It’s ironic to think we can make sense of the self—when we are the self. Or better: we are ourselves. There’s a strange duality in the way we speak about “us” and “the self,” as if they were separate, two entities sharing the same body. It makes sense—and yet it doesn’t. Some people live close to their self. Others are entirely one with it. And then there are those who also live in complete oneness with the self, but unconsciously, out of sheer ignorance.

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The most common conception of the self comes from spirituality. In a way, it’s given to us; something we discover, or are told about. But we shouldn’t confuse spirituality with religion. Even when one is “one” with God, God is still something greater, more powerful, and likely having a better time than we are, poor but happy humans. So if the self is accessed through spiritual practice, does that mean it belongs solely to the realm of the spirit? Or could it also be something we reach through the mind? I believe it can be both.

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Nothing compares to spiritual practices—religious or otherwise. Reading in complete calmness is a form of meditation; yes, the intention is different, however. In spiritual practice, the aim is communion with the divine. When we read, the aim is communion with ideas. Unless, of course, the divine is just an idea—in which case, reading becomes a dialogue with the book, with God embodied in language. Prayers, meditation, silence, introspection, temperance, and self-restraint are all part of the journey toward the self. And by “journey,” I mean the uncovering of a path that lies just one step away, though so densely covered it can take years—or lifetimes—to find it.

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But how can one access the self through the mind? The first step is indeed through reading, not as the practice, but as a practice. Though not just any reading. There are many good places to start, perhaps even the Bible, the most-read book in the world. Just keep in mind that religion often comes with a larger apparatus, a set of purposes broader than the clean, direct search for the self. So what does good literature for such a journey look like?

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This might be my bias, but the East has offered me the richest resources. There are three books I believe anyone should read—step by step, in this order. First: Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse. Second (after spending some time reflecting on Siddhartha, and actually practising some of what it reveals): Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda. Incidentally, this was the only book Steve Jobs kept on his iPad, and he had copies given out at his funeral. It’s a much denser book, filled with stories that may be hard to believe, but only if you read with your head. If you read with the heart, not so much. It takes time to digest, and practice is key, even if it’s just the practice of awareness.

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The third book is one of ancient knowledge, not to be read but studied: the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, a cornerstone of Vedic tradition. It’s compact and profound; each line a world to be uncovered. If you follow this path, a whole new spectrum will open up, and you’ll find a kind of inner compass to guide your search for the self.

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And since the written word isn’t all there is in this beautiful world, allow me to suggest a voice: Ram Dass. He was a genius, deeply spiritual, and incredibly human. Don’t read him—listen to him. There’s a free podcast, Ram Dass Here and Now, with all his recorded talks. Go through them one by one. I promise: you’ll start making sense of a lot. And life—yes, life—might even change.

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Now let me tell you something. If you’re reading this, or listening to Ram Dass, there’s a high probability that you are an intellectual, whether or not you call yourself one. And you are likely engaged in the beautiful chase: reading, thinking, writing, speaking. These are noble acts. But what really matters is the intention behind them. That’s what changes everything. That’s the difference between existing and being.

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We tend to live as if we had all the time in the world. There’s always the hope of a better tomorrow, the fantasy that one day we’ll finally do what we want, enjoy what we love, and become who we dream of being. We live as if we were eternal. But if you were indeed eternal, would you continue living the way you live today? I doubt it. There’s always something to improve, something to align, so that one day you wake up and say, “Yes.”

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That process starts with the self.

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Because once that is found, there’s nowhere else to go.

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Then—it’s time to simply be.