The Illusion of the Soad Mind and the Simplicity of What Is

We often talk about the mind as if it were a solid object, a heavy machine we need to fix or a wild animal we must tame. We use terms like the soad mind to describe this internal landscape, but if we look closely, what is actually there? The mind does not exist as an independent entity. It is simply a label, a convenient name we give to the constant stream of thoughts that appear and disappear. Thoughts of what to eat, thoughts of past regrets, and thoughts of future plans all flicker like images on a screen. Among these, the most persistent thought is the one that says "I am doing this" or "I am deciding that." But even these are just thoughts. They arise from nowhere, linger for a moment, and vanish back into the absolute. This separate self, which we mistake for the protagonist of a lifelong movie, is actually just another thought trying to give itself a sense of continuity. It weaves a story to convince itself that it is a solid unit moving through time. It fears the end of its own narrative. This is why the idea of silence or the stopping of thought can feel so threatening. If the thoughts were to stop, it wouldn't be a case of having a "blank mind"—the mind itself would simply not be there. This is the great fear of the separate self: the realization that it has no independent existence. When we investigate where these thoughts come from, the mind begins to dissolve. This dissolution is often met with terror because the separate self senses its own absence. It asks, "But what happens to me now?" The very fact that there is an "I" asking that question shows that the separate self is still trying to maintain its grip, still trying to turn being into a project. The truth is far simpler than any thought can grasp. The forms of thought are far too complex and clumsy to capture the utter simplicity of what you already are. We spend years searching for a "state" of enlightenment, as if it were a peak we had to climb, but there is no path and nowhere to go. You cannot reach where you already are. Whether the body-mind is experiencing a moment of profound serenity or a period of intense anxiety and grief, the totality is equally present. When you feel worried or anxious, that is not a distraction from reality; that is the absolute appearing as worry. When you feel at peace, that is the absolute appearing as peace. They both share the same aware presence that is always here, unchanging and complete. The separate self loves to turn everything into a journey. It wants to believe that meditation is a ladder that will eventually lead to a better version of itself. But meditation is not a path to a future achievement. It might bring some comfort now, it might make the body-mind feel more relaxed in this moment, and that is perfectly fine, but it will never "attain" what is already the case. There is no progress in the absolute. A wave does not need to travel to become the ocean; it is already the ocean, even when it thinks it is just a small, isolated wave. The search for enlightenment is the only thing that seems to obscure the fact that there is no one who needs to be enlightened. We often find ourselves frustrated by the noise of spiritual chatter, the endless talk of "higher selves" and the separate self-driven competition of spiritual groups. We look for a space where we can simply be, without the need for words or instructions. This is because words are just more thoughts, more layers of the soad mind trying to categorize the uncategorizable. What we are looking for is not found in a book or a lecture, but in the silence that remains when the seeker stops seeking. This silence is not a practice you do; it is the very fabric of your being. It is the conscious presence that remains when the story of "me" is seen for what it is—a flickering shadow. Who is it that wants to reach a goal? Who is the one who feels they are missing something? If you look for the seeker, you won't find one. You will find sensations, you will find thoughts, and you will find the vast, open presence in which they all occur. There is no "inward" to go to, because there is no "outward." There is only this. The idea that we are separate from the absolute is the primary illusion. We are like actors so lost in the play that we have forgotten we are the screen upon which the whole drama is projected. The screen is never changed by the fire or the rain in the movie. It remains untouched, aware, and completely whole. The beauty of this realization is its total lack of requirements. You don't need to be better, holier, or more silent to be what you already are. The soad mind might continue to spin its tales, but once it is seen as a collection of passing clouds, its power to define "you" evaporates. There is no achievement to be gained because there is nothing missing. The sense of lack is just another thought. In the end, we find that the search was just the absolute playing at being a seeker. But if there is no one to find anything, and no place to go, what is left? Only this—the immediate, unadorned presence of what is. It is the serenity you felt in a quiet moment and the ache you felt in a moment of loss. It is all one. It is all complete. There is no "there" separate from "here." If you feel called to sit in the stillness of what is, without the noise of voices or the pressure of "becoming," you might find resonance in a space dedicated to wordless connection. The Silent Presence Pass 24H offers a way to simply be with the totality, alongside others, in the sacredness of what already is. But then again, who is there to connect? And who is there to remain silent? If the mind is just a name for thoughts, and the thoughts have no owner, then what is looking right now? Is it a person, or is it the absolute looking at itself? In the end, the question and the questioner both dissolve into the same aware presence that never left. There is nothing to teach because there is no one to learn. There is only this, exactly as it is.