He was kind of wrong. I struggled my way through most of this book, forcing myself to read five minutes at a time. The ideas that self is an illusion and that we can experience “having no head” remain foreign to me. In fact, the aptness of the title wasn’t what really caused me to reach for this book in the middle of the night: it was the expectation that it would lull me back to sleep.
But I was wrong too. I found the final quarter of this book to be the most interesting part of it. The bulk of the last 50 pages is a chapter on gurus (none are perfect, or perfectly enlightened), death (near-death experiences don’t tell us anything about what we can expect to experience in actual death), and drugs (where Harris recommends a good trip on psilocybin or LSD, while acknowledging that a bad one can be an “extremely unpleasant and destabilizing experience”).
My favorite part of this book doesn’t have much to do with meditation. It was a single line in the paragraph that initiated the discussion of drugs (“The Spiritual Uses of Pharmacology”) and when I read it I paused, then re-read it several times, savoring this perspective I’d never really considered before:
“We read for the pleasure of thinking another person’s thoughts.”

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