Introduction
Summary of the book On Having No Head by Douglas Harding. Before we start, let’s delve into a short overview of the book. Imagine looking into a mirror, expecting to see your familiar face reflected back at you, but instead finding that something very strange is going on. You try to pinpoint where you begin and where the world around you ends, but it suddenly seems that you cannot locate your head at all. At first, this might feel like a joke, a simple trick of your imagination. But what if it is not a trick? What if looking carefully at your own experience of seeing, thinking, and feeling reveals a surprising truth: that the head you always assumed was at the center of your awareness is missing? This idea may sound puzzling, even a bit ridiculous, but it promises an exciting new way of understanding who you really are and what it means to be conscious. In the chapters ahead, we’ll explore this headless perspective and discover why it matters.
Chapter 1: Discovering a Shocking New Way of Seeing Yourself While Walking Himalayan Trails.
Imagine being an ordinary young adult, sure that you understand who you are, and then suddenly having that understanding turned completely upside down. That is what happened to a certain author in his early thirties as he strolled through the majestic Himalayan mountains. He was a thoughtful person, much like anyone else who asks big questions about life and the world. Yet on this particular day, as he walked along a quiet mountain path, something so unexpected happened that it instantly changed his way of seeing everything. The scenery around him was breathtaking—towering peaks, lush greenery, and a crisp blue sky—but what truly amazed him was not the beauty of the landscape. Instead, it was the discovery that when he truly paid attention to his own sight, he could not find his head. He realized that what he had always taken for granted—the idea of having a head located at the top of his body—did not directly appear in his own field of vision.
If you think about it, you have probably never questioned where your head is. You assume it’s right above your shoulders, holding your eyes and brain. But during that quiet Himalayan walk, the author paused, closed off all the usual chatter in his mind, and focused solely on what he could actually see. Instead of thinking about himself, he tried to just look. He observed his arms, his legs, and his torso, following them upwards, expecting to find the top part of himself—his head. Yet no matter how hard he looked, he could not find it. Instead, there was an empty, open space. And in that space, he saw not a head, but the world: the green mountains, the faraway hills, the soft sunlight bathing the landscape. His head was not blocking his view; it simply did not appear in the scene at all.
This experience was not some kind of dream or fantasy. To the author, it felt as natural as breathing. In that moment, he forgot he had a name, forgot he was a human being, and abandoned all the normal descriptions we use to define ourselves. There was just seeing—pure, direct, and immediate. Without his mind labeling everything, he saw something incredibly simple: the world was right there, shining forth, unsupported and radiant. Instead of having a head that looked out onto the world, it felt as though the world had moved right into the place he assumed his head should be. This brought a sense of calm and peaceful joy, as though a great weight had been lifted. Suddenly, everything felt balanced, clear, and surprisingly obvious.
Before this event, the author had never questioned the idea that his head was the center of his seeing. Just like you and me, he would have said, Of course I have a head right here; that’s where my eyes, brain, and thoughts are. Yet this direct experience showed him something else entirely. By fully paying attention to what he saw, he realized that his head was not visible. What he found instead was an open space that allowed the world to fill his vision completely. This was a shocking discovery, and it would set him on a journey to understand what it means for consciousness to be headless. Over time, he would reflect deeply on this event, write about it, and share it with others who might also glimpse this unusual truth.
Chapter 2: Unraveling Old Beliefs About Who We Are Through Direct Experience.
After that surprising experience in the Himalayas, the author could no longer look at himself in the old familiar ways. Before, if someone asked him, Who are you? he might have described himself as a person with a body, eyes that look out like windows, and a mind inside his skull doing all the thinking. He had imagined a sort of mini-person living inside his head, peering out through two eye-windows and observing the outside world. But now he saw that idea as just a story he had been telling himself. When he focused closely on what was actually visible, he found no windows and no little person behind them. There was only one wide field of vision, with no edges and no frame. It was as if his old mental picture of himself as a body with a head had melted away.
Think about how you picture your own head. You might imagine two eyes set in a face that belongs to you, looking out onto the world. But what if, when you look for your head in your actual experience, you find no such thing? The author realized that, visually, he did not see two separate windows (his eyes), just a single open view with no dividing line. This view was not surrounded by a frame, nor was there a separate observer inside. There were just vivid sights, colors, and shapes appearing in an open, clear space. The old assumption that there is a watcher inside our head began to fall apart. Instead, the view itself seemed self-contained, needing no hidden observer behind the scenes.
This change in perspective might sound strange, but think of it as looking at a familiar puzzle in a new way. We often assume that our senses, especially sight, operate like a camera inside our heads. We believe we have eyes at the front of our skull, sending images into a brain where a mind watches these pictures. But if we carefully examine what we actually see, we never find that camera or that watcher. We just find the seen world. Of course, when we talk and think about ourselves, we add layers of interpretation. We say, These eyes belong to me, I am in here, and everything else is out there. Yet in the raw data of experience, those layers do not automatically appear. They are ideas we impose, not truths we directly see.
By letting go of his old assumptions, the author felt a kind of mental freedom. Realizing that he did not directly see his head was more than a quirky trick. It challenged the standard idea of a separate me inside looking out. Without a head, there was no clear boundary separating him from the world he saw. This did not mean he was confused or disoriented. On the contrary, it felt refreshing. The world appeared as a continuous scene with no head blocking the view. Later, he would connect these insights to spiritual and philosophical traditions that also speak of a world with no dividing lines between self and others. But even without those references, he sensed he was on the verge of understanding something profound about consciousness and identity.
Chapter 3: Realizing That No Matter Where You Look, Your Own Head Is Invisible.
If you find yourself doubting these ideas, you can try a simple test. Look down at your body right now. You can see your legs, feet, maybe even wiggle your toes. You can see your torso and arms stretching out from you. If you raise your hands, you see them move. Now slowly turn your gaze upward, expecting to find your head. Where is it? You never actually see your head from your own point of view. It’s always been an assumption, supported by mirrors and photos but never directly appearing in your personal field of vision. The author’s realization in the Himalayas was just making this obvious fact clearer. No matter how you try, you cannot visually confirm that you have a head here from your own perspective.
This might feel like playing a game of hide-and-seek with yourself. You might think, Well, of course, I can’t see my own head! That’s normal. But the point is more interesting than that. We go through life believing we know where we are located—as if we are living behind our eyes, inside our head. Yet when we search for ourselves visually, we find no proof of that. Instead, we find openness. The absence of a visible head is not empty in a disappointing way—it is full of everything else in the world. It’s like having a window with no frame. You expect to see some border or boundary, but there is just a seamless scene extending outward.
Skeptics might argue, I can’t see my head because I’m using my eyes, which are on my head. It’s obvious! But think about what obvious means here. You have learned that your head exists because others have told you and because mirrors and cameras show you an image. But these are indirect methods. Directly, firsthand, your experience of your own head is never visual. You cannot turn your eyes around to look at it. This doesn’t mean you don’t have a head in the physical sense, but it does mean that your conscious experience of being someone with a head is not what you assume it to be. The author wants you to notice that your beliefs are constructed from indirect evidence rather than from what you directly perceive.
To make this clearer, imagine if you had grown up in a world without mirrors or photographs. How would you know what your head looks like? You might feel its presence through touch or assume it’s there because everyone else has one. But you would never see it for yourself. The notion of having a head would be an idea supported by hints and suggestions, never by direct visual confirmation. This challenges us to question how much of what we think we know about ourselves is based on assumptions rather than direct observation. The author’s big insight is not merely that he can’t see his head, but that this absence reveals something important about the nature of seeing and the structure of consciousness itself.
Chapter 4: Understanding That Mirrors and Photos Only Show Colored Shapes, Not Your Actual Head.
Perhaps you are thinking: But I see my head in mirrors every day! When you stand before a mirror, you see an image that you quickly label as my head. However, try to carefully observe what you actually see. The mirror reflects patterns of light and color. You identify certain shapes as your face, hair, eyes, and so forth. But these identifications come from your past learning. Without your mental labels, you are just seeing patches of color arranged in a certain way. The moment you call them my head, you have already moved beyond direct seeing into interpretation. This does not mean interpretation is bad; it’s just different from the pure experience itself.
The same goes for photographs. A picture of you is just patterns of colored dots on a printed surface or pixels on a screen. These patterns look like what you call you, but they are not you. You are not actually inside that image. You are here, experiencing the world, and the image is over there. It’s another object that you interpret as your head and face. When you realize this difference, you understand that seeing your head in a mirror or photo is not the same as seeing it directly. In fact, you never do see it directly. You only see representations and reflect them back onto your idea of yourself.
Some might say, But what about touching my face? If I touch my nose and feel it, that must prove it’s there. Yet even touch is a sensation. You feel pressure, warmth, or texture. You then combine that sensation with your memory and the concept of nose or head to conclude that what you are sensing belongs to a real part of your body. But remember, this too is an interpretation. Directly, you have a certain feeling, and you name it touching my nose. Without the idea of nose, you just have a peculiar sensation of pressure and warmth. In other words, both sight and touch involve layers of understanding that you add on top of raw experience.
This might seem overly technical, but it’s a key point: our normal sense of self is built up from stacking many ideas and inferences on top of the basic field of experience. We get so used to these added layers that we take them for granted and treat them as direct truths. By stripping them away, even just for a moment, we can discover something astonishing: the face we think we are peeking out of is never actually seen. Instead, we find a boundary-less openness filled with the world’s sights, sounds, and sensations. This realization can feel as if a heavy veil has been lifted, allowing us to glimpse consciousness in its simplest form—pure, direct, and surprisingly free of all the mental decorations we normally hang on it.
Chapter 5: Recognizing That Your Body, Too, Is Just Another Set of Changing Images.
If you can’t see your own head directly and what you see in the mirror is just a set of shapes, then what about the rest of your body? Look down at yourself. You see arms, legs, a torso, clothing, maybe shoes. But look closely at what these body parts really are in your immediate experience. Aren’t they just more shapes and colors arranged in certain patterns? When you label them my body, you are again adding an interpretation. Without that label, all you have are shifting colors and forms in your field of vision.
To understand this better, consider how you know that your hand is part of you. You move it, feel sensations, and see a shape that changes when you wiggle your fingers. Because these signals match your memories and expectations, you say, That’s my hand. But at the raw level, before adding this concept, there’s just a moving shape and some feelings of motion. It’s much like seeing a cloud drifting in the sky, except you attach a sense of ownership to the hand and not to the cloud. Why? Because you have learned to do so over a lifetime, and you rely on this story to organize your experiences.
This does not mean you should now deny having a body in a practical sense. Obviously, you can walk, eat, and interact with the world, and your body plays a crucial role in that. But realize that your experience of having a body is not as straightforward as you might think. Without naming it mine, your body is just one more pattern among many in your field of experience. Like your head, it never fully appears as a solid, standalone object from your personal viewpoint. You understand it to be an object after you’ve combined multiple senses—sight, touch, hearing—and applied a layer of concepts to them.
Noticing this can feel unsettling, but it also can be freeing. It suggests that what you call yourself is more fluid and mysterious than you imagined. Usually, you think you know who you are: a person inside a head, controlling a body that moves around in a world of separate objects. But if even your body is not as solid and self-evident as you once thought, then perhaps there are other ways to understand who you are. Maybe you are not an object with a head inside the world. Maybe you are the space in which all experiences occur, including the shapes you label as body. This way of seeing can open doors to new insights into consciousness and selfhood.
Chapter 6: Considering That No Head and No Real Body Is More Logical Than It Seems.
By now, the idea that you cannot find your own head or even your own body as a solid object might seem bizarre. You might suspect this is some kind of word trick or philosophical nonsense. But think carefully: when you rely on direct experience—what you see, feel, and hear in the present moment—do you find a neat package called head or body? Or do you find a collection of shifting sensations and shapes that you interpret as a head and body? If you truly focus on direct observation, the second description fits better.
Some might argue, I know I have a body because I can feel pain, hold objects, or run a mile. But feelings of pain are just sensations. Holding an object is another set of sensations—pressure, texture, resistance—combined with sight and the thought, I’m holding something. Running involves movement sensations, heavy breathing, and the sound of your steps. None of these, by themselves, prove the existence of a solid body as you imagine it. They simply prove that certain experiences occur together, forming a pattern. When you add the idea of a body, you’re giving that pattern a name and identity. It’s helpful for everyday life, but not necessarily an accurate description of direct consciousness.
You might still feel uneasy. After all, science tells us we have bodies made of cells, organs, and a brain that produces consciousness. But remember, science, too, is based on observations—observations of instruments, readings, and experiments. These are all experiences, often involving seeing images on screens or under microscopes. The scientist labels certain structures as brain and certain chemical signals as thought, but these labels are built upon experiences of color, shape, and measurement readings. This scientific picture is a powerful and useful model, but it is still a set of ideas added onto raw experience. It does not change the fact that, right now, you do not see your head. You just see the world.
Rather than feeling frustrated by this, think of it as peeling an onion. Each layer you remove (like the idea of a head, a body, or a self inside your skull) reveals another layer. Eventually, you reach nothingness at the core. But this nothing is not empty in a negative way. It’s the space that allows everything else to appear. Without the space of awareness, no objects could show up. Without the absence of a head in your vision, you couldn’t see what lies beyond. In this sense, realizing you have no head is surprisingly logical. It aligns with your direct experience, stripped of assumptions. The strangeness comes not from the idea itself, but from how different it is from what you’ve always believed.
Chapter 7: Understanding That Other People’s Opinions Don’t Confirm Your Body’s Existence as You Imagine.
If you remain skeptical, you might say, Fine, I can’t see my own head directly, but I can ask my friend. She sees my head and can confirm it’s there. True, your friend would say she sees your head. But what does she actually see? She sees a shape with features she calls a face. She learned to label that pattern as your head. Yet, from her direct experience, she too only sees colors and shapes, then names them. She never accesses your head as some absolute, solid truth. She too interprets signals and forms a story.
This might seem like splitting hairs, but it gets to the root of what it means to know something. Most of what we call knowledge is built on agreements between people. We agree that a certain shape is called a head. We agree that each of us has one. We use language to confirm these agreements. But if everyone is starting from their own field of experience—colors, sounds, sensations—then all these agreements rest on a network of interpretations. They are useful for communication and getting around the world, but they don’t prove that a head, as we imagine it, exists inside our consciousness.
Even if you ask a skilled scientist or doctor, they can only show you readings, scans, or open up a body to display organs. Yet what they see is still shapes, colors, and textures, which they label as head, brain, and so forth. At the most basic level, we are all dealing with patterns in our awareness. The scientific approach is a more detailed and systematic way of labeling and organizing these patterns, but it cannot escape the fundamental truth that these patterns appear in consciousness and are interpreted by minds.
This doesn’t mean that people and science are lying. It just means that what we call reality is strongly influenced by how we interpret our experiences. We build a picture of the world—a picture that includes heads, bodies, brains, and minds—and we treat it as true. It’s a useful map. But the author’s experience encourages us to notice the difference between the map and the territory, between ideas and immediate experience. By doing so, we might discover that our ordinary understanding of ourselves is limited. Instead of being a separate person with a head inside a world of objects, maybe we are the open awareness in which this world appears. This shift can feel odd, but it can also feel surprisingly natural once seen.
Chapter 8: Realizing That Science’s Explanation of Vision Supports the Headless View.
Science tells us that what we see as the world out there is actually formed by light waves hitting our eyes, sending signals to our brain, which somehow produces an image we experience. This is already a bit magical if you think about it: we end up with a picture inside our awareness. According to science, this picture is not the real, solid world itself, but a representation created by our nervous system. This idea fits nicely with the author’s insight. If what we see is a mental image, then in a direct sense, we are not seeing a head or a body. We are seeing visual patterns appearing in our consciousness.
Science doesn’t deny that we have physical forms. It just says that what we experience—the colors, shapes, sounds—is generated from complex processes inside our brain. This means that the outside world, as we know it, is an inside experience. When we say we see a mountain, we are actually seeing a mental construction triggered by light signals. Our head and body are also part of this mental construction. Just as the mountain is an image, so too is the face we think of as ours. If you accept this scientific story, then it’s not a huge leap to say that from a first-person perspective, we find no head. After all, the head is just another concept that we place onto the patterns appearing in awareness.
The author’s big discovery aligns with this view. He realized that his consciousness was not located behind two eyes inside a skull. Instead, it seemed like a clear space that contained everything, including what we call the world. Science tells a similar story but uses different language. It says the brain creates a model of reality inside our consciousness. The author’s point is that we only directly know this model, never a truly separate outer world. In both views, we never actually see our own head. Science explains it by saying it’s impossible for our eyes to turn around, and our brain doesn’t produce a first-person image of our own head’s exterior. The author’s approach is more direct: he simply observes that in immediate experience, his head is absent.
While science and philosophy often seem at odds, here they can shake hands. Both indicate that our everyday sense of self as a separate being inside a head might be a useful illusion. The scientific approach breaks down vision into waves, cells, and signals. The author’s approach breaks down vision into pure experience with no assumed boundaries. Both approaches suggest that what we take for granted—an observer in a head looking out at a world—is not a direct truth. It’s a useful story, but one that can be questioned. Once you accept that you only see images in consciousness, it becomes natural to doubt the existence of a separate observer inside your skull. What’s left is a radiant field of experience, headless and open.
Chapter 9: Accepting That Beyond Our Direct Experiences, Nothing Else Is Certain.
Stand quietly and look around. See a tree, a chair, or a book. Consider what these things are before you name them. They are shapes, colors, and patterns appearing in your field of vision. Now, without adding extra ideas, can you prove that these shapes exist out there as solid objects independent of your seeing? From your direct experience, all you know is that these shapes appear. You interpret them as objects at different distances, but distance is itself an assumption. Without naming it tree or chair, you just have patterns that arise in the visual field. Likewise, without calling something my head, you just have openness.
This might feel radical. We normally trust that there is a stable, shared world out there, and that we each have a head looking at it. But consider a dream: when you dream at night, you see all sorts of images. They seem real while you’re dreaming. Yet, when you wake up, you realize they were just pictures in your mind. Could your waking experience be similar in some way? The author is not necessarily claiming life is a dream, but he is pointing out that all we ever actually know are the contents of our experience. Anything beyond that is a guess, an inference, or a belief. Seeing this clearly can be unsettling, but it can also be enlightening.
If you don’t add concepts like my body or that distant mountain, what remains is just a field of perception. In that field, every part is present simultaneously. We imagine depth and perspective, but these are mental constructions. In raw experience, the green patch we call grass and the large shape we call a mountain share the same space of awareness. Without thinking, there is no far or near, no self or other. Everything appears as one integrated whole. The lack of a visible head is just part of this. Because you cannot see your own head, you cannot confirm your usual assumption of being a separate observer. You find yourself as an open space in which the world unfolds.
This doesn’t mean you should reject practicality. You can still function in daily life, use distance, trust that your body is real, and behave like a normal person. The point is not to abandon common sense, but to understand its limitations. Common sense gives us a workable framework, but not the complete truth. By looking directly at experience, we realize that reality is more mysterious than our everyday assumptions. The author’s discovery in the Himalayas taught him that if we stop rushing to label everything and pay attention to what’s actually there, we might see something extraordinary: a complete, unified field of experience with no head at the center. Just an open awareness, filled with colors, shapes, and sounds, and nothing else is guaranteed.
Chapter 10: Embracing the Nothingness That Lies at the Core of Consciousness.
Now we come to the heart of the matter: the nothingness at the center of your experience. Not finding a head might seem like you’re missing something, but what if this absence is a gift? If your head were visible in your field of view, it would block what’s beyond it. Instead, by not appearing, it allows everything else to shine forth. This emptiness is what lets the world in. It’s like having a completely clear window with no frame. If there were a frame, it would limit your view. Because your consciousness is headless, it has infinite room for whatever arises.
This nothingness is not boring or bleak. It’s the backdrop against which every experience stands out. Without silence, you wouldn’t notice sound. Without empty space, you wouldn’t see objects. Without the absence where your head should be, you wouldn’t see the world. In fact, this nothingness is not truly nothing. It’s a kind of openness or capacity. It can hold any perception, feeling, or thought. All the richness of life pours into it. When you think of it this way, the absence of your head is like the secret ingredient that makes conscious experience possible.
This perspective invites you to see consciousness not as a thing inside your skull, but as a limitless field. In this field, you find sights, sounds, emotions, and ideas. But you never find a boundary or a core thing that is you. This can be frightening at first if you cling to the idea that you must be a solid entity. But if you relax, you might find it comforting. Without a fixed center, you are free to be open, flexible, and connected to the world. Instead of a little observer inside a head, you become the open space in which life’s drama unfolds.
Seeing your own headlessness can bring a sense of relief. It strips away unnecessary mental clutter. Instead of feeling cramped inside your skull, you realize that you are as wide as the world. This realization can encourage peace, because it dissolves many of the boundaries we place around ourselves. In nothingness, there is room for everything. By recognizing the headless nature of your experience, you step beyond the idea that you must always defend a self or hold onto rigid concepts. Instead, you can simply be present and notice how experience flows naturally. This simple openness can lead to deeper understanding and joy.
Chapter 11: Finding Freedom and Inner Peace Through a Headless Perspective Inspired by Zen.
If talk of emptiness and openness reminds you of Zen Buddhism, that’s no coincidence. Zen masters have long taught that our usual way of seeing ourselves is upside-down. They suggest that there is no separate self inside our heads, and that recognizing this fact can bring deep peace. The author, after his experience in the Himalayas, found many parallels between his realization and the teachings of Zen. Zen stories and poems often describe moments when a person suddenly notices that what they took for granted—their solid self—is not there. Instead, they find a bright, empty clarity that feels more real and alive than any idea of a separate I.
For example, Zen texts often mention that there is no eye, no ear, no nose and no body. When a Zen student first hears this, they might be confused. But if the student has a direct experience like the author’s, the meaning becomes clear. It’s not saying that eyes, ears, and noses don’t exist physically. It’s saying that in direct experience, without adding names or concepts, you won’t find these separate parts. You find a single, undivided reality. Some Zen masters described looking into a stream and not finding themselves separate from the scene. Others wrote of suddenly realizing their body and mind vanished into one great luminosity. These accounts mirror the headless insight almost exactly.
Western thought often starts from the assumption that we are individuals inside bodies, looking out at an external world. This leads to many tricky philosophical puzzles. How do we know the external world is real? How does the mind relate to the body? The headless perspective clears these puzzles away by showing that the division is artificial. There is only one field of experience, and we add all separations afterward. Letting go of these divisions can feel like a huge relief. You no longer have to maintain the idea that you are a little watcher stuck in your head. Instead, you recognize yourself as the open space of awareness.
Embracing headlessness can be more than an interesting thought experiment. It can also be a form of meditation. By regularly turning your attention back to what you actually experience, you might learn to rest in that open, headless clarity. This can reduce stress and increase a sense of connection with the world. You realize that you aren’t isolated. You are not trapped behind your eyes. Instead, you and the world are one continuous presence. This shift can create a deep serenity. Problems may still arise, but without the tight boundaries of a separate self, you may find them easier to handle. In seeing your no head, you might also see that you are not limited to who you thought you were. You are free, spacious, and at peace—an awareness that holds everything without barriers.
(End of all 11 Chapters)
All about the Book
Discover transformative insights in ‘On Having No Head’ by Douglas Harding. This thought-provoking guide challenges perceptions of self and reality, inviting readers to explore profound awareness through unique experiential exercises and enlightening philosophy.
Douglas Harding, a visionary philosopher and spiritual teacher, inspired countless seekers with his groundbreaking explorations of consciousness, self-perception, and awareness, shaping modern spiritual discourse.
Psychologists, Philosophers, Mindfulness coaches, Educators, Spiritual leaders
Meditation, Philosophical discussion, Self-exploration, Creative writing, Yoga
Self-identity, Awareness and consciousness, Perception of reality, Mental well-being
You are not what you think, you are the awareness that observes those thoughts.
Eckhart Tolle, Deepak Chopra, Jon Kabat-Zinn
The Spiritual Book Award, The Mindfulness Award, The Consciousness Reader’s Choice Award
1. Experience liberation through realizing ‘no-head’ awareness. #2. Understand direct perception without mental constructs. #3. Discover inner peace by living in present moment. #4. Embrace a sense of boundless universal identity. #5. Gain insight into the illusion of selfhood. #6. Recognize the seamless unity with the world. #7. Explore spirituality beyond traditional religious frameworks. #8. Relinquish attachments to external appearances and labels. #9. Cultivate awareness through simple, direct observation practices. #10. Appreciate the world without subjective mental filters. #11. Experience profound peace through self-erasure practice. #12. Understand consciousness as unrestricted, boundary-less presence. #13. Dissolve ego boundaries for a true self-experience. #14. Achieve freedom by shedding societal identity constructs. #15. Reframe personal perspective through simple experiential experiments. #16. Explore consciousness as a direct and immediate experience. #17. Understand the self as an open, empty space. #18. Discover deeper connection with nature and surroundings. #19. Cultivate mindfulness through consistent self-inquiry practice. #20. Experience reality directly, beyond thoughts and beliefs.
On Having No Head, Douglas Harding, spiritual awakening, non-duality, mindfulness, self-discovery, inner peace, consciousness, philosophy, meditation, metaphysics, self-realization
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