Life feels like a puzzle with missing pieces. We’ve all chased happiness in the next job, the next relationship, the next win—only to find it slips away like sand through your fingers. Suffering gnaws at you, love confuses you.
Here’s on truth: peace and happiness aren’t out there. They’re not in your phone, your paycheck, or even that girl you can’t stop thinking about. They’re in you—your being, the quiet core that’s always been there. The world promised you’d feel whole if you just got enough, did enough. But it lied. Those highs fade, and you’re left empty again. Sound familiar? That’s why you’re here, searching. You don’t need to keep running. Stop. Look inside. That’s where the real stuff lives.
You might think you’re separate—a lone wolf in a chaotic world. But that’s a trick of the mind. Your being, my being, the being of the guy next to you—it’s all one. Picture a single, endless space, not chopped up into rooms. We share it. That’s why, deep down, you feel connected to others, even when you don’t want to admit it. This isn’t philosophy—it’s what you sense when you’re quiet enough to listen.
And love? Forget the rom-com version. It’s not a trade—I give, you give back. It’s bigger. It’s the moment you see there’s no “me” and “you”—just us, one being. That’s why it hurts when she leaves or acts cold: you’ve tied love to her, not to what you are. Real love doesn’t flicker. It’s steady, because it’s you, not a deal you’ve made.
Suffering? That’s the tough one. It feels real—damn real. I won’t tell you it’s fake and leave you hanging. Here’s what’s happening: you think you’re this small, breakable self—a body, a mind, a story. But that’s not you. It’s a costume you’ve worn so long you forgot it’s not your skin. Peel it back. Ask, “Who’s hurting?” Not the sadness—look at the “I” behind it. Keep going. You’ll find something solid, something that doesn’t crack.
What’s left when you strip it all away? Awareness. Just being. “I am.” Not your thoughts—they come and go. Not your feelings—they shift like the wind. Just you, aware, alive. The mind calls it empty, boring. But it’s not. It’s full—full of itself, not stuff. Like a wall without a painting, it’s complete as it is. This “I am” isn’t just yours—it’s what God would say too. No separation. The eye you see with? It’s the same eye looking back.
Life’s a dream, man. Not in some woo-woo way. Awareness, the real you, plays every part: the trees, the stars, you stressing over bills. It forgets itself in the role, gets lost in the drama. Waking up isn’t escaping—it’s seeing the script for what it is.
You’re the actor and the stage, all at once.
So, the solution? Stop chasing. You’ve been seeking happiness, love, God, like they’re destinations. They’re not. They’re you, right now. Suffering fades when you know this—not think it, know it. Try this: sit still. Ask, “What can’t be taken from me?” Let thoughts drift, feelings pass. What stays? That’s you. Rest there. It’s not a fix-it trick—it’s home.
The universe is vast, and we’re just scratching the surface. But this much I’ve seen: you’re not broken, you’re not lost. You’re enough, as you are. Keep asking, keep looking. Truth is inside, Truth is the path.
