‘The Universe belies you’ wrote Voltaire the passionate skeptic, ‘and your heart refutes a hundred times your mind’s conceit’.
I don’t know what Mind is. But I do know this. Every time I say ‘Gotcha!’, every time I hold forth on the nature of Mind, I am back in my Hall of Mirrors. Back in the whirl of the Self-Loop.
Very wise-men have been trying to get a handle on this thing called ‘Mind’ for a few millennia and have gotten nowhere. Divine origin? The center of cognition, emotion and volition? The firing of synapse on brain tissue?
But this ‘Mind’ of mine [which of course I know exists] keeps giving me the slip. [And to further confuse matters, knowing folks say that Mind is also the depository of ‘Thought’, the dodgy character we just met.]
I can’t see it, hear it, smell it, taste it, touch it. And yet, darn it all, it feels awfully real and tangible to me. This ghost behind my nose and between my ears. For here is the epicenter of the Self-Loop.
And anything I pick and label as ‘Mind’ using this Mind of mine cannot be Mind, can be anything but Mind.
So. ‘What is ‘Mind’? As I said, that’s about where the wise-men left it.