For over three decades, I have explored consciousness through the lens of Zen meditation. More recently, I’ve expanded this journey through breathwork and psychedelics—tools that offer rare and sometimes jarring windows into the inner self. When the pandemic arrived, it brought an unexpected opportunity: time to dive into what modern philosophers and neuroscientists have said on the matter. The outcome, however, was far from satisfying.
The First-Person Enigma
Consciousness is inherently personal. It’s the space where your inner world unfolds—where thoughts, memories, and sensations arise and fall. No one else can peer into your stream of awareness, just as you cannot access theirs. This makes consciousness one of the most intimate yet elusive phenomena we can explore.
Third-person science has mapped brain regions, studied neural correlates, and generated incredible insights. But when it comes to the subjective texture of experience, science stands at the threshold, peering through frosted glass.
Where Science Draws the Line
Modern neuroscience can measure electrical activity, map brain connectivity, and even predict behavior to some extent. But consciousness—its essence—remains out of reach. Anil Seth’s Being You is one of the most accessible introductions to consciousness studies, yet he bypasses meditative or non-ordinary states. He tackles the so-called "easy problem"—how we process perceptions—while acknowledging that the "hard problem" is beyond science's grasp.
Robert Sapolsky, in his book Determined, does not fare better. Though brilliant in his understanding of behavior and neurobiology, he admits defeat in understanding consciousness. Neither author meaningfully addresses the vast experiential territory opened up by meditation or psychedelics.
Philosophers at a Distance
You might expect philosophers to go deeper, but many don't. Daniel Dennett reduces consciousness to an illusion and brushes off subjective reports. David Chalmers, famous for framing the "hard problem," wrote a 400+ page book on consciousness without drawing on meditation or first-person accounts. In interviews, Chalmers admits he lacks the patience for meditation.
To me, this is like writing a dissertation on wine tasting without ever having tasted wine. How can one explore consciousness—a realm only accessible through direct experience—while dismissing the very methods that reveal it?
Meditation: The Lab of the Mind
Meditation, especially in its refined traditions like Zen, offers a rigorous methodology for exploring awareness itself. It trains the mind to distinguish between awareness and its contents. Thoughts, emotions, and bodily sensations become objects of attention rather than defining features of who we are.
In time, a shift occurs: awareness begins to notice itself. One no longer simply observes the mind but rests as the observer. In Zen, this state is often called "body and mind dropped away"—a profound stillness in which identity, time, and separation dissolve.
The Illusion of Self
With deep practice, the sense of a fixed "self" can vanish. What remains is not nothingness, but a vivid clarity—an openness that does not contract into an identity.
Sam Harris, in Waking Up, explores this idea eloquently. He explains that the self is just another construction of consciousness, built on the scaffolding of memory, emotion, and language. Neuroscience aligns with this: the brain’s default mode network is implicated in self-referential thinking. When this network quiets—through meditation or psychedelics—the illusion of self often fades.
Anil Seth agrees, but speaks from theory, not experience. That difference matters. Insight that is lived carries a different weight than insight that is merely reasoned.
Non-Dual Awareness: A Radical Shift
Sometimes, the boundary between observer and observed disappears altogether. This is the experience of non-dual awareness—a state in which all separation collapses. In Zen, it’s known as kensho; in other traditions, it’s called unity consciousness.
I’ve experienced this twice. The first time arrived unexpectedly. The second arose during a silent retreat. In both cases, what struck me was not spectacle, but silence—a seamless stillness where the need for labels, roles, or identity simply dissolved.
Such experiences are reported across traditions. They are not fantasy or hallucination, but a realignment of how consciousness perceives itself. To reject them outright is not skepticism—it’s negligence.
How We Misunderstand Oneness
I once read a philosopher’s claim that mystical unity was like being a rock: inert, lifeless, enslaved by physics. Clearly, he had never entered that space. Contrast that with this account from The Three Pillars of Zen, in which a practitioner describes kensho:
"At midnight I abruptly awakened... Then all at once I was struck as though by lightning... a veritable hurricane of delight, as I laughed loudly and wildly."
This is not lifelessness. It’s aliveness beyond the self.
Toward a Deeper Understanding
Sam Harris has said that Buddhist techniques offer the most advanced tools we have for exploring the mind. These tools are testable, replicable, and amenable to shared inquiry. Like athletes discussing "being in the zone," experienced meditators can compare notes and reach intersubjective consensus.
First-person data may be challenging, but it's no less valid than dreams, emotions, or pain. If philosophers are to contribute meaningfully to consciousness studies, they must do more than theorize. They must practice.
Final Thoughts
We need more inner scientists—more Galileos of the subjective world. The telescope is there: it's called meditation. But few have the courage or patience to look through it.
Consciousness is not just something we have. It’s what we are, beneath the stories, roles, and identities. Meditation doesn’t give you answers—it gives you a mirror. And sometimes, in its still surface, you catch a glimpse of something vast, silent, and true.
