The Night I Stopped Drowning in My Emotions—and Started Watching Them
How present were you today — really?
Have you paused to witness the currents moving beneath your surface—the emotions rising, the thoughts tugging at your peace?
Did you take a moment to simply watch that movement?
Something odd happens when you turn off the lights and lie down — emotions get louder, not quieter.
Sometimes emotions rush in so fast it feels like opposing feelings are colliding all at once.
I once had a night like that.
I couldn't sleep even with my eyes closed. The more I tried not to think, the more cluttered my mind became.
It was a night of suffering, simply because things wouldn't go my way.
This was long before I found Buddhism.
I was going through a painful breakup — living what Buddhism calls Ae-byeol-ri-go, the particular anguish of being separated from the ones we love.
One night, as I lay there, thoughts of that person rushed back. A storm of emotions erupted, making my mind incredibly noisy.
Then, suddenly, I felt as if there were a tiny universe inside me.
In the center of that universe sat a massive magnet, and all sorts of emotions were snapping onto it and falling away.
I don’t know why that specific image came to me. It appeared effortlessly, regardless of my will.
I simply stayed still and began to watch those emotions.
Love would stick to the magnet, followed instantly by resentment.
Longing would attach itself, only to be replaced by bitterness.
Watching these polar opposites tangle, rise, and vanish was both fascinating and absurd.
That was the first time I truly observed my emotions.
From that night on, something changed.
Whenever an emotion surfaced, I started looking at it.
When love surged, I simply recognized that "love is here." When hatred surfaced, I was just aware that "hatred is arising."
By doing this, I slowly developed a habit of simply witnessing my feelings.
But there was one fact I didn't realize back then:
Who is the one watching these emotions and thoughts?
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| Photo by the author |
Why wasn't I swept away?
Though the tangle of feelings that night was complex, I wasn't swept away by them.
When sadness surfaced, I wasn't just "sad" — I was watching the sadness rise.
At the time, I didn't truly understand the profound difference this made. I was simply fascinated.
Finding that "tiny universe" inside myself filled me with such awe that I actually felt grateful to the person I had lost. As if that painful breakup had somehow been a gift.
That was how I felt for a long time, at least until I finally encountered Buddhism.
Years later, I told a friend about this experience. She looked at me and said, "That's the Observer perspective!"
Suddenly, the Counseling Psychology I studied in college flashed through my mind. "You're right! That's exactly what it is," I replied.
Now, much time has passed. Through a series of strange coincidences, I found my way to Buddhism.
And sitting here writing this, I finally have words for what happened that night.
Until now, I had never connected that night to the Original Face or Buddha-nature.
But looking back, I was already watching my mind from a deeper, quieter place within myself.
Back then, I had no idea why I could stay so still while everything inside me was in turmoil.
Now, as I study Buddhism, that night finally makes sense.
The emotions were violent — sadness, resentment, longing, grief, all tangled together. But I wasn't swept away. I was watching from somewhere just behind it all.
Looking back, I think it was the Original Mind quietly watching all those emotions come and go.
Even in the middle of all that chaos, something inside me remained strangely still.
Most of us handle emotions in one of two ways — we suppress them or we drown in them.
That night, I stumbled onto something different. The emotions were fully there, and so was I — but at a distance.
Without knowing it, I was already observing my mind from the Mind-base itself.
Zen Buddhism has a name for this — the True Mind. It describes the state of knowing exactly what is happening without being pulled into the current.
And it distinguishes two layers of mind: the part that moves restlessly with every thought and feeling — the Arising and Ceasing Mind — and the quiet, steady ground that simply knows all that movement — the True Mind.
That night, the True Mind was watching the Arising and Ceasing Mind.
The mind was seeing the mind.
Even when I knew nothing of Buddhism, I was already living that experience.
It sounds abstract, but this is something everyone already knows — they just haven't noticed it yet.
What is the true nature of that "mind"?
The Buddha's silence on this question holds more than any answer could.
[ Where Is Your Mind Right Now? A 2,600-Year-Old Question That Still Has No Easy Answer]
What does it mean to watch your own mind?
Looking back, what happened that night wasn't extraordinary.
The Buddha described something like this in the Four Foundations of Mindfulness — observe the body in the body, feelings in feelings, the mind in the mind.
"Observe the mind in the mind."
When you first read this, you might feel a bit puzzled. "What does that even mean?" "Is it even possible for the mind to see itself?" "Isn't the mind just... the mind?"
And yet, we are doing this every single moment.
Even as you read this, there is "something" that is aware of your internal reactions.
That is the mind seeing the mind — it's already happening, whether you notice it or not.
This doesn't need to be complicated. Just as I experienced long ago, when anger rises, you don't have to say, "I am angry."
Instead, simply notice: "Ah, anger is arising right now."
All you need to know is the fact that you are watching the anger.
To "observe the mind in the mind" ultimately means to step back, not to identify with the emotion, and simply notice its arising and passing.
That awareness itself is the Observer — what Zen Buddhism calls the True Mind, the Buddha-nature, the Original Face, the True Self.
Not a judgment. Just a clear, honest look at what's actually there.
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| Photo by the author |
This isn't rare, and it doesn't take effort.
That night, I didn't know what Buddhism was, and I had never learned to meditate.
I simply didn't try to force the rising emotions away in the dark — I just let them be. I just watched. And that was enough.
Modern psychology explains this the same way.
In ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy), the core of healing is not trying to control thoughts and feelings, but recovering the Observer's awareness.
A 2,500-year-old sutra and modern clinical psychology — different languages, same truth.
Something you can try right now
No meditation cushion needed. No special posture required.
This is something you can do anywhere, in the middle of ordinary life.
Don't try to get rid of whatever is rising. Just let it be.
When an anxious thought shows up, just notice it: "Anxiety is here."
When sadness comes, just acknowledge it: "Sadness is here."
Notice it, and watch.
When a wave crashes, don't try to stop it — just stay in the awareness that knows the wave is there.
The wave is still the ocean. No need to fight it — just watch it pass.
At first, this won't come easily. Watching your emotions is harder than it sounds.
More often than not, you'll find yourself already swept away before you even realize what's happening. That's normal.
The important thing is simply noticing what's happening a little sooner.
There's one simple practice that helps with this.
Ask yourself, throughout the day: "Am I awake right now?" — a question introduced by Venerable Won-bin.
You can only catch what's rising in you when you're actually awake to it.
For a deeper look at why this question matters, [Are You Awake Now? The Easiest Way to Escape Overwhelming Thoughts (Dhammapada 348)] is worth reading.
Keep asking yourself that question, and something quietly shifts.
You stop being completely swept away.
A little space opens up between you and your emotions. As that space grows, that is Mindfulness — and the beginning of finding the Original Mind.
One thing to remember: this space isn't something you build.
It was already there — you just hadn't noticed it yet.
That night, I didn't create anything. I simply stumbled onto something that had been there all along.
What I found in the dark that night
Even now, that night feels strange to think about. I knew nothing of Buddhism. I had never meditated.
I had never heard words like Original Mind, Buddha-nature, or True Mind.
And yet, lying in the dark, watching those opposing emotions rise and fall — I briefly touched that awareness.
Studying Buddhism later, I came to understand something: that awareness isn't earned through special practice. It's already in everyone.
It's just hidden beneath the noise of thoughts and feelings — like clouds covering the sun. The sun hasn't gone anywhere.
If the darkness before sleep feels heavy, try this: don't do anything.
Just watch whatever emotions are rising. Don't try to erase them. Don't judge them. Just let them be.
At some point, you may begin to notice the quiet presence that has been there the whole time.
Call it whatever you like — the Observer, the True Mind, or simply the quiet part of you.
The name doesn't matter. What matters is that you experience it for yourself.
Why don't you simply notice what your mind is feeling tonight?
A Quiet Invitation to Further Peace
If the words you’ve read today have brought a moment of stillness to your heart, you might find comfort in these other reflections as well:
[Why Thinking Causes Suffering — And How to Stay Awake in Reality]
["Don't Try to Stop Your Stray Thoughts" - A Surprising Way to Escape Anxiety in Just 1 Minute]
[Why Your Mind Won't Stop — A 2,600-Year-Old Solution]
Deepening Your Stillness: A Voice of Wisdom
To help you stay connected to that peaceful Original Mind we explored together, I’d love to share some insights that have been a great source of strength and clarity for me.
Venerable Beopsang:
"No Need to Go Anywhere: Solving Every Problem Right Here, Right Now"
This talk is like a warm light for those wandering in the dark. It gently shows us how to find that part of ourselves that is already at peace, regardless of life's changes.
[Recommended Segment: from 1:05:30 to the end]
"May all living beings be healthy, happy, and prosperous. May they be safe, secure, and free from all dangers and enemies."
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