Buddha's Brain

The mind and brain interact with each other so profoundly that they’re best understood as a single, co-dependent, mind/brain system.

The world has many contemplative traditions, most of which are associated with its major religions, including Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism. Of these, science has engaged Buddhism the most. Like science, Buddhism encourages people to take nothing on faith alone and does not require a belief in God. It also has a detailed model of the mind that translates well to psychology and neurology.

It could be 350 years, and maybe longer, before we completely understand the relationship between the brain and the mind. But meanwhile, a reasonable working hypothesis is that the mind is what the brain does. Therefore, an awakening mind means an awakening brain.

But our vastly more developed brain is fertile ground for a harvest of suffering. Only we humans worry about the future, regret the past, and blame ourselves for the present. We get frustrated when we can’t have what we want, and disappointed when what we like ends. We suffer that we suffer. We get upset about being in pain, angry about dying, sad about waking up sad yet another day.

This kind of suffering—which encompasses most of our unhappiness and dissatisfaction—is constructed by the brain. It is made up. Which is ironic, poignant—and supremely hopeful. For if the brain is the cause of suffering, it can also be its cure.

Virtue, mindfulness, and wisdom are the pillars of everyday well-being, personal growth, and spiritual practice; they draw on the three fundamental neural functions of regulation, learning, and selection.

When you regard the world as “not me at all,” it is potentially unsafe, leading you to fear and resist it. Once you say, “I am this body apart from the world,” the body’s frailties become your own. If you think it weighs too much or doesn’t look right, you suffer. If it’s threatened by illness, aging, and death—as all bodies are—you suffer.

To simplify a complex process, during the first few tenths of a second, light bouncing off this curved object is sent to the occipital cortex (which handles visual information) for processing into a meaningful image (see figure 5). Then the occipital cortex sends representations of this image in two directions: to the hippocampus, for evaluation as a potential threat or opportunity, and to the PFC and other parts of the brain for more sophisticated—and time-consuming—analysis.

Just in case, your hippocampus immediately compares the image to its short list of jump-first-think-later dangers. It quickly finds curvy shapes on its danger list, causing it to send a high-priority alert to your amygdala: “Watch out!” The amygdala—which is like an alarm bell—then pulses both a general warning throughout your brain and a special fast-track signal to your fight-or-flight neural and hormonal systems (Rasia-Filho, Londero, and Achaval 2000).

These are the major chemicals inside your brain that affect neural activity; they have many functions, and we’ve listed here the ones that are relevant to this book.

Primary Neurotransmitters Glutamate—excites receiving neurons. GABA—inhibits receiving neurons.

Neuromodulators These substances—sometimes also called neurotransmitters—influence the primary neurotransmitters. Because they’re released widely within the brain, they have a powerful effect. Serotonin—regulates mood, sleep, and digestion; most antidepressants aim at increasing its effects. Dopamine—involved with rewards and attention; promotes approach behaviors. Norepinephrine—alerts and arouses. Acetylcholine—promotes wakefulness and learning.

Neuropeptides These neuromodulators are built from peptides, a particular kind of organic molecule. Opioids—buffer stress, provide soothing and reduce pain, and produce pleasure (e.g., runner’s high); these include endorphins. Oxytocin—promotes nurturing behaviors toward children and bonding in couples; associated with blissful closeness and love; women have more oxytocin than men. Vasopressin—supports pair bonding; in men it may promote aggressiveness toward sexual rivals.

Other Neurochemicals Cortisol—released by the adrenal glands during the stress response; stimulates the amygdala and inhibits the hippocampus. Estrogen—the brains of both men and women contain estrogen receptors; affects libido, mood, and memory.

When you do fulfill a desire, the rewards that follow are often not that great. They’re okay, but look closely at your experience: Is the cookie really that tasty—especially after the third bite? Was the satisfaction of the good job review that intense or long lasting?

Friends drift away, children leave home, careers end, and eventually your own final breath comes and goes. Everything that begins must also cease. Everything that comes together must also disperse. Experiences are thus incapable of being completely satisfying. They are an unreliable basis for true happiness.

So far, we’ve discussed carrots and sticks as if they were equals. But actually, sticks are usually more powerful, since your brain is built more for avoiding than for approaching. That’s because it’s the negative experiences, not the positive ones, that have generally had the most impact on survival.

In Buddhism, it’s said that suffering is the result of craving expressed through the Three Poisons: greed, hatred, and delusion.

Recall being with someone who really loves you—the feeling of receiving caring activates the deep attachment system circuitry in your brain, priming it to give compassion.

Bring to mind someone you naturally feel compassion for, such as a child or a person you love—this easy flow of compassion arouses its neural underpinnings (including oxytocin, the insula [which senses the internal state of your body], and the PFC),

First darts are unpleasant to be sure. But then we add our reactions to them. These reactions are “second darts”—the ones we throw ourselves. Most of our suffering comes from second darts.

Remarkably, most of our second-dart reactions occur when there is in fact no first dart anywhere to be found—when there’s no pain inherent in the conditions we’re reacting to.

For example, sometimes I’ll come home from work and the house will be a mess, with the kids’ stuff all over. That’s the condition. Is there a first dart in the coats and shoes on the sofa or the clutter covering the counter? No, there isn’t; no one dropped a brick on me or hurt my children. Do I have to get upset? Not really. I could ignore the stuff, pick it up calmly, or talk with them about it. Sometimes I manage to handle it that way. But if I don’t, then the second darts start landing, tipped with the Three Poisons: greed makes me rigid about how I want things to be, hatred gets me all bothered and angry, and delusion tricks me into taking the situation personally.

Suffering is not abstract or conceptual. It’s embodied: you feel it in your body, and it proceeds through bodily mechanisms. Understanding the physical machinery of suffering will help you see it increasingly as an impersonal condition—unpleasant to be sure, but not worth getting upset about,

Suffering cascades through your body via the sympathetic nervous system (SNS) and the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis (HPAA) of the endocrine (hormonal) system.

While the SNS and HPAA are anatomically distinct, they are so intertwined that they’re best described together, as an integrated system. And we’ll focus on reactions dominated by an aversion to sticks (e.g., fear, anger) rather than a grasping for carrots,

Social and emotional conditions can pack a wallop like physical ones since psychological pain draws on many of the same neural networks as physical pain (Eisenberger and Lieberman 2004); this is why getting rejected can feel as bad as a root canal.

For example, consider the difference between your take on a situation when you’re upset and your thoughts about it later when you’re calmer.

Prefrontal cortex (PFC)—sets goals, makes plans, directs action; shapes emotions, in part by guiding and sometimes inhibiting the limbic system Anterior (frontal) cingulate cortex (ACC)—steadies attention and monitors plans; helps integrate thinking and feeling (Yamasaki, LaBar, and McCarthy 2002); a “cingulate” is a curved bundle of nerve fibers Insula—senses the internal state of your body, including gut feelings; helps you be empathic; located on the inside of the temporal lobes on each side of your head (temporal lobes and insula not shown in figure 6) Thalamus—the major relay station for sensory information Brain stem—sends neuromodulators such as serotonin and dopamine to the rest of the brain Corpus callosum—passes information between the two hemispheres of the brain Cerebellum—regulates movement Limbic system—central to emotion and motivation; includes the basal ganglia, hippocampus, amygdala, hypothalamus, and pituitary gland; sometimes also considered to include parts of the cortex (e.g., cingulate, insula), but for simplicity we will define it anatomically in terms of subcortical structures; many parts of the brain besides the limbic system are involved with emotion Basal ganglia—involved with rewards, stimulation seeking, and movement; “ganglia” are masses of tissue Hippocampus—forms new memories; detects threats Amygdala—a kind of “alarm bell” that responds particularly to emotionally charged or negative stimuli (Rasia-Filho, Londero, and Achaval 2000) Hypothalamus—regulates primal drives such as hunger and sex; makes oxytocin; activates the pituitary gland Pituitary gland—makes endorphins; triggers stress hormones; stores and releases oxytocin

For example, chronic SNS/HPAA stimulation disturbs these systems and increases risks for the health problems listed (Licinio, Gold, and Wong 1995; Sapolsky 1998; Wolf 1995): Gastrointestinal—ulcers, colitis, irritable bowel syndrome, diarrhea, and constipation Immune—more frequent colds and flus, slower wound healing, greater vulnerability to serious infections Cardiovascular—hardening of the arteries, heart attacks Endocrine—type II diabetes, premenstrual syndrome, erectile dysfunction, lowered libido

Repeated SNS/HPAA activity makes the amygdala more reactive to apparent threats, which in turn increases SNS/HPAA activation, which sensitizes the amygdala further. The mental correlate of this physical process is an increasingly rapid arousal of state anxiety (anxiety based on specific situations).

Routine SNS/HPAA activation undermines the biochemical basis of an even-keeled—let alone cheerful—disposition in a number of ways: Norepinephrine helps you feel alert and mentally energetic, but glucocorticoid hormones deplete it. Reduced norepinephrine may cause you to feel flat—even apathetic—with poor concentration; these are classic symptoms of depression. Over time, glucocorticoids lower the production of dopamine. This leads to a loss of enjoyment of activities once found pleasurable: another classic criterion for depression. Stress reduces serotonin, probably the most important neurotransmitter for maintaining a good mood. When serotonin drops, so does norepinephrine, which has already been diminished by glucocorticoids. In short, less serotonin means more vulnerability to a blue mood and less alert interest in the world.

Suffering has clear causes in your brain and body, so if you change its causes, you’ll suffer a lot less. And you can change those causes.

But the SNS is just one of the three wings of the autonomic nervous system (ANS), which operates mostly below the level of consciousness to regulate many bodily systems and their responses to changing conditions. The other two wings of the ANS are the parasympathetic nervous system (PNS) and the enteric nervous system (which regulates your gastrointestinal system).

The PNS conserves energy in your body and is responsible for ongoing, steady-state activity. It produces a feeling of relaxation, often with a sense of contentment—this is why it’s sometimes called the “rest-and-digest” system, in contrast to the “fight-or-flight” SNS. These two wings of the ANS are connected like a seesaw: when one goes up, the other one goes down.

Parasympathetic activation is the normal resting state of your body, brain, and mind.

The cooling, steadying influence of the PNS helps you think clearly and avoid hot-headed actions that would harm you or others. The PNS also quiets the mind and fosters tranquility, which supports contemplative insight.

The PNS and SNS evolved hand in hand in order to keep animals—including humans—alive in potentially lethal environments. We need both of them.

example, take five breaths, inhaling and exhaling a little more fully than usual. This is both energizing and relaxing, activating first the sympathetic system and then the parasympathetic one, back and forth, in a gentle rhythm. Notice how you feel when you’re done. That combination of aliveness and centeredness is the essence of the peak performance zone recognized by athletes, businesspeople, artists, lovers, and meditators. It’s the result of the SNS and PNS, the gas pedal and the brakes, working in harmony together.

As the saying goes, pain is inevitable but suffering is optional. If you can simply stay present with whatever is arising in awareness—whether it’s a first dart or a second one—without reacting further, then you will break the chain of suffering right there.

These three processes—being with whatever arises, working with the tendencies of mind to transform them, and taking refuge in the ground of being—are the essential practices of the path of awakening. In many ways they correspond, respectively, to mindfulness, virtue, and wisdom—and to the three fundamental neural functions of learning, regulating, and selecting.

stages of growth: Stage one—you’re caught in a second-dart reaction and don’t even realize it: your partner forgets to bring milk home and you complain angrily without seeing that your reaction is over the top. Stage two—you realize you’ve been hijacked by greed or hatred (in the broadest sense), but cannot help yourself: internally you’re squirming, but you can’t stop grumbling bitterly about the milk. Stage three—some aspect of the reaction arises, but you don’t act it out: you feel irritated but remind yourself that your partner does a lot for you already and getting cranky will just make things worse. Stage four—the reaction doesn’t even come up, and sometimes you forget you ever had the issue: you understand that there’s no milk, and you calmly figure out what to do now with your partner.

In education, these are known succinctly as unconscious incompetence, conscious incompetence, conscious competence, and unconscious competence. They’re useful labels for knowing where you are with a given issue. The second stage is the hardest one, and often where we want to quit. So it’s important to keep aiming for the third and fourth stages—just keep at it and you’ll definitely get there!

actively look for good news, particularly the little stuff of daily life: the faces of children, the smell of an orange, a memory from a happy vacation, a minor success at work, and so on. Whatever positive facts you find, bring a mindful awareness to them—open

Savor the experience. It’s delicious! Make it last by staying with it for 5, 10, even 20 seconds; don’t let your attention skitter off to something else. The longer that something is held in awareness and the more emotionally stimulating it is, the more neurons that fire and thus wire together, and the stronger the trace in memory

Imagine or feel that the experience is entering deeply into your mind and body, like the sun’s warmth into a T-shirt, water into a sponge, or a jewel placed in a treasure chest in your heart.

Your brain rebuilds implicit and explicit memories from their key features, drawing on its simulating capacities to fill in missing details. While this is more work, it’s also a more efficient use of neural real estate—this way complete records don’t need to be stored. And your brain is so fast that you don’t notice the regeneration of each memory.

The next time the memory is activated, it will tend to bring those associations with it. Thus, if you repeatedly bring to mind negative feelings and thoughts while a memory is active, then that memory will be increasingly shaded in a negative direction.

Every time you do this—every time you sift positive feelings and views into painful, limiting states of mind—you build a little bit of neural structure. Over time, the accumulating impact of this positive material will literally, synapse by synapse, change your brain.

But it’s often important to address explicit and implicit memories from your childhood, since these are usually the taproots of the things that keep upsetting you. People sometimes get angry with themselves about still being affected by things from the past.

So sense down into the youngest, most vulnerable, most emotionally charged layers of your mind, and feel around for the tip of the root of whatever is bothering you. With a little practice and self-understanding, you’ll develop a short list of “usual suspects”—the deep sources of your recurring upsets—and you’ll start routinely considering them if you feel irritated, anxious, hurt, or inadequate.

These deep sources might include feeling unwanted by others due to being unpopular in school, a sense of helplessness from a chronic illness, or mistrust of intimacy following a bad divorce. When you find the tip of the root, take in the good that will gradually dislodge its hold upon you. You’ll be pulling weeds and planting flowers in the garden of your mind.

If sadness from mistreatment in an old relationship keeps coming up, recall being loved by other people, and let those feelings sink in. Add the power of language by saying something like this to yourself: I got through all that, I’m still here, and many people love me.

The point is not to resist painful experiences or grasp at pleasant ones: that’s a kind of craving—and craving leads to suffering. The art is to find a balance in which you remain mindful, accepting, and curious regarding difficult experiences—while also taking in supportive feelings and thoughts.

When you have a positive experience today, help it sink in to old pains. When negative material arises, bring to mind the positive emotions and perspectives that will be its antidote.

If you’re feeling ambitious, do something additional: take small risks and do things that reason tells you are fine but worry wants you to avoid—such as being more open about your true feelings, asking directly for love, or reaching higher in your career. When the results turn out to be good—as they most likely will—take them in and slowly but surely clear out those old fears.

Given the negativity bias of the brain, it takes an active effort to internalize positive experiences and heal negative ones. When you tilt toward what’s positive, you’re actually righting a neurological imbalance.

Focusing on what is wholesome and then taking it in naturally increases the positive emotions flowing through your mind each day. Emotions have global effects since they organize the brain as a whole. Consequently, positive feelings have far-reaching benefits,

if children are part of your life, encourage them to pause for a moment at the end of the day (or at any other natural interval, such as the last minute before the school bell) to remember what went well and think about things that make them happy (e.g., a pet, their parents’ love, a goal scored in soccer). Then have those positive feelings and thoughts sink in.

Every time you take in the good, you build a little bit of neural structure. Doing this a few times a day—for months and even years—will gradually change your brain, and how you feel and act, in far-reaching ways.

When you stimulate the parasympathetic wing of the ANS, calming, soothing, healing ripples spread through your body, brain, and mind.

You can reap the benefits of relaxation not only by initiating it in specific, stressful situations, but also by training your body “offline” to relax automatically; the methods that follow can be used in either way. First, here are four quick ones: Relax your tongue, eyes, and jaw muscles. Feel tension draining out of your body and sinking down into the earth. Run warm water over your hands. Scan your body for areas that are tense, and relax them.

Place your hand on your stomach a couple of inches beneath the upside-down V at the center of your rib cage. Look down, breathe normally, and watch your hand. You’ll probably see it move only a little bit, and sort of up and down. Leaving your hand in place, now breathe in such a way that your hand moves out and back, perpendicular to your chest. Try to breathe into your hand with real oomph, so that it travels back and forth half an inch or more with each breath.

In order to relax a part of your body, simply bring it into awareness; for example, take a moment right now to notice the sensations in the bottom of your left foot. Or say “relax” softly in your mind as you bring awareness to a body part. Or locate a point or a space in that part. Whatever works best.

Big Exhalation Inhale as much as you can, hold that inhalation for a few seconds, and then exhale slowly while relaxing. A big inhalation really expands your lungs, requiring a big exhalation to bring the lungs back to their resting size. This stimulates the PNS, which is in charge of exhaling.

Touching the Lips Parasympathetic fibers are spread throughout your lips; thus, touching your lips stimulates the PNS. Touching your lips can also bring up soothing associations of eating or even of breastfeeding when you were a baby.

Like relaxation, you can use imagery on the spot to stimulate the PNS, or do longer visualizations when you’ve got the time to develop imagery that will be a powerful anchor for well-being. For example, if you’re feeling stressed while at work, you could bring to mind a peaceful mountain lake for a few seconds. Then, when you have more time at home, you might visualize walking around the lake, and enrich your mental movie with the good smells of pine needles or the sound of children laughing.

The evidence is preliminary, but studies have shown that learning to increase the amount and coherence of HRV is associated with decreased stress, and improved cardiovascular health, immune system function, and mood

HRV is a good indicator of parasympathetic arousal and overall well-being, and you can change it directly. The HeartMath Institute has pioneered the study of HRV and developed numerous techniques, which we’ve adapted for this simple, three-part approach: Breathe in such a way that your inhalation and exhalation are the same duration; for example, count one, two, three, four in your mind while inhaling, and one, two, three, four while exhaling. At the same time, imagine or sense that you’re breathing in and out through the area of your heart. As you breathe evenly through your heart, call to mind a pleasant, heartfelt emotion such as gratitude, kindness, or love—perhaps by thinking about a happy time, being with your children, appreciation for the good things in your life, or a pet. You can also imagine this feeling moving through your heart as part of the breath.

Most fears are exaggerated. As you go through life, your brain acquires expectations based on your experiences, particularly negative ones. When situations occur that are even remotely similar, your brain automatically applies its expectations to them; if it expects pain or loss, or even just the threat of these, it pulses fear signals. But because of the negativity bias, many expectations of pain or loss are overstated or completely unfounded.

in Buddhism, for example, ignorance is considered the fundamental source of suffering. Not surprisingly, studies have shown that appraising a situation more accurately leads to greater positive emotions and fewer negative ones (Gross and John 2003). And if there really is something to worry about, deal with it as best you can (e.g., pay the bill, see the doctor). Not only will doing something and moving forward feel better in its own right, it will also usually improve a situation that’s worrying you (Aspinwall and Taylor 1997).

To summarize a large body of research, the recurring experiences a young child has with her parents—which are affected by the child’s temperament—will lead to one of four modes of attachment to them: secure, insecure-avoidant, insecure-anxious, and disorganized (this last type is rare and won’t be discussed further). The type of attachment to one parent is largely independent of the type of attachment to the other one. Insecure attachment modes appear to be associated with characteristic patterns of neural activity, such as a lack of integration between the prefrontal cortex (PFC) and the limbic system (Siegel 2001).

Develop self-understanding of how your upbringing affected your relationships with your parents, especially in early childhood; acknowledge any insecure attachment.

As much as possible, seek out nurturing and reliable people, and take in the feeling of being with them. Also do what you can to be treated well in your existing relationships.

Mindfulness activates the mid-line regions of your brain and helps increase the coordination between the PFC and the limbic system; these are key neural substrates of secure attachment (Siegel 2007).

In this life, where have you found refuge? Refuges include people, places, memories, ideas, and ideals—anyone or anything that provides reliable sanctuary and protection, so you can let down your guard and gather strength and wisdom. As a child, refuge might have been your mother’s lap, reading in bed, or hanging out with friends.

Every time you calm the ANS through stimulating the parasympathetic nervous system (PNS), you tilt your body, brain, and mind increasingly toward inner peace and well-being.

You can activate the PNS in many ways, including relaxation, big exhalations, touching the lips, mindfulness of the body, imagery, balancing your heartbeat, and meditation.

Meditation increases gray matter in brain regions that handle attention, compassion, and empathy. It also helps a variety of medical conditions, strengthens the immune system, and improves psychological functioning.

Find refuge in whatever is a sanctuary and refueling station for you. Potential refuges include people, activities, places, and intangible things like reason, a sense of your innermost being, or truth.

The diencephalon consists of the thalamus (the brain’s central switchboard for sensory information) and the hypothalamus, which directs your autonomic nervous system and influences your endocrine system through the pituitary gland.

The hypothalamus regulates primal drive states (e.g., for water, food, sex) and primal emotions (e.g., terror, rage).

The limbic system evolved from the diencephalon, and includes the amygdala, hippocampus, and basal ganglia. It’s basically Grand Central Station for emotion.

The cortex includes the prefrontal cortex (PFC), cingulate, and insula. These regions—which play a prominent role in this book—handle abstract reasoning and concepts, values, planning, and the “executive functions” of organization, self-monitoring, and impulse control.

Through its dense, reciprocal connections to the amygdala, hippocampus, and hypothalamus, the ACC influences your emotions and is influenced by them as well. Therefore, it’s a key site for the integration of thinking and feeling (Lewis 2005). Strengthening the ACC—such as through meditation—helps you think clearly when you’re upset, and brings warmth and emotional intelligence to your logical reasoning.

The Amygdala Hub Through its own dense connections to the ACC, PFC, hippocampus, hypothalamus, basal ganglia, and brain stem, the amygdala is the second major hub of motivational activity.

In sum, the amygdala is at the center of bottom-up, reactive, distributed, passionate motivation.

For example, during adolescence, the amygdala-based network often overpowers the ACC-based network. In terms of your own motivations, are your ACC- and amygdala-based networks equally strong? And are they—head and heart, metaphorically speaking—pulling in the same direction? For example, I realized some years ago that the training of my head had gotten out in front of the cultivation of my heart, so I’ve been focusing more on the latter ever since.

Strength has two primary aspects: energy and determination. You can intensify these by quickening your breathing a little, or by tightening your shoulders slightly, as if you’re bracing to carry a load. Get familiar with the muscle movements—often subtle ones—associated with strength. Just as making the facial expression of an emotion will heighten that feeling

Get in the habit of deliberately calling up a sense of strength—not to dominate anybody or anything, but to fuel your intentions

Take a breath and come into yourself. Be aware of thoughts passing through your mind without any need to engage with them. Feel the strength in awareness, always clear and everlasting,

Now sense the vitality in your body. Notice how your breathing has a strength of its own. Sense your muscles, your capacity to move in any direction. Sense the animal strength in your body (even if it is also weak in some ways).

Recall a time when you felt really strong. Imagine that situation as intensely as you can. Bring to mind the sense of strength you experienced. Strength in your breathing, energy in your arms and legs. That same strength is beating today in your powerful heart.

As you go through your day, pay attention to the sense of feeling strong. Notice how it feels good to feel strong. Let strength sink into your being.

To simplify, your brain evolved in four levels, along a kind of neuroaxis; these levels work together to keep you motivated. From the bottom up, along the neuroaxis, they are the brain stem, diencephalon, limbic system, and cortex.

In general, the farther down the neuroaxis a response takes place, the faster, more intense, and more automatic it is. Higher on the neuroaxis, responses become more delayed, less intense, and more considered. In particular, the cortex—the most evolutionarily recent level—really enhances your capacity to take the future into account. Usually, the longer the view, the wiser the intentions.

The neuroaxis has two hubs: the anterior cingulate cortex (ACC) and the amygdala. The ACC-based network manages top-down, deliberate, centralized, reasoned motivation, while the amygdala-based network handles bottom-up, reactive, distributed, passionate motivation.

These two networks are woven together. For example, the “logical” ACC-based network guides the flow of your feelings, and the “emotional” amygdala-based network shapes your values and worldview.

The two networks—metaphorically the head and the heart—can support each other, be awkwardly out of sync, or struggle in outright conflict. Ideally, your intentions will be aligned with each other at all levels of the neuroaxis: that’s when they have the most power.

Intentions are a form of desire. Desire per se is not the root of suffering; craving is. The key is to have wholesome intentions without being attached to their results.

Imagine that your mind is like a house with a mud-room—the entry room in cold climates where people put their messy boots and dripping coats. With equanimity, your initial reactions to things—reach for this carrot, push away that stick—are left in a mental mud-room so that the interior of your mind remains clear and clean and peaceful.

Be aware of passing thoughts and feelings without reacting to them. Notice a growing disengagement. There’s less tilting toward pleasure, less pulling back from pain. In the pleasant, there is just the pleasant, with no reactions added. In the unpleasant, there is just the unpleasant, with no reactions added. In the neutral, there is just the neutral, with no reactions added. This is the mind of no preferences. Rest as awareness, free from reactions.

Over time, equanimity deepens into a profound inner stillness that is a defining characteristic of contemplative absorption (Brahm 2006). It also becomes increasingly woven into daily life, bringing great benefit. If you can break the link between feeling tones and craving—if you can be with the pleasant without chasing after it, with the unpleasant without resisting it, and with the neutral without ignoring it—then you have cut the chain of suffering, at least for a time. And that is an incredible blessing and freedom.

Recognize the fleeting nature of rewards and that they usually aren’t actually all that great. See, too, that painful experiences are transient and usually not that awful. Neither pleasure nor pain is worth claiming as your own or identifying with.

Keep reminding yourself of the important reasons for equanimity: you want more freedom from craving and the suffering it brings. Routinely recall your intention to be aware of the feeling tone, to be spacious around it, and to let it be whatever it is without reacting to it. To help hold this in mind, put a little sticky note with “equanimity” on it near your computer or telephone, or use a picture of a beautiful, tranquil setting.

Buddhism has a metaphor for the different conditions in life. They’re called the Eight Worldly Winds: pleasure and pain, praise and blame, gain and loss, fame and ill repute. As you develop greater equanimity, these winds have less effect on your mind. Your happiness becomes increasingly unconditional, not based on catching a good breeze instead of a bad one.

Equanimity is not coldness, indifference, or apathy. You are present in the world but not upset by it. The spaciousness of equanimity is a great support for compassion, kindness, and joy at the happiness of others.

Equanimity is an unusual brain state. It is not based on prefrontal inhibition of the limbic system. Rather, it involves not reacting to the limbic system.

I heard a story once about a Native American elder who was asked how she had become so wise, so happy, and so respected. She answered: “In my heart, there are two wolves: a wolf of love and a wolf of hate. It all depends on which one I feed each day.”

Psychologists use the term theory of mind (ToM), to refer to your ability to think about the inner workings of another person. ToM relies on prefrontal and temporal lobe structures that are evolutionarily quite recent

ToM capabilities first appear during the third and fourth years of life and don’t develop fully until the complete myelination—the insulation of axons which speeds neural signals along—of the prefrontal cortex in the late teens or early twenties

The recurring experiences a young child has with her caregivers course through these neural networks, molding them and thus the way the child relates to others and feels about herself. Hopefully all goes well—but these experiences occur at an age when children are most vulnerable, and their parents are usually most stressed and depleted (Hanson, Hanson, and Pollycove 2002), which creates inherent challenges. The human parent-child relationship is unique in the animal kingdom, and it has a singular power to shape how each of us pursues and expresses love as an adult;

In those tough environments, it was reproductively advantageous for our ancestors to be cooperative within their own band but aggressive toward other bands (Choi and Bowles 2007). Cooperation and aggression evolved synergistically: bands with greater cooperation were more successful at aggression, and aggression between bands demanded cooperation within bands

As soon as you place anyone outside of the circle of “us,” the mind/brain automatically begins to devalue that person and justify poor treatment of him (Efferson, Lalive, and Feh 2008). This gets the wolf of hate up and moving, only a quick pounce away from active aggression. Pay attention to the number of times a day you categorize someone as “not like me,” particularly in subtle ways: not my social background, not my style, and so on. It’s startling how routine it is. See what happens to your mind when you consciously release this distinction and focus instead on what you have in common with that person, on what makes you both an “us.”

Like it or not, the wolf of hate is alive and well inside each one of us. It’s easy to hear about a dreadful murder across the country or terrorism and torture across the world—or milder forms of everyday mistreatment of others close at hand—and shake your head, thinking, “What’s wrong with them?”But them is actually us. We all have the same basic DNA. It is a kind of ignorance—which is the root of suffering—to deny the aggression in our genetic endowment.

Being realistic and honest about the wolf of hate—and its impersonal, evolutionary origins—brings self-compassion. Your own wolf of hate needs taming, sure, but it’s not your fault that it lurks in the shadows of your mind, and it probably afflicts you more than anyone else. Additionally, acknowledging the wolf of hate prompts a very useful caution when you are in situations—arguing with a neighbor, disciplining a child, reacting to criticism at work—in which you feel mistreated and revved-up, and that wolf begins to stir.

But in fact, most interactions have a cooperative quality. Humans and other primate species routinely restrain the wolf of hate and repair its damage, returning to a baseline of reasonably positive relationships with each other (Sapolsky 2006). In most people most of the time, the wolf of love is bigger and stronger than the wolf of hate.

Love and hate: they live and tumble together in every heart, like wolf cubs tussling in a cave. There is no killing the wolf of hate; the aversion in such an attempt would actually create what you’re trying to destroy. But you can watch that wolf carefully, keep it tethered, and limit its alarm, righteousness, grievances, resentments, contempt, and prejudice. Meanwhile, keep nourishing and encouraging the wolf of love.

Bring conscious intention to being empathic. For example, when I realize that my wife wants to have one of those conversations—she’s not happy about something, and it’s probably me—I try to take a few seconds to remind myself to be empathic and not lame, and that it feels good to be empathic. These little steps activate the prefrontal cortex (PFC) to orient you to the situation, focus your intentions, and prime empathy-related neural networks; they also warm up the limbic system to get your brain headed toward the rewards of empathy.

Next, relax your body and mind, and open to the other person as much as feels right to you. ... Remind yourself that whatever is in his mind is over there, and you’re over here, present with but separate from the stream of his thoughts and feelings.

Keep paying attention to the other person; be with him. This sort of sustained attention is uncommon, and other people appreciate it a lot. Appoint a little guardian in your mind that keeps watching the continuity of your attentiveness; this will stimulate the anterior cingulate cortex (ACC), which pays attention to attention.

As appropriate, check with the other person to see if you’re on the right track. For example, you might say, “Sounds like you’re feeling _________, is that right?” Or, “I’m not sure, but I get the sense that _________.” Or, “It seems like what bothered you was _________. Did you want _________?”

Actively imagine what the other person could be thinking and wanting. Imagine what could be going on beneath the surface, and what might be pulling in different directions inside him. Consider what you know or can reasonably guess about him, such as his personal history, childhood, temperament, personality, “hot buttons,” recent events in his life, and the nature of his relationship with you: What effect might these have?

When you would like to receive empathy, remember that you’re more likely to get it if you are “feelable.” Be open, present, and honest.

Be willing to say explicitly what you would like to receive. It often helps to make it clear that it’s empathy you want, not necessarily agreement or approval.

Empathy opens you up to other people and naturally draws you closer. So to be as empathic as possible, you need to be comfortable with closeness. But this can be challenging. During our evolutionary history, there were many risks in encounters with others.

Pay attention to awareness itself, distinct from the (potentially intense) sense of the other person contained within awareness; simply notice that you’re aware and explore what that’s like.

Use imagery, which stimulates the right hemisphere of your brain. For example, if I’m with someone who’s getting intense, I might imagine myself as a deeply rooted tree, with the other person’s attitudes and emotions blowing through my leaves and shaking them—but winds always come to an end, and my tree remains standing. Or I’ll imagine that there is a picket fence between us—or, if need be, a glass wall that’s a foot thick.

Virtue sounds lofty, but it’s actually down to earth. It simply means living from your innate goodness, guided by principle. When you are virtuous no matter what other people do, their behavior is not controlling you.

First, identify your core aims. What are your purposes and principles in relationships? ... Second, stay in bounds. The Wise Speech section of Buddhism’s Noble Eightfold Path offers good guidelines for communication that stays within the lines: Say only what is well-intended, true, beneficial, timely, expressed without harshness or malice, and—ideally—what is wanted.

Now write your personal code of unilateral relationship virtues. This could be a handful of words. Or more extensive dos and don’ts. Whatever its form, aim for language that is powerful and motivating, that makes sense to your head and touches your heart.

Listen more, talk less. Don’t yell or threaten other people, and don’t let them do that to me. Every day, ask my wife three questions in a row about how things are going for her. Get home by six every night to have dinner with the family. Say what I need. Be loving. Keep my promises.

visualize yourself acting according to your code no matter what happens. Imagine the good feelings and other rewards that this will bring you. Take these in to help motivate yourself to truly live by your code.

At the end of the day, what you and the other person will mainly remember is not what you said but how you said it. Be careful about your tone, and avoid language that is fault-finding, exaggerated, or inflammatory.

When you speak, keep coming back to your own experience—notably, your emotions, body sensations, and underlying hopes and wishes—rather than talking about events, such as the other person’s actions, and your opinions about them. No one can argue with your experience; ... I highly recommend the approach Marshall Rosenberg details in Nonviolent Communication (2nd Edition 2008), which has essentially three parts: When X happens [described factually, not judgmentally], I feel Y [especially the deeper, softer emotions], because I need Z [fundamental needs and wants].

When you share your experience, take responsibility for it, and don’t blame the other person for it.

If you think you might get triggered by the interaction and lose your way, help your prefrontal cortex to help you—an interesting circularity!—by sorting out your key points in advance, even writing them down. To keep your words and tone clean, imagine a video recording being made of your interaction: act so that you wouldn’t wince if you saw it.

Take maximum reasonable responsibility for the other person’s issues with you. Identify what there is to correct on your part, and correct it unilaterally—even if that person keeps blowing it with you. One by one, keep crossing off her legitimate complaints. It’s fine to put some attention on trying to influence her behavior, but focus mainly on being honorable, benevolent, and increasingly skillful yourself.

relationship that’s bigger than its real foundation is a set-up for disappointment and hurt, while a relationship that’s smaller than its foundation is a lost opportunity. ... For example, you usually can’t make a coworker stop being dismissive of you, but you can “shrink” the relationship—so it’s closer to the size of its true foundation—by minimizing your contacts with him, doing an excellent job on your own, building up alliances with other people, ... Conversely, if there is a large foundation of love in your marriage but your mate is not that emotionally nurturing, you can try to “grow” the relationship on your own by paying particular attention to when he expresses caring through his actions and soaking that into your heart, by drawing him into situations with a culture of warmth (e.g., dinner with friends, certain kinds of live music, meditation group), and perhaps by being more emotionally nurturing yourself.

Above all, try to preserve your fundamental orientation of compassion and kindness. You can differ vigorously with people while simultaneously holding them in your heart.

Compassion is supported by recalling the feeling of being with someone who loves you, evoking heartfelt emotions such as gratitude, being empathic, opening to the suffering of other beings, and wishing them well. Bring compassion to five kinds of people: benefactors, friends, neutral people, difficult people, and yourself.

Key points for effective communication include: focus on speaking your truth rather than changing other people; stay in touch with your experience, especially the deeper layers; establish the facts; take maximum reasonable responsibility for the other person’s issues with you and keep addressing his or her legitimate complaints; do what you can to have the relationship match its true foundation; keep in mind the big picture; and maintain compassion and kindness.

If compassion is the wish that beings not suffer, kindness is the wish that they be happy. Compassion responds primarily to suffering, but kindness comes into play all of the time, even when others are doing fine. Kindness is expressed mainly in small, everyday ways, such as leaving a big tip, reading one more story to a child even though you’re tired, or waving another driver to move ahead of you in traffic.

Every morning, establish the intention to be kind and loving that day. Imagine the good feelings that will come from treating people with kindness; take in these feelings as rewards that will naturally draw your mind and brain toward kindness.

You can even be kind to parts of yourself. For example, it’s touching and powerful to be kind to the little child within you. You could also be kind to aspects of yourself that you wish were different, such as a craving for attention, a learning disability, or a fear of certain situations.

Imagine that you are relaxing in a canoe on a river, when suddenly there is a hard thump against the side of it, dumping you into the water. You come up sputtering, and see that two teenagers with snorkels have snuck up and tipped you over. How do you feel? Next imagine that everything is the same—the canoe, the sudden dumping into the river—except this time when you come up sputtering, you see that a huge submerged log has drifted downstream and smacked into your canoe. Now how do you feel? For most people, the second scenario doesn’t feel as bad: the first dart still landed (you’re dumped in the river), but there is no need for second darts in the form of hurt and anger from feeling picked on personally. Truly, many people are like logs: it’s wise to get out of their way if you can—or reduce the impact—but they’re not aiming at you.

Relax the sense of self. Experiment with letting go of the idea that there was actually an “I” or “me” who was affronted or wounded

Forgiveness doesn’t mean changing your view that wrongs have been done. But it does mean letting go of the emotional charge around feeling wronged. The greatest beneficiary of your forgiveness is usually you. (For more on this subject, see The Art of Forgiveness, Lovingkindness, and Peace by Jack Kornfield and Forgive for Good by Fred Luskin.)

Be mindful of any sense of threat. This feeling evolved to protect us in environments that were much more dangerous than anything most of us face today. In reality, how likely is it that other people will actually harm you?

Being mindful simply means having good control over your attention: you can place your attention wherever you want and it stays there; when you want to shift it to something else, you can.

your brain has a built-in desire for stimulation that likely evolved to prod our ancestors to keep seeking food, mates, and other resources. This need is so deep that in a sensory deprivation chamber (in which a person floats on warm salt water in a completely dark and silent space), the brain will sometimes start to hallucinate imagery just to have new information to process (Lilly 2006).

As long as the amount of stimulation remains above a certain threshold, there’s no need to trigger stimulation-seeking. But when stimulation drops below this threshold, the basal ganglia signal your brain to get more now—and you find yourself being provocative in a boring conversation or lost in thought while meditating.

Next, consider which of the three aspects of attention is most challenging for you: holding something in awareness, filtering out distractions, or managing the desire for stimulation. For example: Do you get tired quickly when you try to concentrate? Do you seem to have porous filters, so that you get distracted by many of the sights and sounds around you? Or are you the sort of person who needs a rich diet of stimulation? (Or some combination of these?)

Establish a deliberate intention at the beginning of any activity that requires focus. Use statements such as May my mind be steady. Or just call up a silent feeling of determination.

Get a bodily sense of being someone you know who is extremely focused. That uses the empathy systems in the brain to simulate within yourself the mindful nature of that other person.

Keep reestablishing your intentions. For example, if you’re in a meeting, every few minutes you could resolve anew to stay focused. One of my friends uses a little device that can be set to vibrate at different intervals; he leaves it in his pocket and gets a discrete wake-up call every ten minutes.

Make the intention to be attentive the default setting of your life by developing the habit of everyday mindfulness.

Slow down. Talk less. When you can, do just one thing at a time. Reduce multitasking. Focus on your breath while doing daily activities. Relax into a feeling of calm presence with other people. Use routine events—such as the phone ringing, going to the bathroom, or drinking water—as “temple bells” to return you to a sense of centeredness. At meals, take a moment to reflect on where your food came from.

Oxygen is to the nervous system what gasoline is to your car. Although just 2 percent of body weight, your brain uses roughly 20 percent of your oxygen. By taking several deep breaths, you increase oxygen saturation in your blood and thus rev up your brain.

Send a gentle instruction to the verbal centers, something along the lines of Hush, now, it’s time to relax and be quiet. There’s nothing important to talk about right now. You’ll have plenty of time to talk later, throughout the rest of the day. In doing so, you use the power of prefrontal intention to bias verbal activity toward relative quiet. When (not if, alas) the voices in the head start muttering again, repeat the instruction to them. For example: It’s not time for chatter, your yammering is a burden on me, you can talk after this meeting/tax return/golf putt. Alternately, you might occupy your brain’s language centers with other verbal activities, such as repeating a favorite saying, mantra, or prayer in the back of your mind.

As mindfulness stabilizes, you will rest more and more as awareness itself. Awareness contains mind-objects, a general term for any mental content, including perceptions, thoughts, desires, memories, emotions, and so on. Although mind-objects may dance busily with each other, awareness itself is never disturbed. Awareness is a kind of screen on which mind-objects register, like—in the Zen saying—the reflections on a pond of geese flying overhead. But awareness is never sullied or rattled by the passing show.

What flows through your attention sculpts your brain. Therefore, controlling your attention may be the single most effective way to shape your brain, and thus your mind. You can train and strengthen attention like any other mental ability; mindfulness is well-controlled attention.

If all else fails, make the distraction itself the object of attention for this meditation period. One time, when I was trying to concentrate on the breath, I kept being distracted by a loud air conditioner. After a while, I gave up and switched to that sound—and gradually became pretty absorbed in it.

Think to yourself: May rapture (bliss) arise. May joy (happiness, contentment, tranquility) arise. In a relaxed way, intend for rapture and joy to arise. Integrate rapture and joy with the sensations of the breath. Let bliss breathe you, let the breath be tranquil.

In Buddhism, there are five traditional factors that steady the mind: applied attention, sustained attention, rapture, joy, and singleness of mind.

Singleness of mind is probably supported by fast gamma wave synchronization of large areas of the brain. You can encourage this state through the other four factors of concentration, plus whole body awareness, surrendering to the moment, and relaxing the sense of self.

Look into your own experience. When you take things personally—or hunger for approval—what happens? You suffer. When you identify with something as “me” or try to possess something as “mine,” you set yourself up for suffering, since all things are frail and will inevitably pass away. When you stand apart from other people and the world as “I,” you feel separate and vulnerable—and suffer.

On the other hand, when you relax the subtle sense of contraction at the very nub of “me”—when you’re immersed in the flow of life rather than standing apart from it, when ego and egotism fade to the background—then you feel more peaceful and fulfilled. You may have experienced this under a starry night sky, at the edge of the sea, or when your child was born. Paradoxically, the less your “I” is here, the happier you are. Or, as both Buddhist monks and inmates on death row sometimes say: “No self, no problem.”

More fundamentally, the self-as-subject is the elemental sense of being an experiencer of experiences. Awareness has an inherent subjectivity, a localization to a particular perspective (e.g., to my body, not yours). That localization is grounded in the body’s engagement with the world. For example, when you turn your head to scan a room, what you see is specifically related to your own movements. The brain indexes across innumerable experiences to find the common feature: the experiencing of them in one particular body. In effect, subjectivity arises from the inherent distinction between this body and that world; in the broadest sense, subjectivity is generated not only in the brain but in the ongoing interactions the body has with the world (Thompson 2007).

In sum, from a neurological standpoint, the everyday feeling of being a unified self is an utter illusion: the apparently coherent and solid “I” is actually built from many subsystems and sub-subsystems over the course of development, with no fixed center, and the fundamental sense that there is a subject of experience is fabricated from myriad, disparate moments of subjectivity.

Further, most aspects of a person can buzz merrily along without an “I” directing them. For example, most of your thoughts arise without any deliberate creation. We all routinely engage in many mental and physical activities without “I” making them happen. In fact, often the less self the better, since that improves many kinds of task performance and emotional functioning (Koch and Tsuchiya 2006; Leary, Adams, and Tate 2006).

In particular, awareness does not need a self to operate. Aspects of self arise and disperse within awareness, but awareness persists as a field of consciousness independent of the vicissitudes of self.

We routinely presume that there is a subject of consciousness because consciousness entails subjectivity, as we saw above, and the brain indexes across moments of subjectivity to find an apparent subject. But subjectivity is just a way to structure experience; it’s not an entity, a ghostly being looking out through your eyes. In fact, observing your own experience shows that the self—the apparent subject—often comes in after the fact. In many ways, the self is like someone running behind a parade that is already well under way, continually calling out: “See what I created!”

The self also depends greatly on social context. Walk along casually: often not much sense of self. But bump into an old acquaintance, and within seconds many parts of the self come online, such as memories of shared experiences—or wondering how you look.

Just because we have a sense of self does not mean that we are a self. The brain strings together heterogenous moments of self-ing and subjectivity into an illusion of homogenous coherence and continuity. The self is truly a fictional character. Sometimes it’s useful to act as if it’s real, as we’ll see below. Play the role of the self when you need to. But try to keep remembering that who you are as a person– dynamically intertwined with the world– is more alive, interesting, capable, and remarkable than any self.

An apparent self is good for some things. It is a convenient way to distinguish one person from another. It brings a sense of continuity to life’s kaleidoscope of experiences, linked to each other by appearing to happen to a particular “me.” It adds verve and commitment to relationships—“I love you” is a much more powerful statement than “There is love arising here.”

One way the self grows is by equating itself to things—by identifying with them. Unfortunately, when you identify with something, you make its fate your own—and yet, everything in this world ultimately ends. So be mindful of how you identify with positions, objects, and people. A traditional inquiry is to ask questions like these: Am I this hand? Am I this belief? Am I this sense of “I”? Am I this awareness? Perhaps follow the question with an explicit answer, such as: No, I am not this hand.

Remind yourself: I am not thoughts. I am not these thoughts of “I.” Don’t identify with the self! Don’t use self words (“I,” “me,” “myself,” and “mine”) any more than necessary. Try to get through a specific period of time, such as an hour at work, without using them at all.

Let experiences flow through awareness without identifying with them. If this stance were verbalized, it would sound something like this: Seeing is happening. There is sensation. Thoughts arise. A sense of self emerges. Move, plan, feel, and talk with as little presumption of self as possible.

To free yourself from the clutches of envy, send compassion and loving-kindness to people you envy. Once, on a meditation retreat, I was thinking enviously about some people and found a surprising peace in this wish toward them: May you have all the success that I lack.

Perhaps most of all, self grows through self-importance; its antidote is healthy humility. Being humble means being natural and unassuming, not being a doormat, ashamed, or inferior. It just means you’re not setting your self above others. Humility feels peaceful. You don’t have to work at impressing people, and no one is at odds with you for being pretentious or judgmental.

Paradoxically, it supports humility to take good care of yourself, since self networks in your brain activate when you feel threatened or unsupported. To reduce this activation, make sure your fundamental needs are well cared for. For example, we all need to feel cherished. Empathy, praise, and love from others—especially in childhood—are internalized in neural networks that support feelings of confidence and worth. But if you receive these in short supply over the years, you’re likely to end up with a hole in your heart.

Pay attention to good things about yourself and the caring and acknowledgement of others—and then take them in.

Consider how much time you spend thinking—in even the subtlest way, in the back of the simulator—about what others think of you. Be mindful of doing things to get admiration and praise. Try to focus instead on just doing the best you can. Think about virtue, benevolence, and wisdom: if you sincerely keep trying to come from these, that’s about all you can do.

Consider renouncing specialness—including being important and admired. Renunciation is the antithesis of clinging, and thus a radical path to happiness. Say phrases like these in your mind, and notice what they feel like: I give up being important. I renounce seeking approval. Feel the peace in this surrender.

The sense of self grows when you separate from the world. Therefore, deepening the sense of connection with the world will reduce the sense of self. To live, to have a metabolism, your body must be joined with the world through continuing exchanges of energy and matter. Similarly, your brain isn’t fundamentally separate from the rest of the body that feeds and protects it. Therefore, in a deep sense your brain is joined with the world (Thompson and Varela 2001). And as we’ve seen many times, the mind and the brain form an integrated system. Consequently, your mind and the world are intimately joined together.

Reflect on the flows of food, water, and sunlight that sustain your body. See yourself as an animal like any other in your dependence on the natural world. Spend time in nature.

Pay attention to the aspect of space in your environments, such as the empty volume of air in your living room, or the space through which cars move on your way to work. Doing this naturally draws awareness to things as a whole.

Think bigger and wider. For example, when you buy gasoline, consider the great network of causes that help produce the apparent self—driving its car, perhaps feeling stressed or preoccupied—including the gas station, global economics, and ultimately, ancient plankton and algae crushed under the earth into oil. See how those causes depend on an even vaster network that includes the solar system, our galaxy, other galaxies, and the physical processes of the material realm. Try to feel the living truth that you arise and abide in dependence upon the whole universe. The Milky Way is here because of the local group of galaxies; the sun is here because of the Milky Way; and you’re here because of the sun—so in some ways you’re here because of galaxies millions of light years away.

If you can, go all the way out to the ultimate frame: the allness, the totality that is everything. For example, the world you see at hand, including your body and mind within it, is always just one whole thing. At any moment, you can notice this one allness. Its parts change, endlessly. They unravel, decay, and disperse, every single one of them. Therefore, no part can ever be a reliable, enduring source of true happiness—including the self. But the allness as allness never changes. The whole remains reliably whole. The whole never clings and suffers.

How often do we place our convenience ahead of the life of another being, even an ant on a toilet? It’s not deliberately cruel, but it is self-centered. Look the creature in the eye—the mosquito, the mouse—and know that it wants to live, just like you do. How would it feel to be killed for someone’s convenience?

If you want, take on the practice of never killing for your own convenience. This will draw you into feeling more kinship with all life, you as a creature in harmony with other beings. You’ll be treating the world as an extension of yourself: not harming yourself entails not harming the world.

It’s ironic and poignant that the “I” makes you suffer in many ways. When you take things personally, identify with or try to possess things that inevitably end, or separate yourself from all things, you suffer. But when you relax the sense of self and flow with life, you feel happy and satisfied.

The apparent self is useful for relationships and for a healthy sense of psychological coherence over time. Humans have a sense of self because it served vital survival functions during our evolution. It is pointless to be averse to the self, since aversion intensifies the self. The point is to see through the self and let it relax and disperse.

herself!—I’ve repeatedly seen that small, thoughtful, sensible changes in what you put into your mouth each day can gradually produce significant benefits. And sometimes these steps—such as taking nutrients you’ve needed for a long time—can lead to rapid improvements in your well-being.

Take in a wide variety of rich nutrients. More than anything, this means eating lots of protein and vegetables. Eat protein at every meal; aim for a portion roughly the size of your palm. Eat at least three cups of vegetables a day—more is better! Ideally, half of your plate at each meal will be covered by vegetables of all kinds and colors. Fruits also provide important nutrition; berries in particular are known to be good for your brain

Minimize Sugar Keep your sugar under control. High blood sugar wears on the hippocampus (Wu et al. 2008). Impaired glucose tolerance—a sign of eating too much sugar—is linked to relative cognitive impairment in older adults (Messier and Gagnon 2000). The best way to minimize sugar is to avoid refined sugar altogether

Eating foods to which you are sensitive will cause an allergic and inflammatory reaction throughout your body, not just in your digestive system. Chronic inflammation, even if relatively mild, is an enemy of the brain.

Even without a known sensitivity, increased consumption of milk correlates with an increased risk of Parkinson’s disease (Park et al. 2005).

Vitamins B-12, B-6, and folic acid all help a biochemical process called methylation, which plays a crucial role in the production of many neurotransmitters. When you are deficient in these B vitamins, your homocysteine (an amino acid) level may become elevated. Low B vitamins and high homocysteine are risk factors for cognitive decline and dementia in older people (Clarke et al. 2007; Vogiatzoglou et al. 2008). Low folic acid is also a risk factor for depression; supplementing it can relieve depressive symptoms (A. Miller 2008).

Your multivitamin supplement should contain 10– 25 times the daily value of all of the B vitamins, and 800 mcg or more of folic acid (Marz 1999). It should have most minerals at 100 percent or more of the daily value. To consume these levels, you may need to augment your general multi with additional supplements.

The omega-3 fatty acids found in fish oil—docosahexaenoic acid (DHA) and eicosapentaenoic acid (EPA)—provide many benefits to your brain; these include promotion of neuronal growth, mood elevation, and slowing of dementia

Take enough fish oil to consume at least 500 milligrams of DHA daily, and about the same amount of EPA (Hyman 2009). Look for a high-quality source—one that is molecularly distilled; most people prefer capsules to taking fish oil directly.

Vitamin E is the main antioxidant in the cellular membranes within your brain (Kidd 2005). The most common form of vitamin E consumed through the diet is gamma-tocopherol, which makes up 70 percent of total vitamin-E intake. Unfortunately, nutritional supplements usually contain alpha-tocopherol, another form of vitamin E. Alpha-tocopherol seems to be less beneficial than gamma-tocopherol, and it dilutes the gamma-tocopherol you naturally get from your diet. This may be one reason why studies of vitamin-E supplementation have produced mixed results.

one study found that older people who consumed higher levels of vitamin E—primarily in the form of gamma-tocopherol—had less risk of developing Alzheimer’s disease and slower rates of cognitive decline

More research is needed, but in the meantime it seems reasonable to take a supplement of vitamin E that contains a mixture of the tocopherols, with gamma-tocopherol in the majority. Take a supplement that has about 400 IU of vitamin E (Marz 1999), at least half of which is gamma-tocopherol

Acetylcholine supports memory and attention. To build this neurotransmitter, you need rich sources of choline in your diet, such as egg yolks (possibly the best source), beef, liver, or dairy fats.