This is totally my experience. You might relate, maybe partially, or maybe your mind works in a completely different way. But this is how mine generates thoughts.

The seemingly simple task of quieting the mind has left me with an understanding of how it actually works: it needs fuel. The mind can’t run without something to chew on. It needs raw material — something to attach itself to.

These raw materials come from the senses. You see something, you hear something, you smell, taste, or touch something — anything that flows from the outside to the inside. Even with eyes closed, they still “see.” Patterns form, shadows shift, colors swim — and the mind grabs them, turns them into images, just like finding shapes in a Rorschach blob.

The moment this raw material arrives, the mind identifies it, makes associations, and starts weaving a story from one point to another. These points may seem random, but they’re always linked by some hidden thread of commonality.

This process is incredibly fast. It’s like plucking a spider’s web — one vibration spreads through the entire network. That’s why, if you trace a thought backwards, you can often find its sensory origin — the first spark.

And the story the mind weaves? It always has one main character: you. Your ego projects itself into the narrative. You think of school, and then a fight, and then suddenly imagine the school under attack with you as the hero saving everyone. You think of exams, and the next moment you’re celebrating top marks. Every imagination fuels the ego by keeping you at the center.

But with observation, you start to notice this process as it happens. And the moment you see it clearly, you can drop it. When the fuel stops, the mind stops weaving stories. It becomes quiet.

And then, the mind becomes just another tool — like the lungs that breathe in and out — functional, not indulgent. It’s no longer a master that drags you through pleasure and fear. It’s simply there, in service of awareness.