In experimenting with headlessness, we may notice that sudden “click” or shift in perspective when we move out of a very narrow and constricted mode of consciousness into a sense of something much vaster and freer. The surroundings stand out in relief, our senses become acute and something rigid in our psyche feels dissolved.

If this is our “natural” state, why then do we revert to a more self-preoccupied mode, one full of thought and rumination? This “opposing click” happens almost soundlessly, without our awareness. We seem to lose headlessness and the process of seeing, and this is an interesting moment as well.

Of course, we could say that even rumination and preoccupation happen within the vast space of the self, or of reality.

Are there ever multiple states? Or does only reality shine through in being?


If the one who feels the need to make an effort is a dreamer woven into an illusion, how can effort have any significance?

If all progressive paths are part of a dreamed narrative, then what possibe significance can progress have?

The dreamer may make an effort. Or the dreamer may dream she is walking a difficult path.

Perhaps the one behind the dreamer, the aware reality, can indulge this dreamed reality and let it arise and dissolve as it will.

There is, quite literally, nowhere to go. There is no one who can go anywhere.


(This is a theme that I wil doubtless revisit often in these ramblings!)

As far back as I can remember, I have been afraid of death. I remember even as a young child feeling rage and sorrow that “all this” would one day simply end. That would be that. I never believed stories of an afterlife.

The teachings of non-duality have altered my feelings towards death, radically and viscerally.

“I” am most certainly a fiction: that is point number one. The carefully constructed personality, built out of experiences and memories, is a fiction, and its seeming death need not be mourned.

Point number two: the present is a “moving shifting mysterious event,” as Darryl might put it. Death, no doubt, will also be a moving shifting mysterious event.

Point number 3: death feels like going home, a return to that boundless space from which all of us seemed to “arise” at birth. Going home feels like a relief. No ego to cart around any more.

We will all be liberated when “we” die. It is cool to be liberated in this lifetime, but it may not be such a big deal, except for the deluded ego, that is.

Breath by breath

In some Buddhist meditation techniques, the practitioner is taught to repeatedly bring attention to the breath in fine, subtle detail. Whenever it is noticed that the mind has wandered far away, the suggestion is to bring the attention back to the breath. The intention is, I think, to refine attention as well as to become aware of the “monkey mind.”

I find it refreshing to pay attention to the breath, but from a slightly different angle. It is fun to see that the breath is simply happening. Similarly, it is fun to notice that the heart is beating, the body is spontaneously moving, thoughts and moods are spontaneously arising without a doer.

Attention to the breath is a powerful gateway into the realisation that “I” am not causing things to happen. Worlds are arising and dissolving without “my” having to do a thing about it.

The illusion of the illusion of free will

(This is a re-working of an earlier post from my older blog,

As Sam Harris puts it, the illusion of free will is itself an illusion.

When we observe our thoughts, we see that they float up and pop into our consciousness. We are not creating our thoughts. In fact, we cannot know what our next thought and emotion might be. We do not know what our next intention or desire might be, either. We have not created them any more than we have created thought or emotion.

Direct observation, free and relaxed, reveals this to be true.

This is what the great masters of non-duality were attempting to convey: there is no central controller organising itself and the world. Stuff happens, and “we” place a layer over it and make ourselves the protagonists of our narratives.

A truly liberating insight.