Do neurons know there’s a world out there?
Do they know you had a car crash, or that you’re sitting in therapy right now?
Of course not. Neurons don’t know anything, they don’t even know ‘you.’ They fire, link, and form networks. That’s all.
But we often talk about the brain as if it does: “My brain just won’t shut off.” “My body won’t let me relax.” That’s anthropomorphism—projecting human qualities onto biology.
What Neurons Actually Do
Neurons don’t know stories, trauma, or therapy. They respond to energy—fear, shame, delight, terror. Those surges cause neurons to fire and connect. When the charge is strong enough, the network that forms becomes frozen, even isolated. EMDR calls these stuck imprints “target nodes.”
What we call remembering is really the conscious awareness of neurons firing in a familiar pattern at a certain frequency. The person becomes aware of what the brain has already enlivened. The neurons aren’t holding the memory as a story—they’re simply a string of neurons lit up by a charge.
This also explains why EMDR can sometimes feel intense. Bilateral stimulation can activate the target nodes, cross network boundaries, create new patterns, and link in isolated information. When that happens, strong emotions may surge without context. It’s not resistance—it’s simply the biology of an isolated circuit coming to awareness and releasing its energy.
A Different Kind of Compassion
When we see neurons this way, something shifts. If neurons aren’t bad or broken—if they’re just firing habitually—then maybe I’m not broken either.
It’s a reframe into self-compassion and non-judgment: “It’s not me, it’s my neural networks.” The brain is simply doing what brains do—responding to activation, adjusting, and organizing. And with support, those same networks can change.
Instead of blame, there’s space for fierce curiosity. Instead of shame, there’s relief.
How EMDR Changes the Story
EMDR doesn’t “teach” neurons a new narrative. They don’t learn like we do. What EMDR does is help defuse the charge in the circuitry, so the network can re-link to broader pathways. As the charge drains, emotions settle. The brain links to new information and perspectives as unknown neural pathways become available.
Take a car crash, for example. At first, the memory may feel like nothing but the collision, the sirens, the ambulance ride. The body stays flooded with fear and agitation, even when the crash is long past.
But with EMDR, bilateral stimulation reduces that intensity. As the charge lowers, other aspects of the memory emerge and become accessible: people who came to help, voices that offered comfort, the recognition—deep down—that the event is over. This is true for complex trauma as well.
The autobiographical meaning of the experience changes—energetically, both in the realm of thinking and feeling. The memory is no longer a prison. It becomes part of a wider, integrated story.
The Nondual View
And here’s where this bridges into nondual wisdom.
If neurons don’t know your story, then who does?
If the brain doesn’t carry your identity, then what does?
From the nondual perspective, neurons are activity within Awareness. They fire, link, and imprint, but they don’t know why. Awareness is what knows. It is the field in which brain activity, stories, and wholeness arise.
When we stop anthropomorphizing neurons, we stop identifying ourselves with them. And in that space, something deeper opens: I am not my neurons. I am not my trauma. I am the Awareness itself, in which neurons fire, memories appear, wholeness grows, and life happens.
Closing
So, do neurons know your story? No. They just fire and link. But through EMDR, those links can shift, the charge can drain, and new perspectives can emerge.
And beyond the neurons—beyond even the story—what remains is what has always been there: Awareness.