There’s this fascinating thing about meditation: even when your thoughts slow to a trickle or vanish completely, something still lingers—this sense of "me. " But what is that “me”? Is it real?
The mind, clever and limited as it is, tries to make sense of something infinite—this awareness we all are. It’s like seeing a reflection in a mirror and thinking, "That’s who I am. " But what if the reflection isn’t the whole picture?
By exploring this "me," questioning it, and shifting attention to the awareness that watches it all, something profound happens. You begin to see that the "me" isn’t wrong—it’s just a tiny part of the story. And beyond it?
A sense of freedom, peace, and your limitless self waiting to be realized. A very helpful pointer is to stop and ask, “Who is the mind talking to? ” It’s such a simple question, yet its implications are profound.
The voice feels intimate, as though it’s addressing someone. But who, exactly, is on the receiving end of this endless dialogue? And why do we mistakenly take the “I”-thought as who we are?
To truly explore this question, we must first examine what we commonly take for granted: the idea of "me. " This "me" feels solid and real, an entity at the core of all our experiences. It’s the one who seems to think, feel, and live through life.
But have you ever closely observed this sense of “me”? What is it really? When you look carefully, the answers may surprise you.
Let’s start by recognizing a simple truth: what we call life is a continuous flow of experiences. Sensations, thoughts, emotions, images, and perceptions—these rise and fall within awareness like waves on an ocean. One moment, there’s joy; the next, a pang of sadness.
A memory of childhood surfaces, then a thought about dinner plans, then an itch on your arm. These are fleeting, ever-changing phenomena. Yet all of them are witnessed, known, and observed.
If you pause and examine closely, you’ll notice that you, too, are observing these waves of experiences. In fact, you are not the waves themselves. You are the one witnessing them.
This witnessing is constant, unchanging, and effortless, even as the content of your experience shifts from moment to moment. You are not the thoughts, not the feelings, not even the body—you are the awareness within which these occur. Now, here’s where things get fascinating: our minds are masterful storytellers.
They create an ongoing narrative, weaving together thoughts, memories, and feelings to craft an identity—the “me. ” This sense of self feels like a separate, solid entity. But when you closely investigate this “me,” it begins to dissolve under scrutiny.
It turns out that what we call "me" is not a fixed, unchanging thing—it’s simply another layer of thoughts and feelings arising within the field of awareness. So when the mind “talks,” it creates an illusion: the illusion that it is speaking to this separate “me. ” Thoughts arise, and then other thoughts seem to respond.
A voice inside comments, analyzes, and questions, creating the impression of an inner dialogue. But here’s the truth: no entity is actually sitting behind the mind, listening and replying. It’s as though the mind is talking to itself in circles, trying to sustain the illusion of a conversational partner.
Beneath the layers of thought and emotion, what remains constant is the witnessing presence, the pure awareness in which all experiences appear and disappear. This witnessing is your true nature. It has no form, no shape, no desires, and no opinions.
It is simply there, effortlessly knowing all that arises. But why does this erroneous identification happen in the first place, one might ask? We identify so strongly with the sense of "I" because it’s deeply tied to something much more fundamental: the pure awareness of being, or the feeling of simply "I am.
" This sense of beingness—the quiet recognition that you exist—comes before all thoughts, ideas, or identities. It’s like the foundation on which everything else is built. But here’s where things get complicated.
The mind, with its habit of turning everything into concepts, grabs onto this pure awareness and creates a story around it. It forms a limited, separate sense of self—an "I" that feels tied to the body, the thoughts, the emotions, and the things we call "ours. " In doing this, the mind transforms something infinite and indescribable—this awareness—into something small and confined.
This happens because the mind, by its very nature, can’t truly understand what pure awareness is. Awareness isn’t a concept; it’s the very thing that allows concepts to exist in the first place. The mind, unable to leave it undefined, interprets this vast awareness through its own lens, turning it into a personal, separate self.
Think about it: before any thought or feeling arises, what is there? Just the simple knowing that you exist. This sense of "I am" comes first, untouched by labels or judgments.
It’s the essence of who you are, and everything else—your ideas, memories, possessions—gets added later, layered on top by the mind. When we start to question this process, we can shift our attention from the mind's story of "I" back to the pure awareness itself. Instead of identifying with the thoughts that say, "I am this," or "I feel that," we focus on the raw, simple knowing of being that’s always there, even before any thought of "I.
" In doing so, we begin to see the truth: the "I" that the mind creates is just an interpretation. The mind "borrows" the feeling of awareness—of the limitless consciousness that underlies everything—and turns it into a concept of separateness. But this concept is not who you truly are.
Your real self is the awareness that exists beyond all ideas, all boundaries, and all identities. By observing this process and gently turning your attention to the awareness itself, you start to see through the illusion of a limited self. What remains is the pure, infinite presence of who you have always been.
Let’s test this idea. Right now, assume: “I am not the thinker of my thoughts; I am the awareness of those thoughts. ” Notice how thoughts come and go.
A memory pops up—who sees it? A sensation arises—who is aware of it? The mind may claim ownership of these thoughts and experiences, but does the witnessing itself lay any such claim?
No. The witnessing just observes. If you look deeply enough, you’ll.
. . Find that the “I” who seems to think, feel, and act is not a real, separate being.
It’s an illusion perpetuated by the mind itself. When thoughts arise, try asking: “Who is the mind talking to? ” Each time, you’ll find no entity behind the mind—only the witnessing.
Here’s the extraordinary thing: the mind talks, but it talks to itself. It produces thoughts, and then more thoughts arise to engage with the first. This internal dialogue creates a sense of self-involvement that feels intensely personal.
Yet, it’s all just mental activity—thoughts interacting with thoughts. The mind generates an “I” thought—a sense of identity—and then other thoughts seem to revolve around it. This “I” thought feels closely tied to our sense of consciousness, making it feel incredibly real.
But when you investigate, this “I” thought is revealed to be just that—a thought. Like a shadow mistaken for something solid, it loses its apparent power once it is seen clearly. What remains is pure witnessing, untouched by the mental chatter.
One of the mind’s cleverest tricks is to claim it wants to be free of itself. It tells a story about how exhausting and endless its chatter is, how it longs for silence or peace. But even this desire—this “I want to be free” thought—comes from the mind.
It’s another mental layer. To see through this, you need to “catch” the subtle workings of the mind. For example, when the thought arises, “I’m tired of thinking,” ask yourself: “Who is tired of thinking?
” Again, you’ll find no entity, just a thought about freedom arising in awareness. This inquiry exposes the mind’s layers for what they are—ephemeral movements within witnessing. Pure witnessing is effortless.
Thoughts, emotions, and perceptions come and go, and the witnessing remains untouched by them. It does not judge, react, or interfere. It simply observes.
When you fully embody this witnessing, the identification with the mind begins to dissolve. You no longer see yourself as a thinker trapped in endless loops of dialogue. You recognize that all this mental activity arises and falls away on its own, with no one behind it.
With time, this recognition becomes natural. It isn’t limited to moments of meditation or inquiry; it permeates everyday life. Whether washing dishes, stuck in traffic, or having a heartfelt conversation, you come to rest in the silent witnessing of what is.
Life becomes less about control and more about flow, less about achieving and more about being. The ego—the “I” that the mind creates—turns out to be a master of disguise. One moment, it’s a perfectionist demanding excellence; the next, it’s a victim lamenting life’s struggles.
It changes masks constantly, depending on circumstances. But ask yourself: Are you all these identities? Or are you the witnessing presence within which these roles come and go?
In the light of inquiry, the ego’s shifting forms are exposed, and what remains is the stable, unchanging awareness that you truly are. This awareness doesn’t grasp at the roles or resist them; it simply observes them. When you truly see yourself as pure witnessing, something remarkable happens.
The layers of false self—the ego’s many masks—begin to fall away. What remains is your authentic nature: spacious, peaceful, and whole. This isn’t a theoretical understanding—it’s an experiential knowing that comes from direct observation.
In this state, the mind’s chatter loses its grip. It becomes background noise rather than a constant battle. You no longer seek to silence the mind forcefully because you see it for what it is: a collection of fleeting thoughts without a central thinker.
Life becomes lighter. Freed from the illusion of a separate “me,” you move through the world with ease and clarity. The witnessing presence, which you always were, shines forth unobscured.
This inquiry—“Who is the mind talking to? ”—isn’t something you do once and forget. It’s a practice to be integrated into daily life.
Again and again, bring your attention to witnessing. Let this recognition permeate your being. Over time, the lines between “self” and “other” blur, and you rest in the understanding that all of it arises in awareness.
So, who is the mind talking to? No one. It talks to itself.
And you—you are the silent witness, beyond words and thoughts, eternal and free.
