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Alexander den Heijer

Author, speaker

Alexander den Heijer front

Alexander's Books

Finding what was never lost front cover

Finding what was never lost

A pocket guide for spiritual insight and inspiration

Nothing you don't already know front cover

Nothing you don't already know

Remarkable reminders about meaning, purpose, and self-realization

Reviews

"ESSENTIAL WISDOM FOR THE 21st CENTURY"

Pam Roy, co-founder Viktor Frankl Institute of America

""Finding What Was Never Lost" is more than a book; it is a mirror reflecting our deepest, most authentic self."

Miki Reimann, Artist

"I searched my whole life for this book."

Amazon customer, Canada

The real danger of our age isn’t that machines imitate humans; it’s that humans begin to imitate machines.

The real danger of our age isn’t that machines imitate humans; it’s that humans begin to imitate machines.

The present and presence are not-two.

The present and presence are not-two.

No conclusions.

Just where I am right now.

No conclusions.

Just where I am right now.

A few pages from my book ‘Finding what was never lost.’ Which one resonates most with you?

Available through the link in my bio.

A few pages from my book ‘Finding what was never lost.’ Which one resonates most with you?

Available through the link in my bio.

Do you fear silence or do you consciously go into it?

Do you fear silence or do you consciously go into it?

Deep rest is the result of letting go of the tension between what you truly are and who you think you should be. It is the recognition that you don’t have to be something or someone, for there was never something or someone to begin with.

Deep rest is the result of letting go of the tension between what you truly are and who you think you should be. It is the recognition that you don’t have to be something or someone, for there was never something or someone to begin with.

The deepest principle in human nature is the desire to discover meaning, and silence is the gateway through which we find it.

The deepest principle in human nature is the desire to discover meaning, and silence is the gateway through which we find it.

Society teaches us that fulfillment comes from productivity.

But true fulfillment is found in stillness; in being fully at one with yourself and the world. A deep resonance.

It’s not something to attain; it is our natural state of being, prior to any achievement, any doing, any condition.

Only when we lose touch with it do we begin searching for it in things, possessions, and accomplishments.

But when we learn to sit “quietly in a room alone,” we reconnect with the quiet joy that was always there in the background, hidden beneath the noise.

From that place we reconnect with the soul’s natural spontaneity. It’s there that we find our natural desire to connect, create, and contribute.

Society teaches us that fulfillment comes from productivity.

But true fulfillment is found in stillness; in being fully at one with yourself and the world. A deep resonance.

It’s not something to attain; it is our natural state of being, prior to any achievement, any doing, any condition.

Only when we lose touch with it do we begin searching for it in things, possessions, and accomplishments.

But when we learn to sit “quietly in a room alone,” we reconnect with the quiet joy that was always there in the background, hidden beneath the noise.

From that place we reconnect with the soul’s natural spontaneity. It’s there that we find our natural desire to connect, create, and contribute.

In a world where one in four adults feels lonely, we often assume that being around others will solve this. But loneliness isn’t about how many people are in our lives; it’s about a lack of intimacy. We can feel profoundly alone even in a crowded room, within a family, or inside a relationship.

At its core, the loneliness pandemic is not a social issue—it’s a spiritual crisis. It’s about disconnection—from ourselves, each other, and the living world. We are facing a global intimacy disorder.

We spend more time with the inanimate than the animate—we interact with screens most of the day, we swipe to seek intimacy, and we even have therapy sessions with an algorithm. Many of us no longer know what it’s like to have a true, genuine encounter with another sentient being. We have muted our spirit.

It’s often said that solitude and nature can help combat loneliness. Why? Because by spending time alone in nature, we reconnect with ourselves, the animate world, and the present moment. The quieter we become, the more we recover our ability to listen—and respond to the whispers of life inside us and around us. This is how we reconnect with our soul—that living presence, often muted in our busy lives.

This doesn’t mean we should permanently live in a forest or a desert. As Meister Eckhart said, “We must acquire an inward desert, wherever and with whomever we are.”

When we learn to cultivate an inner stillness, we become more deeply attuned to our inner life. As a result, we’re more able to connect—deeply and meaningfully—with others and the world around us. This is a powerful place to begin rebuilding the kind of relationships and communities we need in a society that has lost its spirit.

Life is relationship.
Life is community.
Life is intimacy.

In a world where one in four adults feels lonely, we often assume that being around others will solve this. But loneliness isn’t about how many people are in our lives; it’s about a lack of intimacy. We can feel profoundly alone even in a crowded room, within a family, or inside a relationship.

At its core, the loneliness pandemic is not a social issue—it’s a spiritual crisis. It’s about disconnection—from ourselves, each other, and the living world. We are facing a global intimacy disorder.

We spend more time with the inanimate than the animate—we interact with screens most of the day, we swipe to seek intimacy, and we even have therapy sessions with an algorithm. Many of us no longer know what it’s like to have a true, genuine encounter with another sentient being. We have muted our spirit.

It’s often said that solitude and nature can help combat loneliness. Why? Because by spending time alone in nature, we reconnect with ourselves, the animate world, and the present moment. The quieter we become, the more we recover our ability to listen—and respond to the whispers of life inside us and around us. This is how we reconnect with our soul—that living presence, often muted in our busy lives.

This doesn’t mean we should permanently live in a forest or a desert. As Meister Eckhart said, “We must acquire an inward desert, wherever and with whomever we are.”

When we learn to cultivate an inner stillness, we become more deeply attuned to our inner life. As a result, we’re more able to connect—deeply and meaningfully—with others and the world around us. This is a powerful place to begin rebuilding the kind of relationships and communities we need in a society that has lost its spirit.

Life is relationship.
Life is community.
Life is intimacy.

Wisdom lies not only in having great insight, but in knowing how and when to reveal it. Just as the sun rises slowly to give the eyes time to adjust, so too must wisdom be shared gently, that it may bless rather than burn.

Wisdom lies not only in having great insight, but in knowing how and when to reveal it. Just as the sun rises slowly to give the eyes time to adjust, so too must wisdom be shared gently, that it may bless rather than burn.

The true self cannot be attained through personal development or self-improvement. That would imply you are not yet you — that your real self is somewhere in the future, waiting to arrive.

This is a mistake. It’s the ego’s idea of perfecting itself. What you truly are can only be found right here, in the ever-present now. Being who you truly are isn’t a matter of becoming. It’s a matter of surrender.

But then you may ask, “Who is it that surrenders?”
Strictly speaking, there is only the surrendering. There is only the act of giving in. In other words, it is not the ego that does the surrendering. It is the surrendering itself that undoes the ego.

In this moment of surrender, there you are. Right here, as you’ve always been. And you know it. You’ve always known it.

As the Zen Buddhists say: “Tension is who you think you should be. Relaxation is who you truly are.”

The true self cannot be attained through personal development or self-improvement. That would imply you are not yet you — that your real self is somewhere in the future, waiting to arrive.

This is a mistake. It’s the ego’s idea of perfecting itself. What you truly are can only be found right here, in the ever-present now. Being who you truly are isn’t a matter of becoming. It’s a matter of surrender.

But then you may ask, “Who is it that surrenders?”
Strictly speaking, there is only the surrendering. There is only the act of giving in. In other words, it is not the ego that does the surrendering. It is the surrendering itself that undoes the ego.

In this moment of surrender, there you are. Right here, as you’ve always been. And you know it. You’ve always known it.

As the Zen Buddhists say: “Tension is who you think you should be. Relaxation is who you truly are.”

What is most obvious is often the hardest to recognize.

It takes tremendous awareness to recognize the most obvious reality: I am.

It takes deep understanding to see the sacred within the ordinary. And it often takes tremendous growth to learn to appreciate the simple joys of our daily lives.

As they say in Zen, ‘When a saint attains understanding, he becomes an ordinary man.’

What’s something in your life, an insight, or a realization that was so obvious that you completely overlooked it?

What is most obvious is often the hardest to recognize.

It takes tremendous awareness to recognize the most obvious reality: I am.

It takes deep understanding to see the sacred within the ordinary. And it often takes tremendous growth to learn to appreciate the simple joys of our daily lives.

As they say in Zen, ‘When a saint attains understanding, he becomes an ordinary man.’

What’s something in your life, an insight, or a realization that was so obvious that you completely overlooked it?

We rarely awaken without first passing through despair—the despair of having our illusions shattered. The path to truth leads through the ashes of what we once believed. Grief is the gate. Joy waits on the other side.

We rarely awaken without first passing through despair—the despair of having our illusions shattered. The path to truth leads through the ashes of what we once believed. Grief is the gate. Joy waits on the other side.

In our quest for success, we often fixate on what we do not have, overlooking the abundance we already possess. We often search far away for what we can’t seem to find at home. We pursue joy everywhere in the world, until we realize that it is our task to bring joy to life. When joy resides in our hearts, the ordinary becomes extraordinary. When joy doesn’t reside in our hearts, even the most extraordinary circumstances can feel unsatisfying.

Perhaps maturity is the recognition that the seemingly simple things in life are actually immeasurably significant.

A kiss of a loved one. A warm cup of tea. The smile on a child’s face. Feeling the sun’s warmth on your skin. A good book. Laughing with friends over silly jokes, or the sheer joy of simply being.

These moments are so easy to overlook if we aren’t open and present to them. We miss them when we’re constantly chasing the next thing.

Does that mean we shouldn’t strive to create a great life? Not at all. Perhaps the key is to set up your life in such a way, not to escape the simple joys of ordinary life but in order to fully enjoy them.

#ordinarylife #simpleliving #slowliving #consciousness #bepresent #beherenow

In our quest for success, we often fixate on what we do not have, overlooking the abundance we already possess. We often search far away for what we can’t seem to find at home. We pursue joy everywhere in the world, until we realize that it is our task to bring joy to life. When joy resides in our hearts, the ordinary becomes extraordinary. When joy doesn’t reside in our hearts, even the most extraordinary circumstances can feel unsatisfying.

Perhaps maturity is the recognition that the seemingly simple things in life are actually immeasurably significant.

A kiss of a loved one. A warm cup of tea. The smile on a child’s face. Feeling the sun’s warmth on your skin. A good book. Laughing with friends over silly jokes, or the sheer joy of simply being.

These moments are so easy to overlook if we aren’t open and present to them. We miss them when we’re constantly chasing the next thing.

Does that mean we shouldn’t strive to create a great life? Not at all. Perhaps the key is to set up your life in such a way, not to escape the simple joys of ordinary life but in order to fully enjoy them.

#ordinarylife #simpleliving #slowliving #consciousness #bepresent #beherenow

Healing often shows in subtle ways: greater emotional regulation, less mental preoccupation, a deeper sense of safety within the body, and more authentic connections. As we heal, we become increasingly available to the present moment, able to meet life as it is, from moment to moment.

Healing often shows in subtle ways: greater emotional regulation, less mental preoccupation, a deeper sense of safety within the body, and more authentic connections. As we heal, we become increasingly available to the present moment, able to meet life as it is, from moment to moment.

We spend decades constructing an identity, based on past conditioning, beliefs, roles, and expectations. But what happens when life demands something beyond that version of us? When the strategies that once served us begin to fail?

Is that real failure? Or is it a gateway to transformation, a necessary step toward growth? When the ego is backed into a corner, unable to move forward like it used to, we may be forced to look inward.

Life has a way of confronting us with the very parts of ourselves that remain underdeveloped. Facing this is scary. As Jung said, “Find out what a person fears most and that is where he will develop next.”

Growth isn’t about perfecting the ego, it’s about cracking open so that the parts of us we buried long ago can emerge, develop, and be integrated into a greater whole.

Change is fundamental to growth and to life itself. We only suffer when we resist it, when we cling to a fixed identity.

The more we hold onto a rigid sense of self, the more life will shake us loose. But when we surrender to the process, it may feel like we are losing ourselves until we realize we are only expanding ourselves.

We spend decades constructing an identity, based on past conditioning, beliefs, roles, and expectations. But what happens when life demands something beyond that version of us? When the strategies that once served us begin to fail?

Is that real failure? Or is it a gateway to transformation, a necessary step toward growth? When the ego is backed into a corner, unable to move forward like it used to, we may be forced to look inward.

Life has a way of confronting us with the very parts of ourselves that remain underdeveloped. Facing this is scary. As Jung said, “Find out what a person fears most and that is where he will develop next.”

Growth isn’t about perfecting the ego, it’s about cracking open so that the parts of us we buried long ago can emerge, develop, and be integrated into a greater whole.

Change is fundamental to growth and to life itself. We only suffer when we resist it, when we cling to a fixed identity.

The more we hold onto a rigid sense of self, the more life will shake us loose. But when we surrender to the process, it may feel like we are losing ourselves until we realize we are only expanding ourselves.

The difference between greatness and grandiosity lies in whether one reflects the divine or claims it as its own. In other words, humility mirrors the light, while hubris seeks to possess it.

As C.S. Lewis wrote, “Don’t shine so others can see you. Shine so that through you, others can see Him.”

The ego, by its nature, tries to use everything — even the divine — to strengthen its identity.

Imagine you’re an artist, and one night, a brilliant idea for a novel comes to you in a dream. When you wake up, you begin to write it down and bring it into existence. It’s a lot of work to bring the idea into form, but where did it come from? Did the artist truly create it, or was it given?

The ego might claim the idea as its own, thinking, “Look how brilliant I am for coming up with this.” But what if you are not the genius? What if you are merely called to allow Genius to express itself through you, without trying to grasp it, claim it, or identify with it?

If the ignorance of the moon is a forgetting of its true nature, then its awakening is a matter of remembering. Re-membering is not just recalling, but returning to your proper place — becoming a member once more of a greater intelligence.

Be an empty vessel. Only those who come empty-handed can receive the gift of greatness. Only an empty mind can access the divine presence.

As the Zen saying goes ‘The bird of paradise lands only on the hand that does not grasp.’

The difference between greatness and grandiosity lies in whether one reflects the divine or claims it as its own. In other words, humility mirrors the light, while hubris seeks to possess it.

As C.S. Lewis wrote, “Don’t shine so others can see you. Shine so that through you, others can see Him.”

The ego, by its nature, tries to use everything — even the divine — to strengthen its identity.

Imagine you’re an artist, and one night, a brilliant idea for a novel comes to you in a dream. When you wake up, you begin to write it down and bring it into existence. It’s a lot of work to bring the idea into form, but where did it come from? Did the artist truly create it, or was it given?

The ego might claim the idea as its own, thinking, “Look how brilliant I am for coming up with this.” But what if you are not the genius? What if you are merely called to allow Genius to express itself through you, without trying to grasp it, claim it, or identify with it?

If the ignorance of the moon is a forgetting of its true nature, then its awakening is a matter of remembering. Re-membering is not just recalling, but returning to your proper place — becoming a member once more of a greater intelligence.

Be an empty vessel. Only those who come empty-handed can receive the gift of greatness. Only an empty mind can access the divine presence.

As the Zen saying goes ‘The bird of paradise lands only on the hand that does not grasp.’

I remember when Donald Trump won the 2016 election. I couldn’t stand him. Everything about him irritated me. I saw myself as very spiritual back then. Around the same time, I started meditating, but I misunderstood its essence. I thought everything that looked like ego in me was bad so I worked hard to suppress it behind a mask of kindness and compassion. And then there was Trump— embodying everything I tried so hard to suppress. I could not bear looking at him. What I didn’t realize was that I was projecting my own unconscious desire onto him—the desire to be shamelessly myself and express myself boldly without fear of judgment.

Years later, while working with a Jungian analyst, I realized there was a Trump in me too—buried in my unconscious. My idea of spirituality had been too rigid, pushing me to suppress parts of myself. As I started to accept and allow the more unpolished parts of me into my personality, my jacket started to fit more comfortably. Consequently, I started expressing myself more boldly and gained more confidence. And just like that, Trump no longer triggered me because it was never about Trump in the first place. It was about me.

Jung once said, “I’d rather be whole than good.” The more we try to be “good,” the more we reject the parts of ourselves that don’t fit that image. But those parts don’t disappear—they show up in the people we judge or dislike, turning them into the enemy. That doesn’t mean we should be immoral, but that genuine morality demands that we integrate our shadow.

Here’s the thing: having a dark side isn’t the problem. Thinking we don’t have one is, because that just means it has us. Jung even said that ninety percent of the shadow is pure gold—hidden strengths and potential. The best way to uncover it? Look at the people who trigger you or the ones you idolize. They hold a mirror to what you’ve buried inside.

Spiritual growth isn’t about being a “good person.” As Chögyam Trungpa said, “Meditation is a way of making friends with ourselves. Whether we are worthy or unworthy, that is not the point.”

And to truly gain the friendship of the Self, we must first befriend our shadow.

I remember when Donald Trump won the 2016 election. I couldn’t stand him. Everything about him irritated me. I saw myself as very spiritual back then. Around the same time, I started meditating, but I misunderstood its essence. I thought everything that looked like ego in me was bad so I worked hard to suppress it behind a mask of kindness and compassion. And then there was Trump— embodying everything I tried so hard to suppress. I could not bear looking at him. What I didn’t realize was that I was projecting my own unconscious desire onto him—the desire to be shamelessly myself and express myself boldly without fear of judgment.

Years later, while working with a Jungian analyst, I realized there was a Trump in me too—buried in my unconscious. My idea of spirituality had been too rigid, pushing me to suppress parts of myself. As I started to accept and allow the more unpolished parts of me into my personality, my jacket started to fit more comfortably. Consequently, I started expressing myself more boldly and gained more confidence. And just like that, Trump no longer triggered me because it was never about Trump in the first place. It was about me.

Jung once said, “I’d rather be whole than good.” The more we try to be “good,” the more we reject the parts of ourselves that don’t fit that image. But those parts don’t disappear—they show up in the people we judge or dislike, turning them into the enemy. That doesn’t mean we should be immoral, but that genuine morality demands that we integrate our shadow.

Here’s the thing: having a dark side isn’t the problem. Thinking we don’t have one is, because that just means it has us. Jung even said that ninety percent of the shadow is pure gold—hidden strengths and potential. The best way to uncover it? Look at the people who trigger you or the ones you idolize. They hold a mirror to what you’ve buried inside.

Spiritual growth isn’t about being a “good person.” As Chögyam Trungpa said, “Meditation is a way of making friends with ourselves. Whether we are worthy or unworthy, that is not the point.”

And to truly gain the friendship of the Self, we must first befriend our shadow.

As kids, we all have two big needs: to feel connected to others (attachment) and to be true to ourselves (authenticity). But when these needs clash, attachment usually wins. If being our true selves risks losing love or approval, we hide parts of who we are to maintain the connection.

This is how many of us grow up wearing masks. Some become the pleaser, others become the achiever, the caretaker, or the perfectionist. The mask I am very familiar with is the perfectionist. When I was young I did my best to be a perfect child so that my parents didn’t have to worry about me because they already had enough to worry about.

Until I hit puberty and I was so resentful from pleasing other people that I became the rebel and started doing the exact opposite of what people expected from me, to prove that I didn’t care. The truth? Neither version of me was free. I wasn’t following my own heart—I was just reacting to others.

Real freedom means listening to the voice of your soul. It means speaking the truth, letting go of what others expect, and owning who you really are. But that takes courage, and courage doesn’t mean being fearless—it means acting even when you’re afraid.

In my book Finding What Was Never Lost, I wrote: “Hatred and resentment are the poisonous fruits of an unlived life.” Each time we let fear stop us, we lose a little of who we could be. But every time we choose courage, we grow into the person we’re meant to become. Love, strength and generosity are the fruits of a realized life.

I know from experience how hard it is to let go of these masks. It takes a life time. However, in each moment we have a choice to shrink in fear, or to rise in courage.

So take the leap. Speak the truth. Start small. In the end, what haunts us the most is the chances we didn’t dare to take.

Do you love someone? Tell them. Do you miss someone? Reach out. Did someone cross your boundaries? Stand up for yourself.

Don’t let fear kill your unborn self.

As the Gospel of Thomas says: “If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.”

As kids, we all have two big needs: to feel connected to others (attachment) and to be true to ourselves (authenticity). But when these needs clash, attachment usually wins. If being our true selves risks losing love or approval, we hide parts of who we are to maintain the connection.

This is how many of us grow up wearing masks. Some become the pleaser, others become the achiever, the caretaker, or the perfectionist. The mask I am very familiar with is the perfectionist. When I was young I did my best to be a perfect child so that my parents didn’t have to worry about me because they already had enough to worry about.

Until I hit puberty and I was so resentful from pleasing other people that I became the rebel and started doing the exact opposite of what people expected from me, to prove that I didn’t care. The truth? Neither version of me was free. I wasn’t following my own heart—I was just reacting to others.

Real freedom means listening to the voice of your soul. It means speaking the truth, letting go of what others expect, and owning who you really are. But that takes courage, and courage doesn’t mean being fearless—it means acting even when you’re afraid.

In my book Finding What Was Never Lost, I wrote: “Hatred and resentment are the poisonous fruits of an unlived life.” Each time we let fear stop us, we lose a little of who we could be. But every time we choose courage, we grow into the person we’re meant to become. Love, strength and generosity are the fruits of a realized life.

I know from experience how hard it is to let go of these masks. It takes a life time. However, in each moment we have a choice to shrink in fear, or to rise in courage.

So take the leap. Speak the truth. Start small. In the end, what haunts us the most is the chances we didn’t dare to take.

Do you love someone? Tell them. Do you miss someone? Reach out. Did someone cross your boundaries? Stand up for yourself.

Don’t let fear kill your unborn self.

As the Gospel of Thomas says: “If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.”

From my book ‘Finding What Was Never Lost.’

Check it out via the link in my bio.

From my book ‘Finding What Was Never Lost.’

Check it out via the link in my bio.

It is often said that we don’t see the world as it is, but rather as we are. Our worldview is shaped not only by personal beliefs and assumptions but also by the collective unconscious; cultural, historical, and societal forces that subtly influence how we interpret reality. We are products of our zeitgeist, often unaware of how deeply our perspectives are shaped by the ideas of our time. It can take a lifetime to rise above these inherited frameworks and see that our worldview is not the world and that our viewpoints are merely views from certain points.

This same principle applies to projection. What we fail to integrate within ourselves—our fears, desires, or disowned traits—we unconsciously project onto others or the world. Collective projections, such as stereotypes or ideologies, arise from these shared frameworks. To see the world as it truly is, we must begin the lifelong process of cleaning the lens through which we view it.

What makes this so challenging is that it’s always easier to notice the distorted glasses on someone else’s face than to see our own. Every time we feel triggered, we’re invited to ask: Am I reacting to something out there, or something within me?

The path to clarity is often deeply uncomfortable yet liberating. Every time we reclaim a projection, we take one step closer to seeing the world—and ourselves—as we truly are.

As Meister Eckhart said, “If my eye is to discern color, it must itself be free from all color.”

It is often said that we don’t see the world as it is, but rather as we are. Our worldview is shaped not only by personal beliefs and assumptions but also by the collective unconscious; cultural, historical, and societal forces that subtly influence how we interpret reality. We are products of our zeitgeist, often unaware of how deeply our perspectives are shaped by the ideas of our time. It can take a lifetime to rise above these inherited frameworks and see that our worldview is not the world and that our viewpoints are merely views from certain points.

This same principle applies to projection. What we fail to integrate within ourselves—our fears, desires, or disowned traits—we unconsciously project onto others or the world. Collective projections, such as stereotypes or ideologies, arise from these shared frameworks. To see the world as it truly is, we must begin the lifelong process of cleaning the lens through which we view it.

What makes this so challenging is that it’s always easier to notice the distorted glasses on someone else’s face than to see our own. Every time we feel triggered, we’re invited to ask: Am I reacting to something out there, or something within me?

The path to clarity is often deeply uncomfortable yet liberating. Every time we reclaim a projection, we take one step closer to seeing the world—and ourselves—as we truly are.

As Meister Eckhart said, “If my eye is to discern color, it must itself be free from all color.”

In a world driven by the need for more, better, and faster, many of us carry wounds we’ve never truly examined. Traumatized people often unknowingly inflict their pain on others—not because they are cruel, but because their pain remains unconscious. Look at our world leaders today: a bunch of wounded people wounding people.

When we avoid facing our own suffering, we lose the ability to empathize. Pain left unchecked hardens the heart, disconnecting us from ourselves and others. This cycle of hurt is the invisible thread running through much of the world’s chaos today.

It’s no surprise that figures like Iron Man and David Goggins have become so popular in our society. They are modern examples of an ancient myth: the archetype of the wounded craftsman. They embody a tempting response to a suffering heart: resilience through strength and armor. But does this approach truly heal? In Iron Man, Tony Stark replaces his damaged heart with an arc reactor—a technological marvel that keeps him alive but also symbolizes an attempt to shield his vulnerability. Similarly, David Goggins, author of Can’t Hurt Me, inspires millions with his extraordinary grit and endurance. Yet his heart surgery—required to fix a congenital defect—reminds us of a deeper truth: building impenetrable armor doesn’t heal the heart. In fact, it harms it.

The heart is the home of vulnerability and tenderness, and embracing that vulnerability is what makes us human. When we repress our woundedness, we risk dehumanizing ourselves and others, which leads to alienation and dissociation.

Healing begins with awareness. When we dare to become fully conscious of—and sit with—our pain, we open the door to compassion. A heart that has tended its own wounds becomes a sanctuary—a place where others can find refuge. The healing of one becomes the healing of many.

Time to break the cycle.

In a world driven by the need for more, better, and faster, many of us carry wounds we’ve never truly examined. Traumatized people often unknowingly inflict their pain on others—not because they are cruel, but because their pain remains unconscious. Look at our world leaders today: a bunch of wounded people wounding people.

When we avoid facing our own suffering, we lose the ability to empathize. Pain left unchecked hardens the heart, disconnecting us from ourselves and others. This cycle of hurt is the invisible thread running through much of the world’s chaos today.

It’s no surprise that figures like Iron Man and David Goggins have become so popular in our society. They are modern examples of an ancient myth: the archetype of the wounded craftsman. They embody a tempting response to a suffering heart: resilience through strength and armor. But does this approach truly heal? In Iron Man, Tony Stark replaces his damaged heart with an arc reactor—a technological marvel that keeps him alive but also symbolizes an attempt to shield his vulnerability. Similarly, David Goggins, author of Can’t Hurt Me, inspires millions with his extraordinary grit and endurance. Yet his heart surgery—required to fix a congenital defect—reminds us of a deeper truth: building impenetrable armor doesn’t heal the heart. In fact, it harms it.

The heart is the home of vulnerability and tenderness, and embracing that vulnerability is what makes us human. When we repress our woundedness, we risk dehumanizing ourselves and others, which leads to alienation and dissociation.

Healing begins with awareness. When we dare to become fully conscious of—and sit with—our pain, we open the door to compassion. A heart that has tended its own wounds becomes a sanctuary—a place where others can find refuge. The healing of one becomes the healing of many.

Time to break the cycle.

Merry Christmas to all. 🌟 May this season bring warmth, love, and connection into your life.

For some of us, Christmas feels magical; for others, it’s a time that confronts them with absence or pain. If this season is hard for you, I want you to know I feel with you. Remember, this too shall pass. The dark nights don’t last forever—just as the bright ones are fleeting. That’s why the gift of being present is so precious.

Of all the presents you can give, none are more precious than your presence. That doesn’t just mean being there, but truly showing up with awareness and attention. Christmas may be the perfect time to practice that. As Ram Dass once said, “If you think you’re enlightened, go spend a week with your family.”

Wishing you all peace, presence, and love this holiday season.

Merry Christmas to all. 🌟 May this season bring warmth, love, and connection into your life.

For some of us, Christmas feels magical; for others, it’s a time that confronts them with absence or pain. If this season is hard for you, I want you to know I feel with you. Remember, this too shall pass. The dark nights don’t last forever—just as the bright ones are fleeting. That’s why the gift of being present is so precious.

Of all the presents you can give, none are more precious than your presence. That doesn’t just mean being there, but truly showing up with awareness and attention. Christmas may be the perfect time to practice that. As Ram Dass once said, “If you think you’re enlightened, go spend a week with your family.”

Wishing you all peace, presence, and love this holiday season.

The relationship between love and the ego is like that of the flame and the moth. The moth is drawn irresistibly to the flame, yet it fears it, because merging with the flame means the death of the moth. It circles around the flame, trying to control or possess it, but it always fails.

In the same way, the ego that seeks control will always keep love at a distance. It seeks to possess love, to dominate it, but this effort is futile. As Jung observed, “Where love rules, there is no will to power, and where power predominates, love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other.”

The controlling ego suffers endlessly until the sense of separateness becomes unbearable. Dostoevsky wrote that the inability to love is hell. Perhaps this is not a destination to fear, but a necessary torment for the ego to surrender. This is why an encounter with true love often flips us upside down before it lifts us up.

The more we have identified with a false sense of self, the more we must strip away in the presence of love. Intimate relationships, in particular, threaten the ego because they require vulnerability, honesty, and surrender. Yet it is this very threat for the ego that is simultaneously a source for healing for the soul.

The relationship between love and the ego is like that of the flame and the moth. The moth is drawn irresistibly to the flame, yet it fears it, because merging with the flame means the death of the moth. It circles around the flame, trying to control or possess it, but it always fails.

In the same way, the ego that seeks control will always keep love at a distance. It seeks to possess love, to dominate it, but this effort is futile. As Jung observed, “Where love rules, there is no will to power, and where power predominates, love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other.”

The controlling ego suffers endlessly until the sense of separateness becomes unbearable. Dostoevsky wrote that the inability to love is hell. Perhaps this is not a destination to fear, but a necessary torment for the ego to surrender. This is why an encounter with true love often flips us upside down before it lifts us up.

The more we have identified with a false sense of self, the more we must strip away in the presence of love. Intimate relationships, in particular, threaten the ego because they require vulnerability, honesty, and surrender. Yet it is this very threat for the ego that is simultaneously a source for healing for the soul.

‘Finding what was never lost’ is for everyone who wants to gain a deeper understanding of who they are beneath the layers of their ego. It gently guides you home 🏠. Not to the place you were born, but to the eternal Home with a capital H. The place you arrive when there’s no more desire to be elsewhere. Home is not a place to be, it’s a way of being in the present moment.

‘Finding what was never lost’ is for everyone who wants to gain a deeper understanding of who they are beneath the layers of their ego. It gently guides you home 🏠. Not to the place you were born, but to the eternal Home with a capital H. The place you arrive when there’s no more desire to be elsewhere. Home is not a place to be, it’s a way of being in the present moment.

The crises of our time—climate change, political polarization, burnout, meaninglessness, loneliness—are not isolated phenomena. They are symptoms of a deeper crisis: a meta crisis. Deep thinkers like John Vervaeke, Hartmut Rosa, Carl Jung, and Iain McGilchrist point to the same core insight: at the heart of the meta crisis lies a profound loss of meaning, relationship, and resonance—a loss of the sacred.

This disconnection has been centuries in the making, rooted in the Western tradition. From Descartes’ and Newton’s mechanistic worldviews to Nietzsche’s proclamation of the “death of God”—a reflection of our estrangement—we have inherited a paradigm that alienates us from our true nature.

Yet the ultimate alienation is not that we have become disconnected from each other, the natural world, or even the sacred. No, the ultimate alienation is forgetting that we are alienated at all. It is a profound blindness to the richness of life—a world full of wonder, spirit, and interconnectedness—that many of us no longer realize exists.

Still, there is hope. A growing movement seeks to awaken from this collective amnesia. Philosophers like Vervaeke and McGilchrist refer to it as the advent of the sacred. What does this awakening entail? In my view, it requires a spiritual revival: a shift from the illusion of division to the reality of interconnection. This transition demands a profound shift from being an empty self — preoccupied with its separateness — to being empty of self, and full of life.

As Meister Eckhart said, “The more I am my true self, the less self is in me.” When we awaken from the confines of our egos, we access the sacred and recognize our shared being. If Descartes had seen that it is not his self that produced thinking, but thinking that produced his separate self, he might have discovered what spiritual teachers have long known: beneath the appearances, we are all inter-connected.

As Rumi reminds us, “The lamps are different but the light is the same.”

The crises of our time—climate change, political polarization, burnout, meaninglessness, loneliness—are not isolated phenomena. They are symptoms of a deeper crisis: a meta crisis. Deep thinkers like John Vervaeke, Hartmut Rosa, Carl Jung, and Iain McGilchrist point to the same core insight: at the heart of the meta crisis lies a profound loss of meaning, relationship, and resonance—a loss of the sacred.

This disconnection has been centuries in the making, rooted in the Western tradition. From Descartes’ and Newton’s mechanistic worldviews to Nietzsche’s proclamation of the “death of God”—a reflection of our estrangement—we have inherited a paradigm that alienates us from our true nature.

Yet the ultimate alienation is not that we have become disconnected from each other, the natural world, or even the sacred. No, the ultimate alienation is forgetting that we are alienated at all. It is a profound blindness to the richness of life—a world full of wonder, spirit, and interconnectedness—that many of us no longer realize exists.

Still, there is hope. A growing movement seeks to awaken from this collective amnesia. Philosophers like Vervaeke and McGilchrist refer to it as the advent of the sacred. What does this awakening entail? In my view, it requires a spiritual revival: a shift from the illusion of division to the reality of interconnection. This transition demands a profound shift from being an empty self — preoccupied with its separateness — to being empty of self, and full of life.

As Meister Eckhart said, “The more I am my true self, the less self is in me.” When we awaken from the confines of our egos, we access the sacred and recognize our shared being. If Descartes had seen that it is not his self that produced thinking, but thinking that produced his separate self, he might have discovered what spiritual teachers have long known: beneath the appearances, we are all inter-connected.

As Rumi reminds us, “The lamps are different but the light is the same.”

Some of us live as though life is a finite game—a linear path with an end goal to arrive at, where success is measured by milestones of worldly achievement.

Yet many have lost touch with another way: a path that isn’t straight but endlessly unfolds, spiraling outward from what is inspired within. This is the path where the journey itself is the destination—a magical adventure for those who dare to follow the call of their soul.

It’s a path marked by synchronistic events, magical encounters, dragons, personal transformation, and the quiet peace of knowing you’re on the right path, even if the destination remains unknown. It is inspired by a kind of longing that is in itself endlessly creative and fruitful.

This is the inspired life, in contrast to the dullness of ticking boxes and conforming to a one-size-fits-all system. It is the life of courage, of surrendering to what seeks to be born through you. As the Sufi Ab-del-Kader said, “We don’t follow what we want; we follow what is inspired in us.”

This path asks a different question—not, “What do I want from life?” but, “What does life want from me?”

So tell me: do you dare to trust this inspiration as your compass?

Some of us live as though life is a finite game—a linear path with an end goal to arrive at, where success is measured by milestones of worldly achievement.

Yet many have lost touch with another way: a path that isn’t straight but endlessly unfolds, spiraling outward from what is inspired within. This is the path where the journey itself is the destination—a magical adventure for those who dare to follow the call of their soul.

It’s a path marked by synchronistic events, magical encounters, dragons, personal transformation, and the quiet peace of knowing you’re on the right path, even if the destination remains unknown. It is inspired by a kind of longing that is in itself endlessly creative and fruitful.

This is the inspired life, in contrast to the dullness of ticking boxes and conforming to a one-size-fits-all system. It is the life of courage, of surrendering to what seeks to be born through you. As the Sufi Ab-del-Kader said, “We don’t follow what we want; we follow what is inspired in us.”

This path asks a different question—not, “What do I want from life?” but, “What does life want from me?”

So tell me: do you dare to trust this inspiration as your compass?

Type yes if this resonates!

Type yes if this resonates!

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn once wrote, “Intolerance is the first sign of an inadequate education. An ill-educated person behaves with arrogant impatience, whereas truly profound education breeds humility.”

Imagine a philosophy student diving into the ideas of the great thinkers. Armed with newfound concepts, they might feel as though they now understand reality better than others. However, what the student doesn’t yet realize is that concepts about reality are not reality itself. Concepts—and even thinking—cannot grasp the fullness of reality. True learning begins when the student recognizes the limits of their intellect and confronts the depth of their ignorance. Arrogance makes room for humility.

This principle also holds true in spiritual growth. As Richard Rohr said, “People who’ve had any genuine spiritual experience always know that they don’t know. They are utterly humbled before mystery.” If our spiritual practice leads to feelings of superiority, it’s a sign the ego has hijacked the process. This phenomenon, known as ego-inflation, often arises when we measure growth by how much we’ve read, how many hours we’ve meditated, or how much therapy we’ve had.

Suffering, therefore, remains one of life’s greatest teachers. It strips away illusions, burns through the ego’s pretenses, and anchors us in humility. Wisdom, after all, comes through the wound.

True self-knowledge requires embracing every part of ourselves: our shadow, our repressed emotions, and even the truths we wish to avoid. This self-compassion naturally extends outward. As Erik Erikson said, “The more you know yourself, the more patience you have for what you see in others.”

The more we learn to love the parts of ourselves we once rejected, the easier it becomes to love those same parts in others. Similarly, when others extend compassion to the parts of us we struggle to accept, it becomes easier for us to turn that same love inward. As Erich Fromm so beautifully put it,
 “Love of others and love of ourselves are not alternatives. On the contrary, an attitude of love towards themselves will be found in all those who are capable of loving others.”

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn once wrote, “Intolerance is the first sign of an inadequate education. An ill-educated person behaves with arrogant impatience, whereas truly profound education breeds humility.”

Imagine a philosophy student diving into the ideas of the great thinkers. Armed with newfound concepts, they might feel as though they now understand reality better than others. However, what the student doesn’t yet realize is that concepts about reality are not reality itself. Concepts—and even thinking—cannot grasp the fullness of reality. True learning begins when the student recognizes the limits of their intellect and confronts the depth of their ignorance. Arrogance makes room for humility.

This principle also holds true in spiritual growth. As Richard Rohr said, “People who’ve had any genuine spiritual experience always know that they don’t know. They are utterly humbled before mystery.” If our spiritual practice leads to feelings of superiority, it’s a sign the ego has hijacked the process. This phenomenon, known as ego-inflation, often arises when we measure growth by how much we’ve read, how many hours we’ve meditated, or how much therapy we’ve had.

Suffering, therefore, remains one of life’s greatest teachers. It strips away illusions, burns through the ego’s pretenses, and anchors us in humility. Wisdom, after all, comes through the wound.

True self-knowledge requires embracing every part of ourselves: our shadow, our repressed emotions, and even the truths we wish to avoid. This self-compassion naturally extends outward. As Erik Erikson said, “The more you know yourself, the more patience you have for what you see in others.”

The more we learn to love the parts of ourselves we once rejected, the easier it becomes to love those same parts in others. Similarly, when others extend compassion to the parts of us we struggle to accept, it becomes easier for us to turn that same love inward. As Erich Fromm so beautifully put it,
 “Love of others and love of ourselves are not alternatives. On the contrary, an attitude of love towards themselves will be found in all those who are capable of loving others.”

What if our unwillingness to feel unpleasant emotions is the very reason they don’t let go of us? Often, when we say, “How can I let go of this?” what we really mean is, “I don’t want to feel this.”

Letting go isn’t about pushing emotions away. In fact, dropping an emotion isn’t within our power. What is within our power is dropping our resistance. Resistance keeps emotions stuck, but acceptance allows them to pass through and let go of us.

It’s helpful to distinguish between primary and secondary emotions. A secondary emotion is one that masks a primary emotion. For example, your partner breaks up with you, and you feel very angry. However, the anger in this case masks the deep pain underneath. Here, anger is the secondary emotion.

Some people remain angry for years without being able to let it go. Why? Because healing happens at the level of primary emotions. Only by letting in the primary emotion — the deep pain and grief — can healing take place. When we fully process the primary emotions, the secondary ones also let go of us.

So next time you want to let go of an unpleasant emotion, ask yourself: “What feeling am I unwilling to feel?” By embracing it — without judgment — you create the space for healing and transformation. In that space, emotions naturally let go of you.

What if our unwillingness to feel unpleasant emotions is the very reason they don’t let go of us? Often, when we say, “How can I let go of this?” what we really mean is, “I don’t want to feel this.”

Letting go isn’t about pushing emotions away. In fact, dropping an emotion isn’t within our power. What is within our power is dropping our resistance. Resistance keeps emotions stuck, but acceptance allows them to pass through and let go of us.

It’s helpful to distinguish between primary and secondary emotions. A secondary emotion is one that masks a primary emotion. For example, your partner breaks up with you, and you feel very angry. However, the anger in this case masks the deep pain underneath. Here, anger is the secondary emotion.

Some people remain angry for years without being able to let it go. Why? Because healing happens at the level of primary emotions. Only by letting in the primary emotion — the deep pain and grief — can healing take place. When we fully process the primary emotions, the secondary ones also let go of us.

So next time you want to let go of an unpleasant emotion, ask yourself: “What feeling am I unwilling to feel?” By embracing it — without judgment — you create the space for healing and transformation. In that space, emotions naturally let go of you.

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