The Mind Beyond Thoughts

Podcast Summary

There’s a moment I’ll never forget. I was sitting on a park bench along the Hudson River in New York—completely sober, five years in—but inside, my mind was still running the same noisy patterns. Same reactions. Same stories. That’s when I opened a little pink yoga book, and there it was: “Citta Vritti Nirodha” — the second sutra in Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras.

“Yoga is the cessation of the fluctuations of the mind.”

I remember reading those words and feeling like something cracked open inside me. Wait—cessation of mind stuff is a thing? Is that actually possible? This teaching isn’t about controlling the mind or making it quiet through force. It’s about realizing: we are not our thoughts. That the mind is always moving, always telling stories, but beneath that, there is a deeper self. A more spacious self. That self is steady, loving, and awake.

Louise and I explored what it means to live from that space. Yoga, in its essence, means union—connection to the divine, to truth, to ourselves. When the noise of the mind settles, even just for a breath, we glimpse the part of us that is free. The part that doesn’t need fixing.

The Mind Isn’t Who You Are

The second sutra of Patanjali isn’t a command. It’s an invitation. An offering. “Yoga is the cessation of the fluctuations of the mind.” What if we understood that to mean: there is a place inside of us that exists beyond the chaos? A place that’s already still, already whole. Louise and I explored how this teaching isn’t about force or fixing, but about gently recognizing that we are not our thoughts. Yoga, in its truest form, is a returning. A reunion with what’s steady beneath the storm.

In my own path, this didn’t arrive as a grand awakening. It came in whispers—in the forest, on the mat, in heartbreak. Each moment offered a glimpse of freedom when I stopped believing every thought and instead just witnessed it. The more I practiced, the more space opened. And in that space? Breath. Choice. Presence. We don’t have to eliminate the mind—we simply learn to relate to it differently. That shift changes everything.

Awareness Isn’t a Destination—It’s a Daily Devotion

Awareness isn’t something we stumble into once and then keep forever. It’s a devotion. A gentle practice of returning again and again. Louise and I talked about how small anchors—like noticing your feet, pausing to feel your breath—can become sacred. These are not just mindfulness tricks. They are portals back to now. And now is where healing lives.

What matters most isn’t how long we stay aware, but how lovingly we return. Awareness is forgiving. It welcomes us without shame. Even in the most ordinary moments—doing dishes, driving, making school lunches—we can soften into presence. Not to get it “right,” but to remember who we are underneath the noise. Every time we choose to come back, we reclaim a bit more of ourselves.

Thoughts as Messengers, Emotions as Guides

One of the most tender parts of our conversation was about how our thoughts are rarely random. They’re signals. Often, they’re pointing toward unfelt emotions—fear, grief, shame—that haven’t yet had the chance to move through. When I got sober, I expected the noise in my mind to quiet. Instead, it roared. That experience taught me that what I was hearing weren’t just “bad thoughts”—they were echoes of buried pain asking to be seen.

The path of healing isn’t paved with mental fixes. It’s softened by emotional honesty. When we meet our emotions instead of avoiding them, our thoughts begin to shift on their own. Not because we’ve silenced them, but because we’ve listened. Witnessing without judgment is what allows release. The goal is not to have a quiet mind. The goal is to be free—not ruled by the mind, but rooted in something deeper.

Conclusion

There’s a beautiful metaphor I come back to often: our thoughts are like clouds, and we are the sky. The sky doesn’t chase the clouds. It doesn’t fight them. It simply holds them. Allows them. Knows they will pass.

That’s what this practice is. That’s what this episode is. An invitation to stop chasing your thoughts and start being with what’s true underneath them. To notice the cloud—but identify as the sky. Spacious. Ever-present. Whole. It’s not always easy. Some days we forget. Some days the mind feels louder than ever. But the more we practice—the more we breathe, feel, witness—the more we remember: we are not broken. We are not our patterns. We are not the voice in our head.