It’s neither the thoughts nor the senses; it’s not before you, it’s not after you. It’s the reality of you, as you are, however you are. It’s not something to attain; it’s not something to discover—it’s more something to remember. It’s never separate from your true being. It’s impossible to be apart from it; it’s the source of your form, both what is witnessed and witnessing.

What is it? It is life; it is light—the light of pure knowledge of yourself, pure being, a direct awareness of unfiltered reality. It is the light before it reflects, clear illumination of nothing but itself.

Why do you search for what you already have? Why do you look high and low? Why do you need to have a definition, a form of your own to put it in? It remains unformed; your true being remains unchanging. How do I know? It’s the only thing I know for certain. Very, very little do I know and can I know for certain, but this is effortlessly known and intrinsically self-evident, and I’m without a single doubt it is the same for you.

I’m not trying to be mystical or even spiritual; I’m trying to help you see clearly. That’s all this is—it’s getting a better picture. Removing the ignorance isn’t about finding another form, be it mental or physical; it’s about remembering the true being that’s already here.

What holds many from seeing what I’m talking about is ignorance, a play of illusion—be it one of fear, expectation, belief, thoughts, perceived limitations. It’s always something you’re projecting; it can be a primal assumption about ourselves that has gone unexamined your whole life. Sometimes we have encounters with what I’m talking about; I don’t doubt many have recognized it in some capacity. It may have felt like a oneness, a union, like your experience is expanding beyond your physical boundaries into a wholeness or contracting to a point of vast emptiness within. It’s neither of these things either—that is just a taste. There is still more to remember about yourself. Don’t feel frustrated if you had an experience like that and have been unable to replicate it. That is a very common experience on a path like this. Actually, that very frustration is a lingering gift of such an experience; it tells you to keep letting go and to go deeper into yourself. Feel the frustration you have; examine it. Give yourself the compassion to let it arise without any judgment.

In fact, most of these projections and feelings that keep us in ignorance only do so by an active aversion or resistance to them. These things don’t disappear; they must be acknowledged, and it will be uncomfortable—it will feel downright terrifying sometimes even—but it’s just a feeling, and these are just thoughts. They will pass, and you’re doing yourself a huge favor by letting them.

Any sort of gnosis or self-realization, especially during early stages or early impressions from it, is often accompanied by a period of discomfort. For me, it was recognizing a deep, deep loneliness—a longing, a desire for connection, a desire to feel good enough, to feel loved unconditionally and whole—and there was nothing in the material world that could fulfill it. I ran from myself; I hated parts of myself. I didn’t believe that I did, but once I examined my discomfort, it was evident how much I had been dragging with me moment to moment. Once I actually let these things arise, I felt a sense of relief—a release from a constipation of mind and body. I strongly encourage you to allow whatever resistance, discomfort, or unease that arises to be inquired upon. Ask yourself, “What is feeling this way?” Don’t try to respond with a thought; just watch what the thoughts and feelings do in response. Don’t try to figure it out, intellectualize it, or “reason” with it.

Feelings and emotions don’t need a reason to exist. Fighting them is another form of ignorance; it’s another form of hiding a remembrance of your true self. Once I let that deep loneliness arise, it felt like it was all I’ve ever known—the thing that was always there as long as I could remember. The last time I felt like that a few years ago, I called out sincerely and out of desperation by myself in my room. I asked, “Am I alone?” Almost instantly, I was hit with a profound and intense love, like the universe itself was responding to me in that moment and me alone. The deepest sense of safety, reverence, and pure loving emotions flowed from me and back to me. In that moment, I didn’t know what was happening, and I frantically tried to understand it. As I did, that vast awareness faded from me…

When I examined this loneliness more recently, I realized that feeling of loneliness was still there after that experience, just sort of hidden unconsciously, and it actually grew even deeper because of that experience. That experience set my expectations of “what I should be looking for now.” So when I asked, “Am I alone?” when feeling that deep, eerily similar discomfort a few days ago, I didn’t get that “divine-union” response. No, instead a deeper, more intense, isolating, almost unbearable feeling arose—a pain that ached so deeply. But it was accompanied by a compassion to let it feel as it needed. The more that compassion was applied to the space that feeling arose in, the more that uncomfortable feeling grew. I let it ache; the aching turned into a sharp feeling, like spikes and needles in my chest, throughout my body. But the fear of examining and “feeling” it was not there. With the compassion, a resonance followed, and if I gave it a voice, it would say, “Regardless of how difficult this is, you’re going to be okay, but it needs to happen.” As I allowed it all to arise, the pain started to dissipate, and it was accompanied by a gratitude for the difficulty of it. I saw that loneliness and pain were important; it was important to arrive at the place that I have. To apply that compassion to it was a gift and an important part of my self-realization. It was noticing a level of separation within myself that has been there for far longer than I could ever remember, and I finally allowed it to rest.

Afterwards, I felt drained but lighter—lighter in a way that I felt like I could rest in myself comfortably, in a new way, a way that didn’t feel an angst to always be searching for something missing, to be monitoring and separating the witnessing and observation of myself and the feeling of myself. I could really “see” myself. It was akin to a stillness and a sense of bravery that arrived with it—a bravery to not be afraid of anything that arises within me, as there was nothing to fear. A resounding peace remained that was an unchanging awareness that was self-evident; it was the most obvious thing. No longer was there a search to be had. No, it was here—it always was here, present in every moment, and I was that. I had been so identified with the loneliness in unconscious ways that I completely lost sight of my presence and being. I avoided it with great effort, looking for something to keep me safe and comfortable, when it was here all along, waiting for me to return my attention to it—to let go of so much that I was holding onto that I no longer had to, in order to embrace the peace that was always available to me.

This peace is not the absence of discomfort; it is not the absence of pain, hardship, and difficulty. No, it’s the resounding presence that remains unaltered, unaffected, and unchanged when those things arise. It’s always behind them. It’s a stillness that’s undisturbable, and it’s always here; it’s closer than the discomfort. It’s unidentified with any thought, any form; it’s the foundation for all of it—all of you, all of life. It is everything but nothing in particular.

I shared this all with you to show you how the dynamic of these experiences of gnosis or divine union can work in a variety of ways, and that an experience of divine union isn’t a conclusive end. No, it’s merely the beginning. To notice the union is symptomatic of separation in a way—you feel like there is a you to join with something greater when it’s already present as you, reflected in you, and it always has been. Moreover, it’s not even necessarily a particularly spiritual or distant reality; it’s an authentic one. It is one you’re so intimately a part of; there is nothing within it that your being is separate from, and the thoughts and forms are just that—thoughts and forms. You are this unchanging peace; surrender to it so that when you encounter difficulty on this journey, you too can recognize what is asking to be released—to confront fear and discomfort, resistance and pain—to see them clearly, not as something to overcome, to keep running from, or fight with, but as something that is asking you to let go. You can do it from a place of peace.

I also want you to know that it’s perfectly okay to be exactly the way you are right now. You don’t need to change anything to notice this. You just need to be patient with yourself and to be honest with yourself, and you don’t need to judge or even have a reason for any feelings to arise. It’s more about “being” than “doing.” I cannot show you this; nobody can. It’s your own self-realization or gnosis that will become clearer and clearer the more authentic and truthful you are with yourself. And that isn’t about changing you; it’s about feeling your most real and primary experience of self deeper. When you do, this stillness and unchanging nature will appear, and I assure you it will. It will be so obvious; it will be almost silly and profoundly humorous how divided we were about ourselves when there was almost nothing in our true nature to be divided from. I sincerely hope that this living reality of stillness becomes recognized in your walk. Remember, there is nothing to attain. It’s always here.