It depends—on definitions, on context. But from a deeper, experiential perspective, yes, they are entirely different.
The mind is not truly yours. It is the part of you that has been given, imposed, shaped. The mind is borrowed, constructed, conditioned. It is the imprint of society upon your being—the product of education, culture, religion, and upbringing. In contrast, consciousness is your very nature. It is not given; it simply is. It is the center, whereas mind is just the circumference.
The mind is a mechanism of conditioning. You can have a Hindu mind, a Christian mind, a Communist or Capitalist mind—but you cannot have a Hindu consciousness. Consciousness is not divisible. It is universal, unfragmented. The mind is shaped by the many divisions of human society; consciousness is untouched by any of them.
Mind is a social by-product. Every society creates minds that suit its own structure. But to know who you truly are—to touch the essence of your being—you must go beyond this constructed mind. Until that happens, you remain outside your true self, entangled in borrowed identities.
Meditation is nothing but a rebellion against the mind. It is a movement inward, away from this social facade. Mind is never silent, never still. To speak of a “silent mind” is a contradiction, like saying “a healthy disease.” Disease, by its nature, cannot be healthy. Similarly, mind cannot be silent. Mind is the disturbance.
So meditation is not about improving the mind, refining the mind, or calming the mind—it is about dissolving it. Meditation is the state of no-mind. When the chatter ends, not because you suppressed it, but because you are no longer identified with it, then what remains is consciousness—pure, unconditioned, untouched.
Zen asks, “What is your original face—the face you had before your parents were born?” This is not poetry; it’s a pointer to your unconditioned self. The face you wear daily is not your own. It is cultivated, reactive, shaped by the roles you play.
You have many such faces. When you meet your servant, one face appears. When you turn to your boss, another emerges. You don’t notice the shift—it has become automatic. One eye speaks to the servant; the other flatters the superior. In a moment, you are two people. This multiplicity becomes your norm. You go on changing masks without even realizing it.
But your original face cannot be changed. It is not social; it is existential. That face is consciousness.
Don’t assume you have one mind—you don’t. You have many. One mind for the morning, another for the evening. One mind when you are angry, another when you are in love. The mind is a crowd, a procession of personalities. It is poly-psychic. It is never still, never the same.
Consciousness, on the other hand, is one. It doesn’t shift with the hour of the day. A child and an old man have different minds, but their consciousness is the same. The child’s mind is playful, the old man’s mind is weary—but their consciousness is ageless. It lives outside time.
Mind moves in time; consciousness lives in the eternal now. Mind is always becoming; consciousness simply is.
But we have become so identified with the mind that we say, “This is my thought, this is my opinion, my belief.” We hold tightly to that which we were never born with. And in clinging to the mind, we lose sight of consciousness.
Break this identification. Understand clearly: your mind has been given to you. It is inherited from society—your parents, teachers, institutions. It is not yours.
Drop the borrowed mind and return to what is truly yours—your consciousness. It is innocent, fresh, alive. This is the path of meditation: the journey from mind to no-mind, from noise to stillness, from the world of illusion to the truth of existence.
This is the shift—from the man-made to the cosmic, from the acquired to the essential, from thought to being.
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