Thoughts on Awareness: The Self Behind the Self.
When you close your eyes and notice your thoughts, a strange thing happens. The thoughts move on their own. They appear and fade without your command, like clouds drifting across a sky you do not control. You can watch them, label them, even resist them, but they arise without asking your permission. This raises a question that has occupied philosophers and mystics for centuries: if you can observe your thoughts, are you the thoughts themselves, or the awareness that notices them?
The same is true for sensations. You can feel warmth, hear a sound, taste food, and notice all of it. Yet in every case, there seems to be something behind the experience, a presence that is aware of it. The body changes. The emotions shift. The scenery of life alters constantly. But this presence, the one that is aware, feels steady and unchanging.
Some traditions call this the witness, the observer behind all perception. In this view, you are not the body, not the thoughts, not the emotions, but the awareness in which all of these occur. This awareness does not come and go. It was here in childhood, it is here now, and it will be here in every moment you recognize it. The objects of awareness may change, but the fact of being aware remains constant.
From a scientific perspective, the observer is harder to define. Neuroscience can track the processes by which the brain processes information, integrates sensory data, and generates a sense of self. Yet none of these explanations capture the immediacy of awareness itself. They describe the machinery, not the light by which the machinery is seen.
The question becomes more complex when we consider that the observer and the observed might not be separate at all. In some contemplative states, the distinction collapses. The sound of rain is not something you hear, it is simply happening. The breath is not something you watch, it is simply breathing. In these moments, there is no subject and object, only the immediacy of experience.
This raises the possibility that the observer is not a detached entity sitting behind the scenes, but an inseparable aspect of what is observed. Awareness and its contents might be two sides of the same reality. The separation is a useful construction, a way for the mind to organize and navigate the world, but not an absolute truth.
If you are the observer, then your essence is untouched by the storms of life. If you are the observed, then you are the living fabric of the world itself. And if the two are one, then there has never been a division to reconcile, only a recognition to awaken to.
The question may never be answered in words, but it can be felt. Sit still. Notice what is here before the next thought arrives. Notice the awareness that is aware of itself. In that moment, the question dissolves, and what remains is not a label, but the simple fact of being.
