Mistaking the Brain for the Mind

We generally assume our thoughts are located in our head. It makes sense — why would we question it?

Some intuitively feel otherwise. Some say thoughts or feelings come from the heart or body. Yet both are technically incorrect. Feelings relate to both the body and mind. The body and mind can be objects of feelings and thoughts. But feelings, thoughts, and perceptions are aspects of mind — consciousness — which is awareness of these phenomena. Our total experience is a display of subtly differing manifestations of awareness.

While there is no doubt we have a physical body made of the four elements, the four other skandhas are aspects of mind. Mind lacks physical dimensions; it is neither in the body nor outside of it. The mind is everywhere and nowhere, the arena where sensory experience merges with karmic meaning to form our ongoing awareness.

Feelings seem to arise in the body, yet the true arena of conditioned existence is the mind. Even the body itself — and our understanding of physical and non-physical things — exists within mind.

The brain and nervous system create what is known as the “life-supporting wind” — an electrical flux arising from gradients across electrically active cells. The immense concentration of such cells within the nervous system generates tiny electrical currents flowing through low-resistance pathways — the meridians of acupuncture. These “winds” are living energies that support and organise physical tissues, becoming disturbed in states of physical or mental illness.

They are likely called “winds” because very high electrical potentials, while rare in the body and largely dismissed by science, can ionise air and produce a subtle physical wind.

In cases of brain death where artificial life support is continued, the body may develop a faint smell of decay. I believe the brain and nervous system are in continuous dialogue with the cells — a form of electronic harmony, almost like a song of creation. The cells rely on this harmonising message for optimal growth and health.

It is difficult yet crucial to separate mind from brain. Believing that mind is simply a creation of the brain carries serious limitations. The challenge lies in disentangling thoughts from brain activity — especially for scientists, who tend to equate electrical brain activity with thinking itself.

Our core problem is that we identify self purely with thought. This is because we can only think about the problem and forget that existence remains even when we do not think. If you attach EEG electrodes to a bowl of jelly, you don’t get a blank reading — in fact, the patterns resemble those of a person under anaesthetic or in deep coma. Even unthinking jelly produces brain-wave-like readings. This raises profound questions.

If you identify only with your thoughts, it is easy to assume these happen in your head — and science largely agrees. But you are not your thoughts. Even while unenlightened, you mostly identify with the “thinker of your thoughts” rather than the thoughts themselves. Naturally, you assume this “thinker” must reside in your brain.

This assumption is false and limiting. If your mind becomes something produced solely by your brain, you become isolated from life itself, a figment of your own imagination — and this leads to great suffering. Paradigm-shattering experiences, such as near-death experiences or mystical states, create existential crises because they challenge this fragile self-image.

We identify with a self because, with each perception, we create an observer to perceive. But this observer is merely a reflective point within the vast emptiness of mind. Early in life, we attach this point of observation to the body, believing we travel to dreamlands during sleep — but in truth, we never leave the dreamlands at all.

Our true connection to the physical body arises through the mind door, which depends on blood circulation. Iron-rich blood swirling through the heart’s venous sinuses creates an electromagnetic vortex that provides a base for mind to arise. This occurs very early in foetal development. The rebirth-linking consciousness, guided by karma, interacts with this vortex to form the mind door — which coordinates the developing sense consciousnesses.

Our brain and senses supply experiences and context for the mind to build its inner and outer worlds. When brain damage occurs — through tumours or strokes — this context changes dramatically, but the mind itself remains. If blood flow ceases — for example, in cardiac arrest — the mind door disconnects from the physical body, and consciousness appears to be lost. Yet some individuals report awareness of other experiences during these episodes.

Volumes of Tibetan texts describe these states in great detail, and much of it makes sense. One way to imagine this is to see our world as twofold. The objects and beings we recognise are mental constructs created from sensory data processed by the brain. The brain functions as a complex sensory detection device — sensitive matter detecting material phenomena and translating them into patterns within the mind.

At the same time, much of our awareness goes unnoticed during waking life. This quieter, subtle awareness becomes more apparent during meditation or deep sleep. Even when thought and sensation seem absent, a subtle awareness of “being” remains. Those suffering insomnia often confuse this awareness with being awake, though it is more like a passive presence rather than active consciousness.

This subtle awareness underlies all other experiences. Waking awareness is simply what we have words and concepts for; but beyond that lies a silent, spacious knowing. We mistake this cognitive surface as the totality of being. Our mind seems enslaved to thought and emotion, but in reality it enables them — often misguidedly. The brain and nerves provide sensory input, but the mind remains the ground of all experience.

Our mind may be anchored in the heart — where the swirling vortex of flowing blood allows the mind to arise. This link explains why blood flow is essential for maintaining sensory (physical) experience. As we grow, our sense of self becomes increasingly fused with this physical vehicle, muting the wild openness of childhood and turning us into adults who feel trapped within their bodies.

It is easy to fall for this illusion, and hard to see beyond it — especially because we rely on memory to define ourselves. Yet, even now, we are more aware of what we cannot name than what we can. Through this realisation, we begin to understand that all objects are mental and empty. This awareness transcends past, present, and future, existing eternally in the present moment — becoming temporal only when clothed in objects we bring into existence.

When we sleep, we simply stop paying attention to thoughts and sensations. The observer dissolves as objectification ceases. We don’t truly “sleep” — we merely cease creating the illusion of a continuous observer. The mind remains, quiet and empty, until some object reappears and prompts the creation of a new observer.

The brain is certainly vital, and outside the context of mysticism or mental illness, it is harmless to view brain and mind as synonymous. Medication that alters brain function and relieves suffering remains valuable. But when exploring the deeper aspects of mind — particularly in spiritual or therapeutic contexts — limiting mind to brain activity can lead to confusion, especially when non-ordinary experiences arise.

While some thoughts and sensations emerge in conjunction with physical sense organs, these ultimately occur within mind — which is boundless, unlocatable, and only partially connected to physicality. Even during sleep, meditation, or near-death experiences, subtle awareness persists despite disruption to physical awareness — which was simply superimposed upon being all along.

“The mind is neither inside nor outside the body; it pervades all phenomena.”
— Shantideva, Bodhicaryāvatāra