After a meditation session, I go up to the mirror and stare at the reflection that effortlessly appears on its surface. I see a young man with a gruff beard, soft dark-brown eyes, somewhat messy hair, and a bland expression. I register these sights, but when I turn upon my real face, the point from which I am supposed to be experiencing everything, I learn that there is nothing to find except for the experience itself. Where my head was supposed to be there is only a void. Not literal nothingness, but a place of endless potential, giving expression to the moment and also one with it. A thought emerges, demanding the location of my body, and I find that I can only vaguely sense it, concealed as it is by the veil of vision.
A testimony of this nature, by virtue of being so unusual, is particularly susceptible to dismissal. To the sensible and pragmatic, it may appear to be nothing less than a symptom of psychosis or, worse still, a lie. I am not suggesting that I was literally decapitated, and yet was somehow not only alive but also able to see without the requisite organs. This anecdote demonstrates a shift in consciousness, when the clarity of experience cuts through the ceaseless flow of thought, and one is able to experience life as it truly is, without overlaying it with concepts. For concepts can never faithfully capture the field of experience. Experience is dynamic, ever-changing, and impossible to catch, while concepts are more or less static symbols that we rely on for a sense of security, a semblance of stability amid the constant flux of phenomena. That is why it is impossible to capture the experience of headlessness in the moment. It can only be put it into words after the fact.
This is not to say that we should abandon the faculties for speech and imagination, which allow us to accomplish so many wonderful things in life. In fact, it would be quite hypocritical of me to suggest that, since it is by relying on these very abilities that I am writing this. Problems arise when we confuse the symbols for experience for the actual experience. One such symbol that prominently features in our lives is the sense of self — it is almost as if we walk around carrying a homunculus inside our heads, a vulnerable "I" that is pushed around by the world and, in an effort to build itself up, attempts to force it into submission. Sure, one might get the impression of succeeding from time to time, but ultimately all such efforts are doomed, for they are based on a falsehood.
Once one is able to see through the nature of self — not just conceptually but by observing the tenuous conditions that give rise to it moment by moment — it becomes clear that there is nothing apart from sights, sounds, tastes, smells, thoughts, and feelings. Anything that might suggest that there is an observer in addition to experience is itself a part of that experience. This insight into the non-dual nature of mind is the basis of true freedom.
I learned about headlessness several years ago from a lovely little volume called On Having No Head, authored by the Zen contemplative Douglas Harding. There is also The Headless Way, a website where one can learn about techniques intended to induce such an experience and the insights that it is supposed to facilitate. The latter is important for without knowing what to look for, one might dismiss the headless experience as a mere party trick. That would be a grave error. I should also add that, although these insights are available to anyone anywhere, since we have become so accustomed to viewing the world from a conceptual lens, it helps to train concentration and achieve clarity through vipassana practice, or mindfulness meditation, before embarking on the quest to discover one's real face.