Validity
In both spirituality and science, observation is the foundation of truth. In science, nothing is accepted as valid until it has been observed, measured, and tested. Hypotheses are proposed, but they remain unproven until confirmed through repeated observation.
Likewise, in the inner world, the thoughts and beliefs that arise in the mind are merely mental hypotheses—ideas, stories, and predictions. Just because the mind says something doesn’t mean it’s valid.
Michael A. Singer teaches that the mind is constantly talking, creating an ongoing narrative about who we are, what others think, what we need, and what to fear. But none of these thoughts are automatically valid. They’re untested assumptions—programmed by past experience, reinforced by emotion, and kept alive through repetition.
If you want to know what’s real, you must step back and observe.
Here’s where science and spirituality meet: observation allows for truth to emerge. In physics, we don’t assume an object behaves a certain way—we watch it. In neuroscience, we study the brain’s patterns by observing the brain, not by guessing.
Similarly, in the realm of consciousness, you don’t find truth by believing every thought—you find it by observing the thinker.
Singer points out that you are not the talkative mind—you are the awareness that hears it. When you take your seat as the observer, you create a space between you and the voice. From that space, you can evaluate what the mind is saying. Does it bring peace or disturbance? Does it reflect reality, or just echo your conditioning?
Just like a scientist discards a faulty theory, you can let go of any thought that does not align with peace, clarity, and freedom. Real validity comes not from how convincing a thought sounds, but from how it resonates with the deeper awareness within you.
So whether in the lab or in your heart, truth is not found in noise—it is found in observation. And the observer, in both science and spirit, is where real understanding begins.
The Tyranny of Words vs. What is Real
Words are pointers to ideas, and they are not things in themselves. There is the real world we experience inside and outside of ourselves. Words are given greater potency in religious circles because it touches on a core tension: the difference between belief and being, between doctrine and direct experience.
In religion, words are often treated as sacred. Scriptures, creeds, sermons—they’re all built from language. But words are symbols. They point toward truth, but they are not the truth itself. This is where the tyranny begins.
People start clinging to the words rather than what the words were meant to reveal. They argue over doctrine, recite prayers mechanically, or divide into camps based on different interpretations. The language becomes a cage, and the living experience of the divine—love, awe, stillness, compassion—gets buried under layers of intellectual or institutional structure.
In mystic traditions—like Sufism in Islam, Kabbalah in Judaism, or Christian mysticism—this issue is often confronted head-on. Mystics repeatedly say: you have to go beyond the words to experience the truth directly. In Zen, there’s a phrase: “Don’t mistake the finger pointing at the moon for the moon itself.” Words are the finger.
But the tyranny gets worse when people start defending the words as absolute. That’s when dogma rises, inquisitions happen, and people are judged not by their hearts but by how well they recite doctrine or follow ritual. The real world—of suffering, kindness, curiosity, mystery—is ignored or oversimplified.
So in short: in religious circles, the tyranny of words can replace living spirituality with lifeless repetition. Real transformation happens when people use the words as a bridge—and then go beyond them, into silence, into compassion, into direct connection with something greater.
Who We Really Are
Who we truly are is not our name, our body, our personality, or the story we've been telling ourselves. In truth, we are the one who is aware—the observer behind all thoughts, emotions, and experiences. That awareness, that quiet presence behind the scenes, is our true self.
But from the moment we’re born, the world gives us names and labels. We’re told, “You’re John,” or “You’re Sarah.” We’re told what our gender is, what race we are, what family we belong to, what our religion is, what’s right and wrong, what’s expected of us. Slowly, we build an identity out of all those external definitions. We say, “This is who I am.” But that’s just the outer shell.
Singer says the real problem begins when we start believing we are that shell. We identify with our name, our roles, our opinions, and even our pain. We spend our lives defending and protecting this made-up identity—this “person” we think we are—without ever questioning who it is that sees it all happening. Who is watching the name? Who is hearing the story?
He invites us to let go of the mind’s constant chatter about identity and step back into the seat of awareness. That seat doesn’t need a name. It doesn't need to be right, or admired, or understood. It simply is. And in that space, we are free.
So when someone asks, “Who are you?” we usually answer with a name. But Singer would gently say, “No, that’s just what people call you. Who you are is the one who hears that name, the one who sees, who experiences, who is always present. And that one is infinite.”