Being Present
The Mind as a Body of Resonance
After the blank page.
After Still Failing.
This is the practical part - though even that word feels slightly misleading.
My recent being-present includes feeling like I’m losing my nerves, because my poor little 1.5 year old dog is literally dictated by his hormones. He won’t rest. At home he runs back and forth inside, whining. He wants to go out to follow the alluring scent of lady dogs who are in heat. He does not know what he’s doing, but it wrecks him - and me.
I use every car drive, every banal possibility like hoovering, to regulate right now. My probably most regulating resource - walking in nature - is a minefield at the moment. At least in the direct surroundings.
The sex bomb gets a hormone chip in two days. Until that works (another two weeks - bloody hell)… well, I have to apply all my existing - and upcoming - sweet impulses I share here myself, to a very large extent. Experimenting with what is one could say. And at times - still - I will lose it. All tools will fail. And maybe I’ll lightly freak out. And laugh about my hilarious attempts about presence, describing it and giving impulses all together. Hormones of little dogs can be really humbling…
So let’s be patient with ourselves, our dogs, our friends, our partners and even strangers.
I recently had an exchange with a dear Substacker (Check him out: Óðr Sierra Sierra ). We began with numbers, words, rhythm, curiosity - and somehow moved toward vibration, pulsation, dance.
I mentioned that when listening to - or especially dancing - Tango, one can follow very different elements: the compass, the melody, the violins or other instruments, the singer, even the pauses. Depending on your focus - your perspective - the same Tango can look entirely different when danced.
He said that to do that, one needs a certain state of mind.
Curious, I asked: Which one?
He replied:
“One that is able to sync with rhythm - to feel the vibration.”
When I read that line, something became very clear.
Only an empty mind can do that.
A mind vast as the sky, emptied of words - like the last cloud moving out of sight. What remains is space beyond language. And that space can sync: with instruments, with movements, with feelings, with vibration - because it is, in itself, a body of resonance.
(A resonance body is the hollow space inside an instrument - like a violin - that allows vibration to expand, deepen, and become audible. Without that inner space, there is no sound.)
Funnily enough, I once spoke with a very good Tango dancer who insisted it is impossible not to think. At that time we were not speaking about dancing, but about life in general. Perhaps I should ask him - and maybe I will - whether he thinks while dancing.
Because I never thought of the mind as a body.
One of resonance.
We are trained to think. To form words. To communicate primarily through language. To reflect. To discern. In intellectual or writing circles this becomes even more pronounced. If your mind does not produce thoughts, you might be considered dull, lazy, even a failure. A writer without thoughts - what a disaster.
But maybe there isn’t one.
On the other side, in spiritual circles, an empty mind is glorified. Pure. Enlightened. The place to be.
But maybe it isn’t that either.
We tend to label states as good or bad depending on culture, upbringing, ideology.
But perhaps the mind is simply like a violin. Neither matter nor spirit. Neither good nor bad. Just an invisible structure with space “inside” - where vibration can happen, where it arrives and dissolves.
Without inner space, there is no resonance. Yet, even then, there is presence.
To be clear, a mind that thinks is normal. It is like a default mode of certain parts of the brain (frontal lobe, cerebral cortex, temporal lobe). But we should be aware that often excessive thinking does not only uses up to 25% of our total energy, it often holds us in loops of worry, anxiety, shoulds, and noise. Rumination. It isn’t necessarily a Zen mode. Not peaceful. Not positive.
Yet, you don’t need an always quiet mind to live a meaningful life.
You need the skill of not following every thought. The noise loses power the moment you stop treating it as a signal.
Save this for the day your brain feels “too loud.”
A prolonged state of no-thought (for hours) in adulthood often happens by grace - not by force, not by technique. It is not unnatural. It may in fact be the original state, before words are formed. A state of unfinishedness. Unchecked. Unfixed. Open. You could call it non-dual. Or less sophisticated: blank.
And here I reach the limit again - because I am using words to speak about what precedes them.
So instead, let me ask you:
As a child - or even now - was there something that dissolved your sense of “I,” of doing, of time?
What activity takes you completely out of your head and into a sense of effortless connection?
What does your body do in those moments?
How does it feel when the mind becomes curious, receptive - but quiet?
A beloved man once told me that his mind spends most of its time “resting in a hammock, drinking piña colada and smoking a cigar.” He is a writer. And a spiritual teacher.
At that time, I could not imagine such a thing.
But when he asked me questions, as he was convinced that I do know it too, I indeed realised I knew this “non-chatter-state” very well.
When making love.
When skydiving.
When sitting and looking at the sky.
When observing my animals.
When riding at full speed - the scent of soil and horse, the sound of hooves hitting the ground, the pull of wind.
When meeting the eyes of a stranger.
As a child, playing in the sand. Or again - with horses.
I knew it long before meditation, breathwork, yoga or mindfulness entered my life.
A mind fully involved - yet still. Receptive. Participating. In tune with what is.
Today I know that the portal back to the mind as a resonance body- and to presence- is often the physical body itself.
Here are a few experiments:
1. Three senses at once.
If you focus on three sensory inputs simultaneously, the brain cannot easily produce additional or excessive thoughts.
Sit without moving.
Rest your gaze on a single point.
Choose one sound in your surroundings and focus on it fully.
This is not effortless. Begin gently. Decide to go in consciously and decide to go out consciously. Maybe start with only 30 seconds (don’t count, if you get tensed, acknowledge the tension for a moment, then move out sweetly) But you may notice: the mind can become still. Not because you forced it into silence - but because it is occupied with resonance.
This can be done formal, in sitting. But too in the midst of your daily life. Just give your mind three sensory tasks at once.
2. Attention to space.
Look at an object.
Then shift your attention to the space between you and the object.
Notice what happens to the mind.
3. Peripheral vision.
We overuse narrow focus. Eyes tighten. Forehead contracts.
Instead, soften your gaze. Expand into peripheral vision. See from one outer corner of your eye to the other.
A wide horizon relaxes not only the eyes - but the nervous system.
You can even do that with closed eyes.
These are not techniques to achieve a superior state.
They are small, playful, simple invitations back into a condition that is already natural.
The blank page was not a provocation.
The “failure” was not modesty.
They were gestures toward this:
Presence cannot be described - but it can be inhabited. Even if it feels like a (hormone) mess.
And the mind doesn’t need to dissapear.
It simply needs awareness that is instead of following the mental production and- space.
So it can refresh, sync and resonate.
Keep going gently. Even small moments of being fully present- little by little- create powerful change.
Here, in the very end- or the beginning, or the middle- I’d be curious what made this blank page with you?
I know that for many- me included, times ago- writing in itself serves as a possibility to emptying the mind, to find silence. Too to sort, to turn around, to reflect. It can have many functions. Especially then, if you are one of those, what does direct silence, emptiness- the canvas itself where there are normally words or thoughts- with you?
I’d be truly interested and please feel invited to write in the comments.
Besides subscribing another way of supporting my work is to get Rebelleheart- my debut book- onto your kindle (or into your hands, print versions were released on 9th February 2026). Opposed to the more informative essays here which I often carefully prepare, Rebelleheart was mostly written directly from the nervous system itself which was at that time quite often- to be blunt- ablaze. It is thus not a polished, curated or edited into the mainstream-shape-kind-of- work, but rather a vivid, personal exploration of being human.