eyes — in how fully they are present in their own life, and whether they can perceive what is happening before a familiar explanation has time to replace it. What we live through can make us more whole, like a tree sending its roots deeper with every passing year. But it can do something else as well: leave us like Buratino — alive, active, able to move, speak, and play our part, yet not quite fully ourselves.

And that is where the way back begins — not by creating a new self, but by discovering what is already there beneath everything we have acquired. Letting go of other people’s expectations, familiar roles, and masks is not easy. Sometimes it is frightening. Because in letting them go, we are not only releasing what was imposed on us, but also what we have come to mistake for ourselves.

But perhaps the most dangerous thing is not failing to discover your true self, but living an entire life without ever realizing that you were never quite living from within yourself.

Going deeper

The modern world offers us countless tools born of scientific discovery and technological progress. They are meant to support us, make life easier, and accelerate our development. Yet their effects often remain superficial — like trying to treat a deep wound with an ordinary bandage. An external remedy may ease the symptoms, but it does not address what lies beneath.

The purpose of being human is not simply to exist, but to experience and value life in all its complexity and fullness. The more acute and refined our sensitivity to the world around us becomes, the more intricate and layered the fractal of our sensations reveals itself to be — a structure that seems to repeat itself, opening each time into greater depth and intensity. That is why expanding our sensitivity is not simply a matter of perceiving more. It is a way of coming into deeper contact with the very essence of the reality we are experiencing.

In this book, we will explore the mechanisms and processes underlying the interaction of three essential channels of human perception: sensation, consciousness, and the body. When these three come into alignment, the human being can be seen as a whole system in which none of these levels exists in isolation.

A particular place is given to the phenomenon of intention — an inner impulse that directs our actions and plays a part in shaping reality. It is not enough to notice the strength and direction of our own impulses. We also need to understand where they come from, where they lead, and what they become. This is part of a new architecture of the adult self — one grounded in maturity, awareness, and the ability to regulate oneself. Intention becomes more than desire; it becomes a mechanism through which the inner and outer worlds meet.

This book includes practical methods and exercises for exploring perception and consciousness. But it is important to understand that there is no universal, instant solution — no kind of «magic pill» that can suddenly give us access to the full range of our sensations. In fact, consciousness itself can often become one of the main limits on perception. Changing our habitual patterns of thought and freeing ourselves from unconscious constraints therefore becomes part of a deeper work — one that gradually restores our ability to take charge of our own lives on the physical, mental, and sensory levels.

Body level

The physical body may seem like the most familiar thing we have — something we see, feel, and have grown accustomed to calling ourselves. But once we begin to observe it more closely, that sense of certainty starts to fall away. The body reveals itself as more than a material form. It becomes a conduit connecting us to the channel of sensation and to an energetic field — a boundary between what we can see and what we begin to perceive only when we learn to feel.

Within the body are points and energy channels that form a single system. Their interaction is connected to the channel of sensation and to the way a person perceives their own state and the reality around them. Energy channels play a role in the distribution and transmission of energy, but what matters here is not learning to control them. It is discovering, perhaps for the first time, that you can feel them.

This is where something begins that is difficult to explain in advance.

During practice, there may come a moment when you begin to directly sense something that once lay beyond the reach of your ordinary perception. It is neither a new thought nor an explanation you have arrived at. The sensation comes before words — in real time, within your own body. And gradually, you begin to realize that familiar language is no longer quite enough to describe what is happening.

At that point, it is not only the content of perception that changes, but the way we perceive it: explanation recedes, making room for direct sensation.

The human energy system in its entirety cannot be described exhaustively. Here, words can only point the way, lead you to the edge of experience, and stop where what comes next is something each person can discover only within themselves.

Energy channels become part of this path. As a person begins to come together within themselves, their perception may grow sensitive enough to distinguish increasingly subtle states and connections within them. What once went unnoticed gradually comes into focus — and with it, not only the inner state begins to change, but the very nature of our interaction with the world around us.

At first glance, such a system may seem mysterious. Perhaps that is why it is so easy to turn it into a theory, a set of terms, or yet another picture of the world to be accepted on faith. But something else matters here: behind all the language used to describe it, there is experience.

And if one day your body begins to tell you something you have not yet had time to understand, the question is no longer whether you believe this system exists.

The question is whether you will notice what it is trying to show you.

Inner and outer energy circuits

If the body truly is a conduit between the visible and the invisible, then there must also be some kind of organization to the movement within it. The inner and outer energy circuits can be understood as two sides of that movement.

The inner channel can be thought of as running from the crown of the head downward, along the spine, to the area of the perineum. Following it belongs to the basic practices associated with clearing and restoring the inner movement of energy. But the direction itself is only a map. What matters is the moment when you stop tracing the path in your mind and begin to sense it directly in your own body.

The outer energy circuit is connected to the human energy field. You can think of it as a ring surrounding that field, interacting with everything you perceive and move through during the day. And if the inner circuit is concerned with what happens within, the outer one raises a different question: where do I end, and where does what I take to be mine begin?

Working with the outer circuit and overload

In everyday speech, we say, «I’ve taken on too much.» It sounds like nothing more than an ordinary expression, yet sometimes it points to a state that cannot be explained by tiredness alone. The body grows heavy, attention begins to scatter, and the inner space feels as though it has filled with other people’s states, impressions, conversations, tension, and everything else we have taken in without even realizing it.

A person can spend an entire day surrounded by people, events, and information, only to find in the evening that they can no longer tell what is happening to them. They are tired, but not from anything physical. They feel weighed down, although nothing obvious has happened. They want silence, yet even in silence they are still carrying something inside.

At such moments, working with the outer circuit can become a way to restore balance and release some of the weight that has accumulated. But perhaps its deeper purpose lies beyond recovery itself. It brings our attention back to something that usually goes unnoticed: what exactly we allow into our perception, and what we then go on carrying within us as though it were our own state.

Not everything we feel begins within us.

And not everything that finds its way inside needs to stay there.

This distinction becomes increasingly important as a person begins to come together. The more refined our perception becomes, the less useful a universal set of instructions can be. The same process may be experienced in entirely different ways, because each person has their own body, sensitivity, experience, and way of perceiving.

That is why the purpose of this chapter is not to give you yet another system to learn. Many books have been written about bringing the body into alignment. What matters here is something else — to point the way clearly enough that, when you eventually encounter your own state, you can recognize it.

Because true integration does not begin when a person learns to control each level separately. It begins when they stop experiencing those levels as separate.

What happens in the body is reflected in sensation. Sensation changes the state of consciousness. Consciousness affects the body. And gradually, it becomes impossible to say where one ends and the other begins.

A person comes to wholeness.

A map of the human body

To understand more deeply how we relate to our own bodies, it helps to stop thinking of the body as a separate physical object. It is always shaped by a web of relationships: between the way we live and how we feel, what we have lived through and the present moment, what we sense within and what surrounds us. What happens to us does not remain only a thought or a memory — in one way or another, it finds its place in the body.

From here on, we will look at different parts of the human body not as a map to memorize, but as an invitation to see something familiar differently. Some research findings can help us look more closely at the connection between everyday life and the physical state, but the information itself is not the point, nor is it an attempt to explain everything that happens. What matters more is noticing a connection that is usually so familiar that we no longer think to look for it.

We do not always choose the circumstances we find ourselves in, and much of what happens lies beyond our control. But we can still observe how the body responds, notice the changes, and gradually begin to distinguish between what is happening to us now, what we are still carrying from the past, and what has become so familiar that we no longer see it.

In this sense, the body becomes not an object to be studied, but a place for observation. You do not need to know in advance what you are supposed to find. Sometimes it is enough to look more closely for the first time.

The head

The head feels like the most familiar part of the body, perhaps because almost everything we think about ourselves passes through it. It is where experience, impressions, memories, and everything we have learned over a lifetime come together. But the more accustomed we become to treating the head as the place from which we observe the world, the less often we ask ourselves: what happens when the observer becomes part of what is being observed?

The state of the head can often be sensed before it turns into obvious discomfort. Under normal conditions, the area around the skull should remain soft and responsive to touch, without pronounced tenderness or excessive tension. But the norm itself is less important than the ability to recognize a change: what happens to the head when we are tense, tired, afraid, or have been holding our attention in one place for too long?

The forehead deserves particular attention. In various traditions, this area is associated with the idea of a «center of inner perception.» Within this system, it is interesting as a place connected with the ability to perceive what lies beyond our usual rational assessment. There is no need to accept any particular idea in advance. It is enough, once, to stop explaining and see what reveals itself when you do.

The jaw can be just as revealing. It often holds tension connected with fear, suppressed reactions, and the need to maintain control. The mind may register a situation as a threat even after the immediate danger has passed, while the body continues to hold on to the response.

Sometimes a tense jaw knows what is happening within us before we are ready to admit it ourselves.

The eyes

The eyes are, in a sense, the projectors of our reality. Through them, we not only perceive the world around us, but also reveal our own state without meaning to. A gaze can communicate what a person never puts into words: tension, interest, fear, calm, presence.

That is why the gaze is so difficult to control completely. You can choose your words, change your expression, hide behind dark glasses, but you will still look out at the world from whatever state you are in.

Sometimes the eyes reveal not what a person wants to show, but where they are actually looking from.

We will return to this separately — in the chapter «The gaze — the central projector.»

The spine

The spine is the central axis of the body, along which one of the main inner energy channels runs. But an axis is more than an anatomical concept. It carries another meaning as well: the ability to hold your direction when circumstances around you change.

The state of the spine can reveal how well a person is able to hold themselves together — to maintain their direction and inner alignment. Warming the spine is one of the basic practices that helps you sense warmth and movement along the spinal column and bring your attention back to your own axis.

Sometimes all it takes is to feel it to realize how long you have been living without feeling what holds you up.

The neck

The neck is connected with flexibility — with the ability to remain mobile as circumstances and our inner state change. This is also where tension often gathers, especially during periods of emotional strain, when we have to hold on to a particular reaction or state for too long.

That is why tension in this area is more than an unpleasant physical sensation. It can become a question: what am I holding on to for so long?

The body often reveals first what the mind has not yet learned to recognize.

The throat

The throat is where what is happening within us can find its way outward. Breath, body, voice, and intention meet here.

The vocal cords produce sound, but what that sound becomes is shaped by far more than their physical function. Our state inevitably finds its way into the tone, intonation, rhythm, and strength of the voice. We can sense sincerity, tension, fear, or calm in someone’s voice before we have even taken in the meaning of their words.

When a person’s words are in keeping with what they truly feel, the voice takes on a particular integrity. When there is a gap between the inner state and what is spoken, that can be heard as well.

So it matters not only what we say, but the state we speak from.

The shoulder girdle

The shoulders are more than an anatomical part of the body. We have long associated them with what a person carries: «to take something on your shoulders,» «to carry a heavy burden,» «to straighten your shoulders.» There is more truth in these expressions than it may seem.

When we take on more than we can carry, tension gradually becomes part of the body’s state. But not every burden belongs to us. Sometimes we take it on out of duty, fear, habit, or the need to live up to someone else’s expectations.

That is why freedom in the shoulders does not mean freedom from responsibility. It means being able to carry what is yours without feeling that you have to hold the whole world on your shoulders.

It is also worth paying attention to changes in the shoulders. Differences in their position may come from the way the body is built, habitual movement, the kind of strain it is under, or emotional tension. What matters here is not perfect symmetry, but the ability to see how the body changes in response to what is happening in life.

The hands

The hands are our instruments for engaging with the world. We use them to act, create, touch, hold, push away, and explore what surrounds us. And that is precisely why it is worth observing not only what the hands do, but what they feel.