Amid a great crowd of people —of every race, gender, nationality, age, weight, sexual preference, political stance, religion, physical or mental condition, addiction, virtue, and flaw; among criminals and saints, prostitutes and devotees, the wise and the naïve, of every height and social class— there is a man dancing.

He wears only a pair of shorts, his torso bare, his hair black, his eyes so dark they seem to absorb the light.
His movements align perfectly with the rhythm; watching him feels almost like witnessing existence itself dancing to the beat of its own heart.

I stand on the other side of the crowd, observing him.
He keeps his gaze fixed on me while he continues to dance.
I remain still, fascinated, as if his presence had suspended time.
Suddenly, my attention rests on his left arm—firm and toned.
In that instant, I see myself standing before the face of the man I now swear to love.
The intensity of his eyes unsettles me; I want to shout, to ask what thoughts pass through his mind, why his being seems immersed in the depths of the external world, estranged from his own human chambers.

I shift my focus from his left arm to his right.
And then I see myself running through an unfamiliar city, arranging thoughts, finding answers, retracing the paths of the past and their consequences.
I am understanding, grounding, sweating until my body aches—deciding, with clarity, what I wish to experience in this lifetime.
I purify my soul through the clumsiness of trial and error until I reach an identity capable of holding and comprehending my own energy.

The man in the crowd keeps dancing, and now my gaze settles on his chest.
I enter the contemplation of my body asleep beside his.
I watch him next to me—breathing, alive, yet absent.
His body remains, but he is not there; not even in his dreams.
It is as if something else inhabits him, and I cannot recognize the man with whom I share the bed.

In my dreams, the energy of another presence invades my own; I can feel its shape, its density, and my body’s desperate need to expel it.
This does not belong to me.

Then I see a naked figure before me—a woman.
Her face is void of expression, and at times it seems she tries to imitate human gestures to appear alive.
I embrace her again and again in my dreams, and through that act, I recognize my compassion.
I understand that nothing I perceive within the energetic field of that white man belongs to me, yet I remain here, trying to comprehend the purpose of it all.
For brief, fleeting milliseconds, I glimpse his soul, and I know it is not entirely present.
I cannot restore life or innocence to another human’s body, even if he seems to long for a return to himself.

To see this disturbed, corrupted human being suffocates me.
Never before had I been so close to an energy so heavy, so contrary to everything I know as true and good in this life.
I keep observing my human silhouette lying in bed; I watch her awaken each morning, full of questions, wishing—with screams, with tears, with silence—for that man’s soul to return to his body.
I watch her wanting to flee.

I ask myself: what is the cause?
Why does a man who claims to want to live in God become obsessed with everything that destroys that possibility?

I walk in circles—through the bathroom, the hallway, the bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, the basement, the green outside, the gray of the construction that houses his body.
We had sex multiple times a day, and I would look into his eyes, wanting to give him my energy until I completely forgot myself.

I only wanted to look at him—straight into his eyes—and bring his soul back to his body.
He told me, in words, to give him time, that he was healing, that he was coming back.
But what kind of commitment is that—the one you speak of when you say “I love you”?

Everything transforms into a mirror.
I see the other in his vulnerability, in versions that force me to ask what it was that made me connect with him.

I dedicated myself to building an identity on Earth: that of a woman who is clean, connected to God, and free in thought.
I placed the girl I once was at the center of my heart and kept her innocence intact.
As my body grew and evolved, I learned to present myself from the purity of the soul and the imperfection of learning before any other human being.
I believed everyone deserved this glimpse of love —this compassionate offering that holds space, telling the other through my words and my actions: I truly see you.

But what kind of man truly deserves a woman like the one I am —and the one I am becoming?
How can someone say he seeks purity and true love while kissing and giving his body to everything that contradicts what he claims to long for?

I step out of the chest of the man dancing in the crowd and place my attention on his neck.
I see my human silhouette open on the bed, offered to male satisfaction.
At what moment did my body lie there—so exposed, so vulnerable—before someone who made comments about the hair on my legs, my sex, my nose?
What kind of man are you becoming?

You were seduced by the external idea of what the world calls femininity: the rules invented to please masculine desire.
Did you never wonder that femininity is unique and sacred to every woman?
Or did you believe that those bodies, saturated with drugs, alcohol, and artifice —which simulate purity on the outside— represent your ideal of the feminine?

From what gaze did you begin to see women?
From that anesthetized body of yours?
Did that make you believe you could lead a woman to the altar?
Did you think you could vow eternal love to self-destruction?
Is that what you call love?
I never want to know that kind of love you have named.

I leave his throat and enter his mouth.
I see my figure before yours as you hold yourself at the edge of the bed, crying.
You tell me you’re not ready to love me, that you’re healing, that you wish for me a pure man; you even wish for me a version of yourself from the past —that “good” one you gave to someone else.
You say you’re not mentally well.
And I, empty of flavor in my soul, listen to you in silence and ask myself:

What are you doing with your life?
Who are your friends?
What realities do you inhabit?
Why are there orange prescription bottles beside your bed, and why do you take them as soon as you wake?
Did your parents not love you?
Did you lack nourishment, or did you lack gravity in this world?
Where do all these self-destructive decisions come from?
Why do you tell love that you’re not ready?
What kind of human being are you becoming?

Then I leave the mouth of the dancing man and dive into the depths of his eyes.
There I see myself—running to the airport before dawn, flying to Denver with a clouded mind, a pounding headache, and an energy that doesn’t belong to me.
I sleep, but my body trembles; I wake between dreams feeling as if my soul wants to escape me.
My brain doesn’t respond, my words fracture.
I hear voices asking if I’m willing to lose my soul for loving someone who has lost his own.
I vomit that energy that isn’t mine.
I return it.
I return it to you.
And in that act, I return to myself.
I feel my heart again, my breath.
Everything within me comes back to life.

I step out of the eyes of the man still dancing and direct my energy toward his left leg.
I see myself in a café in Denver, speaking about love, explaining from where I am saying “I love you.”

When I take human form, I find no reason, no explanation, no motive to think that someone living in such a way deserves my love.
But then, observing from my consciousness, I recognize my intention to love you as a true act of love —to bring you back; and it was never for me —because I never had you— but rather as an act of love to bring you back to yourself, without conditions, without asking for anything in return, a purely human act inspired by love.

I remove my focus from the man’s left leg and center my energy in his brain.
From there, I observe my own lacks, my life lessons so far, the healing knowledge I must continue to practice, my goals, the desires of my soul and what I wish to experience; my energy, my being, my beauty, my awareness to this point, my awakening, my passage through this world in my temporary human form; my love, my devotion to what truly matters to me, my commitment to becoming what I wish to experience, my fears, what I am still healing, what I wish to learn, what I wish to embody, what I wish to become, and the love I wish to experience also from the masculine figure.

I leave the man’s brain and direct my attention toward his navel.
From there, I see myself in a café, writing this: immersed in my energy, in my youth, in my authentic self, in the difference and pride that come from being truly me, in the infinite possibilities, in the family I wish to form someday, in all the beautiful experiences awaiting me, in my projects, in their realization, in the people who truly love me, in all the beauty I deserve from the entire universe.
I make myself a promise never again to stray from my own path by entangling myself in the roads of others and their choices.
But I also know that I am open to God and to every lesson He feels my soul needs for its purification.

I leave the navel of the dancing man, and my energy returns to me as I watch the crowd fade away.
The man keeps dancing, now with greater strength and rhythm; his gaze remains fixed, unblinking, penetrating mine.
Suddenly, he moves through my body front to back and returns in reverse: his motion travels through the outline of my curves, down my legs, across my chest, rises through my head, and vanishes.

The first time I saw your face, I felt the power of your gaze move something within my existence—beyond my human form.
I saw you and I felt your eyes.
I was physically there, but my existence was in motion, crossing the consequences of my choices and the uncertainty of not knowing what lies on the other side.
And there you were, dancing, celebrating the happiness of one of my first childhood friends.
There I was, in New Jersey for the first time; between Florida, where I was finalizing my legal separation from the man I had shared five years of my life with, and a brief pause in time to visit my mother and sister, whom I hadn’t seen since 2019.
It was August 2022 —the date I first saw you.
I didn’t think of you then, but that sensation of seeing you marked something in me.
I continued building my life and the experience of it; after returning to Mexico to organize and vacate my apartment and move to Denver, I came back twice more: August 2023 and August 2024.

Your family is now connected to mine through circumstances that were not originally ours.
I experienced the beauty of those late-summer gatherings at your mother’s house;
during that two-day trip, I could breathe the air of those New Jersey Augusts.

I saw you again, but this time you were with a woman.
My first impression was: how can someone with such a strong spirit be with a woman who so clearly hides from her own truth?
My soul asked itself that question when I saw you with her on those two occasions.

I looked at her and saw a woman carrying a heavy energy, with a lost gaze, her face and hands trembling.
You seemed as though you were taking care of a sick person—attentive, calm.
I remember thinking, that August of 2023, about the nobility you radiated.

I still wonder: what made you connect with someone like her?
In the end, no one is to blame for our decisions or reactions;
we choose the places and the people where we decide to stay.

It frightens me to think that infatuation can also be born from darkness—
that unconsciously, we might connect with another not through light, but through the unhealed, misunderstood shadows of our path in life.
I once read that these are called karmic relationships:
people who show us everything within ourselves that needs healing and transmutation,
just as there are others who reveal beauty and help us grow and evolve.

We were in a constant exchange of energy,
and only through self-knowledge lies the key to discern what nurtures us and what harms us—
and to choose accordingly.

In August of 2024, I saw you again.
I remember feeling excited to see my grandparents arrive from Honduras for your mother’s summer party,
and the beauty of watching my family —the family of your brother’s wife— share space for the first time,
filled with love and good intentions, even with the barrier of language and culture.
Isn’t that what love does?

I saw you again, and I noticed that the nobility in your eyes was gone.
I felt that the energy that once drew me to you no longer existed;
it was barely perceptible—like the flailing of a drowning man struggling to reach the surface.

I saw you sitting on the stairs; I went to greet you.
You lowered your head and said only a few words.
I wanted to embrace you, to fill you with a deep love—because that’s what you made me feel—
but I restrained myself.
I knew I had to respect that, in that moment, you belonged to someone else.

My attraction to you was never physical nor material.
It began with that first glance—with the love I felt wanting to give you, so you could experience it.

In March of 2025, our paths crossed again.
You were still breathing, still alive, but far from the strength of that man I saw in August 2022.
That March night we spoke for the first time; since then, I took your hand.
By August 2025, I was kissing your entire face, choosing love amid uncertainty—
not only in your life, but in mine as well.

How could I think only of myself in those times, when I was already loving you,
and it was no longer just about me?

I observed you—deeply.

I saw:
the man who had battled drug addiction in his adolescence;
the man who had tried to take his own life;
the man who felt used and disappointed by his father;
the man who was deceived by the woman he believed was “the one”;
the boy with the mischievous smile, his passion for cars and motorcycles;
the man I saw at the wedding—strong, resilient, self-assured,
with the same smile of that boy.

And now, I saw the man before me with antidepressant pills,
quitting marijuana as a gesture of commitment at my request,
tasting my new recipes as I learned to cook,
trying to choose a new company to rebuild his career away from the family business.

I saw a man completely at rock bottom,
but with the faith and energy in God to want to rebuild himself,
to never again lose who he was.

I watched you in silence, for entire days.
I watched you with absolutely nothing to offer me—empty—
and still, I chose to stay.

I chose to see my capacity to love, my capacity to believe,
my capacity to see beyond this material world.
I stayed to witness you, even knowing that I didn’t deserve to be anywhere near that version of your life,
because the choices I’ve made have always been so different from yours.

I choose to face my life with truth and honesty:
without prescriptions, without marijuana, without drugs, without escapes, without addictions.

I wasn’t given the chance in this life to grow up in a family with a solid core;
I was born in a third-world country,
and I fought to think beyond poverty and limitation.
I chose to seek education, to seek my own understanding of life.
I went out to learn through observing other cultures, learning new languages,
showing up with my face, my blood, my heart—without any kind of armor—
guided only by faith in God and my intuition.

This is how I continue my process of evolution:
of consciousness, of humanity, of personal and professional growth.

I know I didn’t deserve—not for a single second—
to be near someone who allowed another person to break him.
I didn’t deserve to stay close to someone who didn’t create moments to see me,
to bring me flowers, to court me,
to be there for me,
to prove he was worthy of my trust and my love.

I moved all that aside and chose to stay with you because of the love I felt—
a pure act of expression,
of my own understanding of love.

I know you were honest; no one deceived me, no one made false promises.
I knew—and have always known—from where my decisions came.
And I don’t regret them.
Love always offers us the chance to evolve, to reinvent ourselves, to grow, and to become better.

You showed flashes of the man I saw at the wedding—
not constantly, not consistently—
but those glimpses of your light made me smile,
and pray for you, for your life, that you would return to your path.
Not for me. For you.

The truth is, we can never sustain nor build true and healthy love
if we are not well within ourselves.
And before reaching that point—no matter our age—
when we ask God for wisdom, He will provide any kind of scenario
necessary for us to learn it:
not in the way we want, but in the way we need.
That is the true metamorphosis.

One night, before one of my flights,
you asked why there were so many missed calls from my ex-boyfriend on my phone screen.
I had already told you I ended that relationship in February 2023
because I chose to experience solitude in a new country, in a new city,
without family, without friends.

I placed myself, still young, in that space
because I felt my soul’s calling to create an internal and external silence
where only my own voice could be heard—
so I could finally know who I truly am,
and who I choose to connect with—
romantically, spiritually, personally, professionally.

It wasn’t until I was almost twenty-six that I could feel, for the first time, complete—without anyone’s validation.
Alone, sensing the frequency with which I communicate with the external world.
It was a moment of fullness and grace, as if the heavens between God and me had no distance.

I recognized my mistake in not cutting communication with my ex-boyfriend, who would still call from other countries to see me.
I accepted that with love and without commitment, being honest with him about how I felt at those times.

During that silence, while trying to figure out how to face the idea of moving to a new state—
after ending both a work contract and a lease, without even your emotional support, because you were barely learning to be there for yourself—
I accepted one of those calls from the past to speak about my financial worries and loneliness.

Although I kept that conversation private and never spoke a word that disrespected you or our relationship,
I felt that you had completely abandoned something that had only just begun—
a relationship that, from my side, had been born from love and from hope.

That night, when you didn’t believe what I said, you made me call that man from my past.
You confirmed that, in no way, had I disrespected you.
And yet, you dared to tell me you didn’t know if you could trust me—
after all the physical and mental effort I was making to be with you, when no one else was;
in that intimacy, that vulnerability, that love with which I was truly showing up.

My intentions were clear: at that moment in my life, I was seeking and desiring to join my life with a man’s.

Although you asked for patience and understanding, you still said you didn’t know “about us,”
that you didn’t know about me.
For a moment, hearing that, I wanted to run and not waste another second of my life near yours.
But I breathed, I calmed myself, and once again I chose my love for you.
And I wondered: Before being an executioner, were you choosing to treat me the way you were once treated?

That’s what happens when two people hold on to toxic bonds for too long:
they become dissociated from themselves and from reality.
And if they don’t heal, even when they part ways, they seek to recreate that chaos with new people.
They seek to hurt, because they are lost inside their wounds and addictions,
to the point where their souls abandon their bodies while still alive.

They remain in a human existence that only appears to be alive because their organs still function—
but the soul is no longer there.
Then, they begin to feed on others until they leave them just like themselves:
empty, confused.
Because nothing—neither material nor emotional love—will ever be enough.

I had to stop.
Return to myself.
Tear away that first glimpse I had of you that first August in the United States.
Remove every expectation.
See you for who you truly were.
Observe how you moved through your life.

And then I became aware of my freedom, of my love for myself,
of the imperfection of my humanity, of the purity of my soul,
of where I’ve been, of where I am now, and of where I want to go.
I let you go.

Whatever you’ve done in your past, and whatever you decide to do with your life,
is not my concern.
It has nothing to do with me.
The people you’ve been with before have nothing to do with me.
What you find beautiful or attractive has nothing to do with me.
The way you see life has nothing to do with me.
The way you make decisions has nothing to do with me.

What does have to do with me
is whether you have enough self-knowledge to sustain, in a healthy way, a relationship based on love;
whether what you say you are aligns with what you do;
whether you have truly let go and learned from your past;
whether you are not storing images that represent debauchery;
whether your decisions nourish your mind, your spirit, your body, and your relationship with the God you speak of.
That is what concerns me—the reality between what you say you are and what you actually do, right now.

In the responsibility of not blaming you—or anyone—for my own decisions, actions, or behaviors,
I have asked God:
What made me connect with you? What made me want to stay?
Love is one of my answers so far.
But within that love, I now see—first and foremost—the love toward myself and my own happiness.

I will continue to speak truth in this world.
I will continue to learn, to evolve, to grow.
And if you are not that reality—the one who wakes up with morning kisses,
who chooses to see the other as a human being, imperfect and doing their best with what they have;
if you are not real, congruent, and honest;
if you are not the man who will truly join me in an expansive and true relationship—
then I will take this entire experience as an act of love from me to myself,
and I will release you physically.
I’m still here.

We swear we want to experience love,
but how can we search for it outside of ourselves
if we haven’t yet become it within?

In the reality of true reality,
you were never a victim of anyone.
You were simply an observer of the consequences of your own choices.
The only time we are ever victims
is during that stage of innocence—
as newborn souls in childhood—
when we still lack the concept of right and wrong.
But even then, consciousness already lives within every living creature.

There comes a moment when we must look at ourselves
and see what we have become—or what we were becoming.

Moments of clarity arrive for us to understand
that we are the creators of our reality,
and that this is not a film with a single character.
All our choices carry consequences:
on ourselves, on others, on everything around us.

And though we are free to become whoever we wish in this life,
if you want to walk as the protagonist
without measuring the impact you have on the lives of others,
then you should question whether you truly want to choose
a single journey through this planet Earth as an individual.

Because any involvement with another requires, on your part, emotional responsibility.
Because you are opening your energetic channel to create connection with the other.
And every action you take, every word you speak, is creating your reality.
If you are lying, then you are creating a reality founded upon that lie.

Are you beginning to understand now?

For months, I became obsessed with trying to understand a situation that was never mine—
with trying to understand people who never represented me,
who have absolutely nothing to do with me.
I became obsessed with understanding how love could also be accessible to those who live unconsciously.
I wanted to understand a story of “love” that, under no circumstance, ever belonged to me.

But at the same time, it mirrored my own past attitudes—
my insecurities, my shortcomings—
those times when I acted unconsciously toward others,
when I thought I was putting myself first,
but in truth, I was hurting others by not being truly honest with my actions and words.

Putting oneself first is vital for mere human survival;
but doing so at the expense of another’s pain—
that is a true act of evil.

No one forced you to knock on that door.
No one forced you to look into the past and believe you could change it.
No one forced you to believe in the possibility of transforming a person
who, through words and actions, has become—and chosen to be—what they are.
No one forced you to go looking for them.
No one forced you to believe something different from what you were already seeing.

Your body, in its pain, was already telling you that this wasn’t love.
Your body, in its pain, was telling you that it was being hurt.
Your mind, in its instability and need for control, was begging you to release a life that was never yours,
a life you will never be able to change or control.

Your stress was already warning you what that contact was doing to you.
Your fear was already telling you that this person was not a safe place.
Their tears—after hurting and lying to you—were already showing you
that this person couldn’t even handle their own life.
Their age—beyond the point at which science itself says a person’s personality has already crystallized—
was already showing you what that person had chosen to become.

Everything opened up, even in exaggerated ways,
so that you could see the truth of what that existence had decided to be.

Women always have two versions living within us.
The first is the innocent version of our inner child,
and the values that the elders around us taught.
There is also our intuition—our instrument of light to navigate this Earth,
to move through the stages of our lives,
and to witness what we are becoming.
That is the version of good.

Then there is the other version: the one born of darkness.
The one that shows us the power of excess,
the power of sex in front of the masculine,
the power of manipulation and seduction;
the power of taking feminine liberation to the very extreme of masculine dominance;
the power of advancing in life by using the female body as an instrument;
the power of living in a constant state of control and vigilance over everything else;
the power of making a man do absolutely anything we desire for our own convenience.

But a woman who chooses to live from that dark power ends up utterly broken.
Because true femininity is what makes us different from masculinity:
it is the beauty of being able to see life through beauty itself;
it is the grace of caring for and nurturing our bodies to prepare them to give life;
it is the choice of a good man—one who protects our femininity and awakens in us the desire to be wives, to be mothers.

It is the beauty of finding other women in their own femininity,
of building friendships with them,
of sharing the unfolding of life together.
It is the longing to become grandmothers someday—
the beauty of healing our lineage,
of wanting future versions of ourselves to be better prepared for the human experience.

The day a human being truly enjoys the gift of life
will be the day they can remain awake and present in every moment—
a traveler of time moving freely between past and future,
with the liberty of becoming conscious of every event, every decision,
accepting the pain of their mistakes,
embracing the joy of each new season,
marveling at the beauty of every lesson,
and feeling worthy of all the goodness this earthly paradise—planet Earth—has to offer.

A man, too, carries two versions within himself:
the innocence of his first breath on Earth,
the love of those who surrounded him,
the memory of his own actions,
the moments in which he was a victim of his environment—
all that beauty, all that sense of adventure with which he once saw life.

And then there is the other version:
the one that knows his privileged place in this world,
his masculine physical strength,
his logical power to think with clarity;
the one who understands that he is responsible for sustaining a family
within the society and the system by which humankind is organized.

He knows he can choose to be a man who walks with the illumination of God in his intuition;
a man who has the power to create purity by remaining firm in his word,
strong in his spirit,
knowing he can rebuild himself again and again,
so long as he maintains an elevated attitude.

To face every circumstance of his life
and the consequences of his choices in the rawest way—
that is what builds a person’s character.

A man is not built through drugs.
A man is not built by having sex with many women.
A man is not built beside a woman who disrespects him.
A man does not build real character by using women.
A man’s character is not built by smoking marijuana past the age of thirty,
nor by taking steroids to look muscular.
A man’s character is not built through infidelity
or by secretly gazing at another woman.
The character of a true man is not formed
when his family must worry and care for him once he is already an adult.
A man’s character is not built by going to places
where naked women dance for money.
A man’s character is not built by entering bodies
that are, at the same time, entered and exited by other men.
A man’s character is not built by blaming others.
A man’s character is not built by believing he deserves a good woman
when he himself is not a good man.

A man who chooses to live from that unconscious version
becomes a man completely broken—
financially, morally, physically, mentally, familially, romantically.

A man’s character is built through hard work, by earning what he has.
It is built by rising each morning and doing what is right.
It resides in using his logic and discipline
to shape the man he desires to become.
It is forged in the capacity to take full responsibility for his actions
and to accept their consequences.

True character is built in honesty—
in the ability to sustain one’s word
and ensure it aligns with one’s actions.
A man’s character is built through tears of pain
and through accepting what he cannot control outside himself.
It is strengthened by releasing what makes him feel disrespected.

A man’s character is built in the capacity to build a home—
to care for and provide for the woman he loves, admires, and respects,
and who, in turn, makes him feel respected, admired, and valued.
A man’s character is built in how he honors his family,
how he accepts and thanks them,
recognizing that they did the best they could
with what they had to bring him into this world.
A man’s character is formed by taming
the irrational human that lives within us all.
The character of a true man is built in his respect toward women.
It is built in the awareness of the example he wishes to set
for his daughters and sons.
A man’s character is built in his personal relationship with God.
A man’s character is built in the absolute responsibility of his choices.

It is painful to grow and to see, with eyes of truth,
what people have become—
those who were once innocent children.

No one can save a broken person;
only they can save themselves.
No one has the responsibility to sacrifice their life
for someone who has chosen to destroy theirs.
No one is obligated to risk their own mental stability
trying to understand why another chose a path of self-destruction.

It is not a mistake to give another human being the chance to be known.
The mistake—or rather, the decision—comes
when, after seeing the reality of who that person truly is,
we decide to stay.
Because in that moment, we are consciously choosing the other.
And we must ask ourselves:
Is this a reflection of my reality?
Is this the life I want for myself?

In my heart, today, there is no resentment.
There is no hatred.
There are no culprits.

In my heart there is love.
There is knowledge.
There is responsibility,
and an immense openness to keep growing—
in love, in calm, in acceptance, in beauty, in understanding.

In my heart are the eyes that see others for who they truly are,
not for who they claim to be.
We are not fools for giving love from a place of innocence or purity.
We are fools for lingering in spaces and with people
who do not deserve our love or our presence.

If, in this life, we manage to become what we wish to attract,
why would we waste time on what is not a reflection of our own heart?

I run around every corner of the man’s body that dances,
each muscle moving,
thanking the teaching,
thanking the information.
I dance—stretching my arms and legs—
because, at the end of the day,
in this shared human experience,
we are all teaching and learning from one another at the same time.

No matter how much we cling to concepts,
to societies, to ideas of good or evil,
of innocence or purity—
the true work of consciousness
is to create coherence between the inner world and the outer world.

And that is my greatest goal in this life: to achieve that connection.
So, after every new lesson,
I end on my knees,
grateful for the teaching.