PART 2. Starting with the Brain
Where does your mind end, and where does the universe begin?
How much of “you” or the “I” is truly yours, how much was programmed before you could think, and how much is simply conditioning from your socio-cultural surroundings? Ask what “mind” means and it quickly unravels: is it a simulator of futures, a story-maker, a field of awareness, consciousness itself, just signals in the brain — or something vastly greater? Cultures, philosophies, religions, and even sciences all answer differently. A quick glance through the lexicons shows just how vague and undefined the concept remains.
So where to begin? Before drifting too far into philosophy or spirituality, let’s ground ourselves in what we can measure and mostly agree on: the brain and its neural networks, weaving identity and running/processing the stream of thought. And yet even here, reduction falters. The gut carries its own “second brain” of millions of neurons, while the heart has an intrinsic network of thousands of its own, sending signals that shape feeling and state of mind. From the very beginning, it seems, the mind is already more than a single place.
The making of a mind — how your brain became what it is today
And it doesn’t matter, at this level of investigation, whether you believe the brain generates the mind or merely receives it like a signal. Either way, the following influences remain just as real: each one leaves its mark on the organ through which “you” will come to experience the world.
A brain in exchange — how the environment shapes mind before birth
From conception onward, the developing brain is continuously shaped by the mother’s body. Nutrients, hormones, immune signals, and even pollutants cross biological boundaries and influence neural growth. Stress hormones like cortisol, for example, can alter fetal brain development — these changes have been linked in many studies to later differences in emotion and stress regulation.
History offers a stark example. Children born during the Dutch Hunger Winter of 1944–45, exposed to severe undernutrition in the womb, showed lasting differences in health and cognition decades later. Research now shows that prenatal exposures — from diet to toxins to maternal anxiety — leave epigenetic fingerprints in the developing brain that can persist throughout life, and in some cases ripple across generations.
In short, the fetal brain is a co-creation. It absorbs the influences of the mother’s world — the food she eats, the air she breathes, the emotional climate she inhabits. That embodied history becomes part of the organ that will later construct the narrative you call “me.” And if you belong to the fraction who believe the brain is not the source of mind but rather its filter or receiver, then it is simply that filter that is being tuned from the very beginning. Or to put it another way: the color of the glasses through which you will experience your personal version of what you will one day call reality has already been tinted before you were born. But don’t worry — this isn’t fate, only the first strokes on a canvas that will be reshaped again and again throughout your life.
From helplessness to extreme adaptation — blessing and curse
Compared to other animals, we humans enter the world remarkably helpless. We cannot walk, feed ourselves, or survive without constant care. At first glance this looks like a weakness — yet it is our greatest evolutionary advantage, one that has directly contributed to our species’ dominance. Because the newborn brain is so unfinished, it can adapt with extraordinary flexibility to whatever environment it encounters.
That advantage comes with a price: deep vulnerability and susceptibility to Programing/manipulation. A child raised in a safe and nurturing household develops differently than one raised amid stress or neglect. Attachment theory shows how those first relationships imprint patterns of trust, fear, and intimacy that ripple through life. This phase of openness can produce a brain that is resilient, self-aware, and flexible — or one that is fragile, rigid in its ideas, convinced of its own separateness, and blind to the reciprocity of environment. It is here that the seeds of worldview are sown: whether we see the world as a living web we are part of, or as an inert backdrop to be used. Critics of dominant social paradigms often highlight how this period of life makes us impressionable, prone to brainwashing by the culture we are born into.
The role of language
As the child grows, language enters — and with it, a sharper sense of self. Words like “I” and “mine” don’t just label the world; they carve boundaries within it. With every new phrase, the child learns not only to describe reality but to filter it through categories shaped by family, religion, and society. We learn to seperate ourselves from our environment.
Linguists like Benjamin Whorf argued that the structure of language shapes how we perceive reality itself. Neuroscience adds weight to this idea: as children master language, brain networks such as the default mode network (DMN) become more active, weaving narrative, reflection, and the illusion of continuity we call “me.”
The first toddler declaring “mine!” is not only making a claim on an object — they are rehearsing the boundary of selfhood, practicing the separation that language makes possible. From that moment on, words become the scaffolding of identity, binding thought, culture, and perception into the story of who we are.
There is even evidence that language can shape what we literally see. Some anthropologists suggest that in ancient texts, the color “blue” is absent because people did not perceive it until the word existed. Studies of present-day tribes show similar effects: languages with fewer words for colors lead their speakers to group shades together, while others, surrounded by rich natural palettes, distinguish many more. In this way, language doesn’t just sharpen selfhood — it can tint the very lens of perception.
And as mentioned later, learning a new language can be profoundly enriching — putting us in the shoes of another perspective, opening the “mind” in the most literal sense.
Personality as a cultural echo or Where does Culture end and “you” begin?
By the time we reach adulthood, what we call “my personality” has been built less from some mysterious inner core and more from countless external influences. Genes matter, but environment often decides how those genes express. Twin studies show that while broad temperaments may be inherited, culture, peers, and circumstance shape how they unfold. Epigenetics adds another layer: experiences and diet can switch genes on or off, leaving lasting marks on mood, resilience, and cognition.
The society we live in, the stories we’re told, the education we receive, the beliefs we’re handed down — all of these are threads woven into the mental tapestry we call “me.” Culture is so deeply embedded in our being that we rarely recognize it as influence at all. Its assumptions shape the very categories of thought we use to interpret reality: what counts as success or failure, sacred or profane, natural or unnatural. Religion frames morality; economics frames value; language frames perception itself.
Consider just a few examples. If you are raised to believe in rebirth, the story of your life feels radically different from one shaped by heaven and hell — or by the idea that nothing exists beyond death at all. If you take for granted that taxes, capitalism, democracy, and individualism are simply “how the world works,” it may be hard to imagine that in other places, these ideas feel alien, even absurd. What seems to you like common sense may to others be incomprehensible, and vice versa. And cultural contrasts can be striking — even funny: imagine growing up in Bhutan, where penis (phalus) symbols are painted on houses and temples as everyday blessings. What might feel shocking or obscene in one society is a source of protection and fertility in another.
The society we live in, the stories we’re told, the education we receive, the beliefs we’re handed down — all of these are threads woven into the mental tapestry we call “me.” A child adopted into another culture may grow up feeling entirely native to it. Identity is not sealed; it is porous, absorbing the colors and shapes of the environment that surrounds it.
Plasticity without end
By now it may seem as though “you” are little more than the sum of outside influences — shaped by womb, parents, peers, culture, and language. But neuroscience offers something crucial: the brain is not fixed. It is plastic across the entire lifespan. New synapses form, existing ones strengthen or weaken, and even new neurons are born in certain regions such as the hippocampus — a process called adult neurogenesis.
This plasticity means that experience is never simply stored; it continually sculpts the brain itself. Stroke survivors relearning to walk or speak show this power vividly. So do musicians refining their craft late in life, or people taking up new languages and literally rewiring their brains to accommodate fresh sounds and meanings. Each skill practiced, each habit repeated, leaves physical traces in neural pathways. Learning a new language, especially, is a striking way to expand the boundaries of your “mind.”
The “you” that feels so continuous is in fact always in flux. And here lies the invitation: although your brain is shaped by countless external influences, it can also be reshaped intentionally. Awareness, practice, and conscious choice become the tools to carve individuality from conditioning — to become, in a sense, the leading creator of your own mind. And the more you consciously lay and water the seeds of your future self, the more you are capable of creating and molding your own path within the tight web of life. In other words, the more consciousness you bring to the party, the more capable of being conscious you become.
Beyond the Brain
The heart’s hidden mind
The brain is not the only organ with a claim on the word “mind.” The heart, long celebrated in poetry as the seat of feeling, turns out to carry its own powerful intelligence. Nestled within it is a small but specialized network of about 40,000 neurons — sometimes called the “heart brain.” Though tiny compared to the gut’s vast enteric system, this network exerts an outsized influence, able to regulate rhythm on its own and shape signals sent to the brain’s emotional and stress centers.
Signals from the heart travel upward through the vagus nerve and other pathways, influencing the brain’s emotional and stress-regulation centers, including the amygdala and hypothalamus. This is part of why strong emotions register instantly in heart rhythms, and why heart rate variability (HRV) has become one of the most reliable measures of nervous system balance.
The heart also generates the body’s most powerful electromagnetic field, detectable several feet beyond the skin. Remarkably, this field shifts depending on emotional states — contracting under fear or frustration, expanding during states of calm or compassion. Some studies even suggest that these fluctuations can synchronize subtly with people nearby, offering a physiological explanation for the way we “feel” each other’s moods before a word is spoken.
Seen this way, the heart is more than a pump. It is a sensory organ, an information hub, and a source of rhythms that shape not only how we feel but how we connect. To speak of the “mind” As if it where only the brain without the heart is already to tell an incomplete story.
The gut’s second brain
Buried in the intestinal wall is the enteric nervous system — often called our “second brain.” It holds roughly 500 million neurons, more than in the spinal cord, and can operate semi-independently of the central nervous system. This network governs digestion, but it also produces and regulates many of the neurotransmitters that shape mood, including most of the body’s serotonin.
Gut signals constantly flow to the brain via the vagus nerve, influencing emotional state, decision-making, and even social behavior. Anyone who has felt “butterflies” before a big event has experienced this dialogue in action. The gut is also home to the microbiome: trillions of bacteria, fungi, and viruses that release chemical messengers shaping everything from immunity to stress response. Disturbances in this internal ecosystem lead not just to digestive problems but to anxiety, depression, and even shifts in personality.
In this sense, the gut is more than a digestive tract. It is a neural and microbial community that thinks in its own way, sending a steady stream of information upward. To ignore it is to miss one of the most important players in the orchestra of mind.
Beyond the body’s borders — the extended mind
At this point it would be easy to conclude that the mind is simply “embodied” — spread across brain, heart, and gut. But even this view is too narrow. The traffic of signals does not stop at the skin. Microbiomes adapt to the soil, water, and food of whatever environment we inhabit. Language and culture seep into thought and perception, shaping the very categories with which we see the world. Emotional states synchronize between people, carried by facial expressions, tone of voice, and invisible hormonal cues.
And beyond biology, the mind extends into relationships and tools. Couples often act as shared archives: one remembers birthdays, the other navigates the city; together they form a larger memory system. This is one reason why the end of a long relationship can feel like losing a part of yourself — because in a very real sense, you have. Skilled craftspeople and artists describe their tools as part of their bodies, the brush or chisel mapped into their nervous system. Today our smartphones have taken this further still: calendars, navigation, and entire libraries of knowledge woven seamlessly into the flow of daily thought. Neuroscience shows that repeated reliance on such tools literally alters the brain’s body maps, treating them almost like new limbs.
The mind, then, is not bounded by the body. It is porous, co-constructed, always leaning into the environment around it. To ask “Where does the mind end?” may be to realize that it does not.
The tapestry of the mind
Now put all the above threads together and a single picture appears: not a solitary island but a living tapestry — woven from neurons and microbes, hormones and language, heart rhythms and gut feelings, childhood faces and cultural stories. From the first chemical whisper in the womb to the last habit you pick up in old age, your mind has been and always is in continuous dialogue with the world.
Almost nothing you believe or feel arrived as a pristine, self-made object. Much of it was handed to you, modeled for you, absorbed by you before you had words to frame it. Carl Jung put it bluntly: we are mirrors of the cultural landscape we move through. Science gives that mirror texture — neuroplasticity, epigenetic tags, attachment patterns, language shaping thought — but the experience feels the same: your mind is braided from a million outside influences, both obvious and invisible.
And yet — within that woven cloth there is something astonishingly yours. The exact knotting of those threads, the particular sequence of losses and delights, the rare intersections of chance and choice that only your life contains — together they produce a singular pattern. Billions of humans, billions of unique patterns. You are not a product off an identical conveyor belt; you are an improbable, one-of-a-kind emergence from a network of relations. Let that sit with you: the mind is both shared and singular, a communal art that somehow makes room for radical uniqueness.
I thought Part Two would wrap up this two-part inquiry, but simply mapping the physical was already enough for a full article. So you can now look forward to an extended Part 2.2, where I’ll venture into the philosophical, belief-oriented, and quantum side of the mind — exploring questions like: is the brain the generator or the receiver of consciousness? Is awareness something we toggle on and off, or the fundamental fabric of reality itself? And could entanglement mean our minds are woven into the universe in ways science is only beginning to glimpse?
Disclaimer: I spend hours upon hours enjoying writing these articles. Most of the writing is my own thought process, inspiration and research and throughout the whole process I use ChatGPT as a co-writer and research tool (though of course not the only research tool). If anyone made it all the way to reading this then thank you for your patience and attention, I hope you enjoyed reading it.
