The Myth of Control and Mindfulness for Racing Thoughts

We often find ourselves caught in a storm of mental noise, searching for a way out. We look for tools, techniques, or some form of mindfulness for racing thoughts, hoping that if we just find the right method, the turbulence will finally cease. But who is it that is trying to quiet the mind? When we look closely at this "separate self" that wants to achieve a state of peace, we find it is just another thought in the crowd. There is a common misunderstanding that there is a this moment, a journey we must take to reach a destination called "presence." But how can we travel toward what we already are? Think of the ocean and its waves. A wave doesn't need to practice being water. It doesn't need to achieve "ocean-ness." Whether the wave is a gentle ripple or a violent surge, its essence remains unchanged. In the same way, the thoughts that appear in the body-mind—the worries about the past, the anxieties about the future—are simply movements of the absolute. We have been told that we must manage these thoughts, that we must fight them or replace them with better ones. Yet, as we have seen, the conflict itself is the very thing that gives these thoughts their weight. When we refuse a thought or judge ourselves for having it, we are merely building a wall within the limitless sky of aware presence. The nature of the mind is to produce thoughts, just as the nature of the sky is to produce weather. Sometimes the sky is clear, and sometimes there is a storm. We don't say the sky is "failing" when it's cloudy, nor do we say it has "achieved" something when it's blue. The sky is simply the space in which all of it happens. When we engage with mindfulness for racing thoughts, it is often with the hidden agenda of making the storm go away. We go to retreats or sit in silence, hoping to bring back a "calm mind" like a souvenir. But then we return to our daily lives, and the noise starts again. We feel we have lost something. But did we? Or was the quiet just another temporary state, while the absolute presence remained untouched by both the silence and the noise? There is a subtle trap in becoming a "witness" or an "observer." We might learn to watch our thoughts like cars in traffic, letting them pass without jumping into the driver’s seat. This can bring a sense of comfort now, a relief from the immediate pressure of identification. It is certainly more pleasant than being run over by the traffic. However, even this position of the witness can become a new identity. We start to feel like a "someone" who is observing. This is only half the truth. There are moments when even the observer falls away, and there is only the sitting, only the hearing, only the breathing. In those moments, there is no one left to claim the experience. The screen doesn't care what movie is being projected onto it; the screen is never changed by the fire or the floods in the film. Many of us are exhausted by the "spiritual separate self" that treats awakening as a trophy.