The Illusion of Knowing and the Call to Remember

Unlearning the self I built to survive.

There’s something about walking through a forest.

The green all around, the rustling underfoot, the soft cracks of tiny animal steps , this presence, this living stillness, invites something to open inside.
And as I walked through that space not long ago, I realised something:

I’ve spent a lot of time running.

Chasing what I thought I needed to become.

Trying to survive.

Not to be a better person, necessarily. Just to survive more skillfully.

To become someone the world might approve of, reward, admire — or at least, not forget?

But something shifted.

I began to see the difference between ambition born of fear, and movement that rises from love.

I began to see that growth doesn’t always mean more.

For the first time, I gave myself space to walk slower.

To say yes to those I care for. To trust that being human is not a detour from my path, it is the path.

And in this new space, I’ve come to recognise something deeper: when we stop trying to outrun our own vulnerability, we begin to hear life more clearly.

We begin to feel what’s already here, what’s always been here.

It’s not that ambition is wrong. But we’ve mistaken constant climbing for arrival. We’ve forgotten that there are whole lives, whole worlds, unfolding on different levels of the mountain. People living in peace, in love, in silence. You can live there too, if you choose.

This isn’t about escaping reality, it’s about returning to it.

There is a divine intelligence in the ordinary.

There is truth in the plateau.

There is love available when you stop chasing and start listening.

I used to believe I had to fight for everything.

Now I’m beginning to understand: when you live from a place of truth, life meets you differently.

Not with applause, maybe. But with alignment.

What if your deepest truth isn’t just yours, but everyone’s?

Speaking from love, not ego — even when the world doesn’t understand.

Part II — The Shared Mind and the Language of the Soul

There is only one mind.

Not one opinion, not one identity — but one deeper mind that holds everything.

A field we all draw from, sometimes unknowingly. When we speak from ego — when we speak only from our own experiences, our cultivated character, our needs — we risk clouding the connection.

We become like a glass smudged with fingerprints: still capable of transmitting light, but not quite clear.

But when we speak from a place beyond ourselves, from the heart aligned with that one mind — we become vessels.

And in that space, the words are not just ours. They belong to everyone. They come with healing.

That’s what I’m learning: abundance isn’t about acquiring.

It’s not about money, though money has its place in this world.

Money is just a form of energy — a symbol of where we choose to give our time, our focus, our breath.

True abundance is contentment.

It is spiritual richness. It is sitting in stillness and realising that nothing more needs to be added for this moment to be enough.

That you are enough. That being at peace — truly at peace — with your emotions, your imperfections, even your pain, is the highest form of wealth.

We weren’t created to be perfect. We were created to be whole.

To feel anger and not be ashamed.

To notice resentment and still walk with compassion.

To hold sorrow and love in the same hands.

These emotions are not flaws — they are invitations. They are part of the divine design, not mistakes within it.

And when I look at my place in all of this, I see a lineage. A thread. A connection that begins with the Source of everything, flows through nature — our great mother — and arrives in me. Just as every child begins connected to their mother, we all begin connected to something holy. The question is: do we remember?

That’s why, when we speak from “I” — what I want, what I plan — it can sometimes pull us away from that thread.

It can create a pressure to perform, to lead, to prove we are worthy. But we are not the Source. We are not the Master. There is already a master. Our job is to listen.

And maybe, real freedom is found in this:

The ability to speak not from ego, but from love.

The courage to speak the language of the soul, even if others don’t understand.

The softness to say: I don’t know everything, but I know I am connected. And that is enough to keep walking.

The courage to be real instead of right.

Part III — Between Knowing and Unknowing: Living the Truth Gently

There’s a strange pressure that comes with “knowing.”

Especially when you speak, when you write, when you share yourself with others. There’s a subtle expectation that you should have the answers. That you should guide. That your wisdom should already be complete.

But the truth is — most of the time, I don’t know. And that’s not weakness. That’s just being human.

We’re all learning, unfolding, unlayering. And if you place yourself in a position of constant certainty, of always needing to teach or lead, you may slowly close the door on your own evolution. You might accidentally become a prisoner of the image you’ve created — unless you give yourself permission to change. To transform. To speak not from authority, but from authenticity.

I want to live in that freedom. I want to show people what it looks like to not know, and still be real. To be deeply human, in process, and unashamed of it.

Because when I speak from that place, when I tap into something bigger than me, a deeper current , I know it’s not me trying to impress. It’s not me pushing a message. It’s something flowing through me. And it always speaks from love.

Everything we need to know already exists. It lives in the silence. It lives in the breath. It lives in the space between two people who are fully present with each other.

And this is why the digital world, while powerful, can also become a kind of illusion. There are so many people online, talking, creating, scrolling. And if we’re not careful, we start believing that this space is the only place that matters. That these are the only people we’re here to reach.

But what about those who aren’t online? What about the quiet ones? The farmers, the elders, the children, the earth-lovers who never once open a browser? They are sacred too. Their lives are full of spirit. And any message we carry must be able to reach them too, not just through words, but through presence.

It’s not enough to look wise.

It’s not enough to sound spiritual.

We have to live in alignment with the truth that comes to us.

That means appreciating slow moments. That means living with grace. That means making love the center of how we move — not as a performance, but as a practice.

Because maybe that’s what real freedom is:

To speak your truth, gently.

To live from love, daily.

To let yourself not know, and still trust that you are carried.

You Were Never Supposed to Forget. But the world taught you to.

Part IV — What Is Going Unspoken

There are many voices in the world today. Many opinions. Many messages. But what’s going unspoken… is louder than them all.

It’s been unspoken for centuries, and still remains the most important truth:

Looking inward is more essential than anything the outer world can offer.

But it’s not just that we’ve forgotten how to look inward. It’s that we’ve allowed our energy, our time, our focus — our sacred attention — to be consumed by things that promise efficiency, speed, and control, but deliver only more noise.

And what are we sacrificing to keep building this world faster?

We trade our presence for productivity.

We trade our intuition for convenience.

We trade our essence for a perfectly filtered self.

And in that exchange, we begin to forget that we are creators — not just consumers of experience, not just reactors to life, but actual beings with power, with agency, with the capacity to shape reality through love and intention.

We’ve forgotten that we can choose.

We can choose peace over proving.

We can choose simplicity over accumulation.

We can choose to walk away from what is “normal” and create something sacred instead.

We are not here to live out other people’s expectations. Even within the mystery of destiny, we are still given choice. And that choice is holy.

And when we forget that… we stop seeing.

We stop seeing nature as sacred. We build over it. Cut it down. Exploit it. And then wonder why we feel lost.

We stop seeing children as connected to the divine. We rush them, condition them, mold them. We forget to protect their joy and purity — and forget to learn from them, as we once did when we too remembered God.

We stop seeing animals as beings with souls. We use them. Shape them to fit our lifestyles. Dominate them instead of living with them.

And we stop seeing ourselves — truly seeing ourselves.

We begin to feel not enough. Insecure. Lost.

But here is the truth: your existence is the proof that you are enough.

God does not create by accident.

Your breath is evidence of your worth.

That is what’s going unspoken — and it’s hurting people in invisible ways. People are suffering not because they are weak, but because they’ve been taught to forget who they are.

And in that forgetting, they stop listening to the language of the soul.

But the soul is still speaking.

It speaks in silence.

In tears.

In laughter.

In the way your chest expands when something feels true.

In the longing you feel when you see something beautiful, fleeting, and wild.

And maybe it’s time we start speaking that language again — not just to others, but to ourselves.

Part V -The Illusion of Knowing and the Call to Remember

We are entering a time where it seems like we know everything.

With a few words typed into a screen, answers appear. Information floods our minds. Questions vanish before they can even fully form. But something subtle is happening beneath the surface, a shift in how we understand ourselves, our purpose, and the world.

Artificial Intelligence gives us access to more data than we’ve ever had. But it does not give us access to truth.

Truth isn’t stored in code or extracted through prompts. Truth lives in the still, spacious places of the human soul — places that can’t be digitised.

When we rely on machines to think for us, we start forgetting how to feel deeply, how to sit with uncertainty, how to create, not just replicate. We stop trusting our own voice. We forget the slow art of listening inward.

This creates an illusion: the illusion of omniscience.

But having answers is not the same as having wisdom.

Knowing facts is not the same as knowing yourself.

And when we forget ourselves, we become vulnerable, open to manipulation, pulled by the loudest voice, the trend, the algorithm. This is the danger. Not the technology itself, but our disconnection from our own spirit. And the more disconnected we are, the more easily we are moved, away from peace, away from discernment, away from love.

This is why now, more than ever, we need to build psychological stamina.

We need to return to stillness, to intuition, to silence.

We need to remember that not everything that is fast is wise, and not everything that is efficient is good.

There is nothing wrong with using technology.

But there is something deeply wrong with forgetting the heart.

With funding machines while starving the soul.

With losing awe, reverence, and wonder in the name of optimisation.

We need to re-center love.

We need to remember that the sacred is still here — in the dirt, in the children, in the creatures, in the ordinary. And we need to speak of these things. Protect them. Honor them.

Because the world will not be saved by answers.

It will be saved by hearts turned gently back toward God, toward each other, toward themselves.

And maybe… if we begin here, in the quiet, we’ll remember how to live again.

stay with love.