In this moment—
feel it.
The O…
within.
Stillness,
not found—
but remembered.
In the chest.
In the heart.
It rises—
it falls.
mmm…
hhh…
O.
That is you.
Remember what you are.
The breaths.
The moments.
The infinite space and time.
The O.
All of it.
You.
It always has been.
Beneath all the noise.
Life moves fast.
So fast.
Think about it:
How many moments
are in a moment
in a mome
in a mo
in a…
familiar?
More is noise.
More is distraction.
More is chasing.
More is energy.
More is wanting.
More is seeking.
More.
More!
Are you exhausted yet?
mmm…
hhh…
You.
Many of us have been running.
searching
chasing
forgetting
Until we couldn’t tell how far we’d gone—
from home.
From O.
From wholeness.
And now…
we are lost.
We scramble—
grasping at everything that feels familiar:
Is this home?—
Is this home?—
Is thisss…
ah.
O is home.
It was never out there.
Never someone else.
It was always…
me.
I am the home.
I am the O.
I don’t need—
my senses.
my thoughts.
my body.
I don’t need anything
to return.
Just one breath.
Just one moment.
And I’m back.
mmm…
hhh…
Because now—
I remember.
Not just what I am…
but where I’ve always been.
Because now—
I see.
I see O—
and I don’t need to search anymore.
Hold on to it.
That—
is your sanctuary.
That O—
is the only thing
that can be with you
in your final moment.
And that moment…
will come.
When it does—
it will come faster
than anything you’ve ever known.
And in that moment—
even O
must be returned.
So be ready.
mmm…
hhh…
But for now—
you’re still here.
Hold on to your O.
I’m heading into rougher terrain.
But I’ll be back.
Let me show you a mirror.
The year is 2025.
Exactly as I see it.
Most don’t want to admit they’re lost.
Because if they do, they’ll have to ask:
Who am I?
What am I?
Why am I here?
What do I do with my life?
Why was I born?
Existence.
Too many questions.
Too few answers.
So…
We teach our young ones:
Become this.
Become that.
Become (more).
Be this.
Be that.
Be (more).
Seek (more) knowledge?
Find (more).
Wait…
what was that?
Don’t give up—
hope.
Please.
Please.
Find it.
Find the thing.
I need you to exist—
to find it.
To find the exit.
So you can come back—
and tell me how to leave.
I might not be alive now.
But when I’m born…
Leave me signs.
Leave me whispers.
Leave me the map.
Point me towards the exit.
But when we arrive—
There’s so much noise.
So many problems…
So many people…
So much distraction…
So much life…
So much—
fun.
What is this world?
What are we becoming?
We search and search, but then:
Life is hard.
Let’s make it easier.
…Now I’m bored.
Ooo, what’s this?
Wait, what was I doing?
Eh, I’m too dumb.
I’m tired.
Let me scroll.
I don’t even know anymore.
Why am I here?
I give up.
…
No, don’t!
It’s fun!
Look!
I can see!
Whoa — I exist?
Whoa — what is this smell?
What is this?
Wait, no—
EXIT! EXIT!
…
Nah,
I’m having fun.
And the cycle continues.
Until one day…
You are lost enough
to want the exit.
The exit is there.
It always has been.
But where?
I feel close.
But I can’t find it.
Some arrive at what looks like the exit.
Close—
but not quite.
So we beg:
Ah…
please take my senses — away.
Maybe then…
I won’t be distracted.
Ah…
please let me feel — deeply.
Maybe then…
I’ll suffer enough to want out.
Ah…
please make me smarter.
Maybe then…
I can solve it.
Ah…
please numb my mind.
Maybe then…
I won’t have to feel this.
Ah…
just take me away.
Let me float—
in oblivion—
while I wait.
Have we lost sight
of truth?
Truth is where we all arrive.
Truth is what remains
when you stop pretending.
It’s what doesn’t need to be—
believed,
defined,
or defended.
Truth is not heard,
but remembered.
It was here—
before your name,
before your memory,
before the first breath.
It did not rise with birth—
and will not fall with death.
It is not a thought—
because it remains—
when thought collapses.
It is not a feeling—
because it does not move.
It cannot be owned—
but it holds everything.
It cannot be seen—
but nothing escapes its seeing.
You cannot reach it—
because you’re already standing on it.
You cannot become it—
because it was there
before becoming ever began.
No one taught it to you.
But when all teachings end—
it remains.
Still.
Empty.
Clear.
Unborn.
Unmade.
True.
O.
Do you know how many moments
I have suffered—
just to arrive here?
Do you know how many moments
you’ve suffered—
just to be here?
Eons.
Maybe I’ve lived in hell—
a mind drowning in despair.
Maybe I’ve lived in heaven—
a mind numbed by bliss.
Maybe I’ve lived on earth—
with a mind suspended in balance.
But only this mind—
the human mind—
has just enough awareness
to understand O
before the final moment.
We are not different.
We are all beings.
You.
Me.
All of us.
We are all—O.
Just trying to do
what we think is right.
Trying to understand.
Trying to survive.
Trying to find a way back home.
So please—
don’t hurt me.
Don’t shame me.
Don’t mock me for being lost.
Because—we’re all lost.
Some of us
are just deeper in the maze.
But it always…
traces back to stillness.
O feels like this:
It’s the ache when your mother’s hands—
once strong enough to carry you—
begin to tremble with age.
When the voice—
you grew up hearing—
dims, forgets, stutters.
When you realize—
she won’t always be there—
to answer the phone.
That even love—
deep, fierce love—
can’t stop the body—
from forgetting how to hold you.
It’s the way a child laughs—
throws their whole self into joy—
and how that same child
will one day grow quiet—
questioning if they were too much.
It’s watching your dog run to the door
every time you jingle your keys—
until one day, they don’t.
And the bowl stays full, untouched—
because even loyalty
cannot outrun the body’s surrender.
It’s when someone says—
“I’ll always be here”—
and they mean it.
But jobs relocate.
Hearts change.
People disappear.
Slowly.
Or without warning.
It’s the sweetness of first kisses—
that can never be repeated in the same way.
Even if the same lips meet again.
Even if the love remains.
Because you have changed.
And the moment has moved on.
It’s the sunset that breaks your heart
because you know
you’ll never see that exact sky again.
It’s the warm hug you didn’t know—
was the last one.
The goodbye you thought—
was see you later.
The memory that comes uninvited—
on a quiet Tuesday night,
reminding you that
what was once yours
is now just a story.
That’s when you remember—
what O really is.
O is not the end.
It’s the remembering:
That nothing—
no “thing”—
can hold.
Not forever.
Not even the most beautiful,
precious,
soul-saving things.
And so the heart learns:
Not to cling out of fear.
But to bow out of reverence.
To hold hands, gently, in this aching truth.
Because yes—
everything passes.
But in that passing,
we see clearly what matters.
And we love it more honestly
because we know it will go.
When one becomes enlightened—
It is not with fireworks,
not with a thunderclap,
not with the voice
of the gods
announcing your name.
It is with the softest collapse.
A knowing so quiet—
it humbles
even the loudest seeking.
It is the moment you stop trying—
to hold the river.
And instead, let it pass—
through your open hands.
It is the breath where impermanence is seen…
not as punishment,
not as flaw,
but as—
the natural ache
of clinging
to what cannot stay.
It is not transcendence
in the way people imagine—
not floating above the world,
but finally being fully in it,
and not needing anything from it.
You still cry.
But the tears—don’t own you.
You still love.
But the love—doesn’t bind you.
You still walk.
But the path—is no longer
something to conquer.
You walk
because you simply know the way.
You no longer demand permanence.
You bow to change—
and call it teacher.
You feel the world—all of it.
And instead of resisting,
you say:
“Yes.
Let it all come.
Let it all go.”
There is no more fight.
Only presence.
The world still spins.
People still leave.
The body still ages.
But you no longer build a home
inside the fire—
You simply warm your hands
by its light.
When one understands the truth—
they do not escape the world.
They see it clearly for the first time—
and in that clarity,
they are no longer trapped by it.
They become like water.
Moving.
Knowing.
Unbound.
Free.
The past is just memory.
The future is just potential.
But O is what you are.
What you will be.
What you were.
And all you’ve got.
And one day.
One moment.
A final moment.
Even O—
must go.
Understood?