Are we what we think?

We are familiar with the phrase, “We are what we eat.”

And in one sense, this is certainly true. Our body receives its fuel and building material from what we put into it. Food is transformed into energy, blood, tissue, and bone. This body is continuously rebuilt from what we take in.

Last night, while eating a garden-fresh dinner, I was contemplating this. I thought, yes, I am what I eat.

But clearly, that is not all I am.

And then another sentence came to me: I am what I think.

We may be quite careful about food. We read labels. We ask where something came from. We might choose organic food and avoid ingredients that we know are harmful.

But how careful are we about what we feed our mind?

Do we ask where the information comes from?

Do we ask whether it is true?

Do we ask whether it is nourishing, helpful, or necessary?

Or do we simply consume whatever is placed before us?

We live in a time of endless mental food. News, social media, videos, opinions, advertising, messages, and images are available every moment of the day.

Much of it is designed not to make us wiser or freer, but simply to hold our attention.

We reach for the phone in a moment of boredom, discomfort, loneliness, or uncertainty. We want a small change in our inner state, a quick distraction, a little dopamine.

This is not so different from eating when we are not hungry. We may eat because we are anxious, tired, stressed, or lonely. For a moment we feel soothed, but we may not be giving the body what it actually needs.

We have to ask: What are we feeding?

Food provides building material for cells and energy.

Thoughts provide building material for neurological pathways, emotional patterns, habits, beliefs, and actions.

Not every thought that arises becomes who we are. Many thoughts are random, conditioned, and passing. We do not need to become frightened of them or try to control every movement of the mind.

But the thoughts we repeatedly entertain become stronger.

The thoughts we repeatedly believe begin to shape our experience.

And the thoughts we repeatedly act upon shape our lives.

This is why our sitting practice is so important.

When we first become quiet, we may become painfully aware of the condition of the mind. We see the speed, the quantity, the repetition, and sometimes the complete absurdity of our thinking.

The mind rehearses old conversations. It creates imaginary arguments. It plans, worries, judges, compares, complains, remembers, and fantasizes.

It can be embarrassing.

We may wonder, “Is this really what is going on in my mind all day?”

Yes. And seeing it is precious.

Please do not underestimate the courage it takes to sit still and honestly watch your own mind.

Before we become aware of a thought, we are simply inside it. We believe it.

We follow it. We experience the world through it.

But the moment we recognize, “This is a thought,” there is already a little space.

A thought is not necessarily the truth. A thought is not a command.

A thought is not important simply because it appeared.

And a thought is not who we are.

The philosopher René Descartes famously said, “I think, therefore I am.”

This statement deeply influenced Western thought. It places thinking at the center of our identity. I know that I exist because I am thinking.

But from the perspective of Zen, we question this radically.

The thought has influence of who I think I am, but not what I truly am.

When thinking becomes quiet, do we cease to exist?

In a moment of complete presence, before the mind names, judges, or explains what is happening, are we not here?

The real question is who is noticing that someone is thinking?

Awareness is more fundamental than the thought.

Thoughts come and go. They change from one moment to the next. One thought says, “I am doing well.” The next says, “I am a failure.” One thought trusts life. The next is frightened of everything.

Sitting practice reveals that thoughts arise within awareness. They appear, remain for a moment, and disappear.

Awareness itself is not improved by a beautiful thought, and it is not damaged by a difficult thought.

This does not mean that our thoughts are unimportant. Thoughts have consequences. They affect the nervous system, the body, our relationships, and our actions.

But we do not have to identify with every thought that moves through us.

There is a difference between a thought arising and a thought being entertained.

The first movement may happen before we are conscious of it.

But then we continue the story. We repeat it. We add evidence.

This is where our responsibility begins.

No need to control the mind with force. It is a courageous becoming intimate with the process.

What thoughts am I feeding?

What thoughts am I rehearsing?

What thoughts am I treating as truth?

What thoughts am I allowing to shape my actions?

If I repeatedly tell myself that I am inadequate, that pathway becomes familiar.

If I repeatedly believe that other people cannot be trusted, I begin to see the world through suspicion.

If I continually consume information that makes me fearful and outraged, fear and outrage become familiar inner states.

The mind returns to the pathways it has practiced.

In this sense, we are what we think.

Or perhaps more accurately, we are continually shaped by what we repeatedly think, believe, and give our attention to.

Whatever we repeatedly give attention to receives our life energy.

This does not mean that we should ignore suffering, injustice, danger, or difficulty. Practice is not about replacing difficult thoughts with pleasant ones or covering reality with positive thinking.

The question is how we meet reality.

We are also shaped by a special kind of thoughts; beliefs.

Many of our beliefs were formed before we could examine them. Beliefs about who we are, what we deserve, what is possible, and what the world is like.

Because these beliefs have been with us for a long time, we assume they are true.

Meditation allows us to see a belief as a belief.

We can begin to ask:

Is it true that I am not enough?

Is it true that I cannot change?

Is it true that I must always defend myself?

Is it true that peace is somewhere else?

Is it true that this moment is incomplete?

When a belief is seen clearly, it may begin to loosen. We no longer have to organize our lives around every conclusion the mind has made.

But we must also be careful not to turn this teaching into another self improvement project.

We are not trying to construct a perfect self through perfect thinking.

Moment by moment, a sense of self is assembled.

When we sit, we begin to witness this construction.

Am I my body, my actions, my history, and my relationships?

All of these are part of this life. They matter. We cannot separate ourselves from the food we eat, the air we breathe, the people around us, or the choices we make.

We are in continuous relationship with everything.

We are that relationship; we are the unfolding of all that we perceive, because we are awareness itself.

The food becomes the body. The air becomes the body. The sunlight, the rain, the soil, and the entire earth are present in this body and mind.

Choose carefully what you take in.

Choose carefully what you read and watch.

Choose carefully the conversations you return to.

Choose carefully the thoughts you nourish.

Choose carefully the people and surroundings that influence your life.

Choose carefully, but not fearfully.

What supports wakefulness?

What supports compassion?

What supports courage and clarity?

This is the human game.

Each moment of awareness interrupts unconscious creation.

Each moment of attention plants a seed.

Each action contributes to the person we are becoming and the world we are creating together.

Awareness itself is what creates the balance, the healing; no need for the mind to intervene. True awakening is noticing the madness, the beauty, the unfathomable life that is already here. I eat, think, feel, and the universe is simply experiencing itself through it.