I’m not here to sell you inner peace with a side of ice tea. This isn’t a TED Talk, and I’m not your spiritual Uber driver trying to drop you off at Nirvana. I don’t care if you chant “OM” or just yell into a pillow. I’m not here to get your chakras aligned or to sparkle-cleanse your aura with Himalayan breath. I’m definitely not here to save you. Save you from what? Yourself? Good luck with that mess.
I’m just doing my weird little thing on my weird little blog, and if you want to borrow some of it, cool. If not, scroll away into the digital void.
But I will say this: my life has changed. Not in the “got a new job and started journaling” kind of way, but in the “existential slap across the face” kind of way.
I can trace my spiritual journey back to a single decision, one that led me to the life-changing events. I wanted to become a saint. Yes, I really wanted that. Suffice it to say, I did not know what that exactly means but I felt it was something good to strive for.
See, I used to be what you might call a Grade A Certified Asshole. Ambitious. Loud. Thought I was hot alfa male in a black BMW. I had Gucci dreams and a discount soul. And then came 2002 — the Year of the Existential Sucker Punch.
You know what the first step to spiritual awakening is? Being deeply dissatisfied. Like, “nothing tastes good and everyone’s annoying” dissatisfied. That’s your dragon, by the way — not some mystical beast guarding a treasure, but your thoughts. Your whining, spiraling, overcooked thoughts.
And yeah, enlightenment. Ever heard of it? I had it when I was a kid, no joke. I was 7 or 8, I used to take my bike a long distances, away from the city, I went into villages, passing 10 or more km and then I liked suddenly to stop and look around, and it was there. I would be in the middle of the road and just observe, the peace of the present moment. It was beautiful, so clear, clarity and bliss were all around shining in the air and shining in my eyes. There was no thoughts, just presence... and I was That. No phone, no Wi-Fi, no influencers, no thoughts — just being. It was magic. And then... I grew up and got dumb.
I read The Secret Doctrine, hated the secrecy. Read Gurdjieff, realized I was basically a sleepwalking hypocrite in a meat suit. Got into Nisargadatta, expecting cosmic fireworks, and instead was told, “There’s nothing to see. Just be.” Cool. Thanks for the buzzkill.
Eventually I realized something: truth isn’t some shiny trophy you win after enough silent retreats and overpriced crystals. It’s not a psychedelic light show or a ten-step plan to ultimate joy. Truth is just... nothing. No meaning, no comfort, no Instagram quote to sum it up. Just raw, wild, unfiltered silent reality.
And if you’re still reading this, congratulations: you might be just crazy enough to keep going.
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