This week, we’re looking at something we often don’t see at all: The Nature of Thought
When we talk about the nature of something, we're pointing to its essence. Its fundamental character. Not what it seems to be, or how it behaves on the surface, but what it is when all interpretation is stripped away.
The nature of water is to flow and take the shape of what holds it.
The nature of a storm is to arise, pass through, and dissolve.
The nature of animals is to be present and respond instinctively.
So what is the nature of thought? How does it behave, what are its properties, what is it before we label it as good or bad, true or false, helpful or harmful?
Is it solid? Can it be touched?
Is it permanent? Can it stay?
Is it reliable? Can it be trusted?
When you look closely, you find that a thought is none of those things.
It is not solid - it can’t be held.
It is not stable - it’s gone before you even finish noticing it.
It is not personal - it appears without your permission and often leaves before you catch it.
So what is it?
Experientially, thought is phenomena - momentary flickers - images and sounds appearing in awareness. They are temporary appearances in awareness - mental movements made of words, images, sensations, or memories arising spontaneously in your experience. They're subtle forms of energy, like waves that rise and fall within consciousness.
The scientist's answer, grounded in biology and neuroscience says thoughts are the result of electrochemical signals and neural patterns within the brain, generated by billions of neurons communicating through electrical impulses and chemical neurotransmitters.
The scientist explains the biological machinery behind the scenes, but it is your direct experience of thoughts is what matters most in everyday life. Knowing how the brain produces thoughts doesn't necessarily help us find peace or clarity, whereas seeing through their transient nature can change everything.
Thoughts are always moving. Whispering. Shouting. Suggesting.
They’re the background noise of our lives.
And because they are constant, we rarely pause to ask: what are they, really?
Some we recognize as thought:
“What should I cook tonight?”
“Remember to call her back.”
“I wonder if this outfit works.”
Those are easy. They come and go like passing clouds, and we know we’re thinking.
But others - especially the ones soaked in emotion - feel different.
They don’t arrive as thoughts.
They arrive as truth.
“I’m not as good as them.”
“They must be disappointed in me.”
“I’m just not good at this.”
“I’m too much. I’m not enough.”
But we don’t notice that we’re thinking.
We just feel small.
Tension-filled. Anxious. Defeated.
We assume we’re seeing clearly - when what we’re actually seeing is through a lens we didn’t even know we were wearing.
This is the most important thing I could ever say to you – and it is without a doubt the hardest thing to even consider, let alone grasp, because to even consider it is terrifying.
We do not control our thoughts.
We don’t control which thoughts arrive.
We don’t even invite them in.
They just… appear. One after the other.
They come, they go, they come again and they go again.
But where do they appear?
How do we know what we’re thinking?
Who is noticing the conversation going on in our head?
What is aware of the thoughts?
There is something in which these thoughts arise. It is still. Quiet. Unmoved.
Warm regards,
Suzanne 🕊️
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