It’s no coincidence that in this invitation there is a deep resonance with the modern, and yet revolutionary ideas of neuroplasticity-that wondrous ability of our brains to reshape themselves in response to our mental habits. It's a concept that would have delighted William James, who intuited the malleability of consciousness long before we had the tools to observe it directly. Goldstein, echoing the Buddha's teachings, reminds us that what we frequently think about becomes the inclination of our minds—a simple yet profound observation that finds its modern counterpart in the work of cognitive behavioral therapy.

In a fascinating confluence of ancient and modern thought, Goldstein draws our attention to Rupert Sheldrake's theory of morphic resonance. Even while the scientific establishment may debate its merits, Sheldrake's idea that habits become more probable through repetition across a species offers a tantalizing metaphor for the collective power of thought. It invites us to ponder: could our individual mental habits be shaping not just our personal realities, but the very fabric of our shared cultural and societal narratives?

The Buddhist path of right thought through the practice of renunciation with its emphasis on cultivating goodwill and compassion, emerges here not as a set of austere prescriptions, but as a framework for integrating a sacred pause within an experience of reality that is made opaque by our tendency to cling to thinking. That habit is a kind of addiction - it relies on our sense-driven craving to pull us along. Our brain conspires, constructing the sense of a stream of time, positing us in a reciprocal feedback loop between our sense of self, and our thoughts. Stuck in this habit of thinking, we miss the opportunity to fully experience the richness of each precious moment. So, Buddha’s practice of renunciation as a means to develop right though is a sacred pause, a moment of decision that allows us to know what Suzuki calls, “big mind,” - that sense of expansiveness, equanimity, tranquility and possibility that finds kinship in the ageless intuition that our inner landscape is the wellspring from which our outer reality flows.

And the Buddha is not satisfied by only knowing the difference between wholesome and unwholesome thought. He gently nudges us towards the precipice of a more radical inquiry: what is the nature of thought itself? This question echoes the preoccupations of 20th century phenomenologists like Maurice Merleau-Ponty, who, like Suzuki, sought to peel back the layers of perception to glimpse the very structure of consciousness. It's a line of inquiry that leads us to a threshold of awakening—that transformative shift in perception that lies at the heart of the Buddhist ethical project.

Once consciousness itself becomes the focal point of our practice, we find ourselves yet again at a fascinating crossroads where Buddhism intersects with the cutting edge of quantum physics. Both point to a reality far more observer-dependent than what our everyday experience might suggest. Goldstein reminds us that “catalog consciousness” is so pervasive, so common, that we tend to ignore the possibility for something different - or even antithetical - to the colloquial cravings we all know and experience, everyday. Implicit in the example is a recommendation, that we might consider whether, in stark contrast to the busyness, the speed, the clutter, and the ordinary desires of our worldly life, there's a certain clarity and purity and simplicity, and contentment, available to us.

Guided by Goldstein's gentle wisdom, we're reminded of the extraordinary malleability of our experience. Both the timeless insights of contemplative traditions and the latest findings of neuroscience beckon us towards a tantalizing possibility: that through the mindful cultivation of our thoughts, we might not only reshape our individual realities but perhaps even awaken to simpler, more satisfying ways of being in the world.