Insights

Most of us are looking for something—happiness, belonging, meaning, or purpose—whether we’re aware of it early on or not. Looking back on my childhood, I now see that what I believed about myself was shaped by how I interpreted my experiences.

The trauma of my birth and difficulties of my early childhood fostered feelings of inadequacy and uncertainty about my place in the world. These reimagined stories became a lens through which I viewed myself—a confusing blend of truth and my own distortions.

While I may never know all the specifics of my birth, the impact of those formative experiences was significant—a deep dissatisfaction that propelled me onward. I recount my twists, like a steep switchback winding up a mountain, searching for what I felt was missing, only later discovering the significance of each.

Meet me in freedom—beyond the duality of right or wrong, beyond better or not as good—where I navigate complexities of identity and belonging, unraveling truths hidden within family stories and personal discovery. In this unfolding, I examine broader societal questions regarding women’s choices and life transitions, revealing that it is not a linear progression but rather a complex tapestry of emotions, truths, and realizations that extends beyond personal narratives.

“In life,” she continued in a sharp tone, “we do not know what we want or where we are going. We’re all pretending to know!” She paused.

Her bold assertion took my breath away. That she knew we were all pretending ignited hope that she held the answers I’d hungered for—answers even my psychiatrist couldn’t provide. She confronted me, demanding, “What do you want?”

I knew exactly what I wanted—I’d known it for a long time. Meeting her stare, I calmly said, “I want to be free.”

Examining beliefs I’d held as truths, Carol’s Work pointers jolted the cage of my spiritual convictions. Until that moment, I hadn’t distinguished between self-improvement and the tenets of the Work. As I listened to her, a shocking revelation emerged: my motivation for Work was to improve my perceived flaws, unwittingly believing I would feel less inadequate.

“The Work is meant to assist in becoming who you truly are, not to improve who you think you are or should be,” she explained.

I also misunderstood the true significance of the longing that had burdened me since childhood. “I often feel this aching. I’d always believed it was loneliness.”

“Yes, you’re feeling a spiritual longing, yearning for connection with your own being.”

The truth of her words touched me deeply—confusing spiritual longing with loneliness—I’d then yearn for a partner. When I realized this, a wave of emotion swept through me, recalling a brief relationship from a few years ago. I’d sought a spiritual connection, but lacking one with myself, I’d misunderstood my true desire and searched for someone outside myself. This conversation, along with my budding insights about loneliness, once again reinforced the importance of connecting with my being—an energy I’d tasted after powerful movements classes.

Perched on an elevated bank and secluded by trees, the campsite offers a majestic retreat. After an hour absorbed in my book, Living Realization, I set it down and take in the scene. Fast-flowing water rushes by, crashing its white caps against scattered boulders. Across the river, a rocky beach stretches out, followed by leafy trees, and further on, mountains rise.

Softening my gaze, I turn my attention to the slow rise and fall of chest and belly, the rhythm of my breath. The mind stills. Sound becomes pronounced in the foreground of awareness, no longer possessing a name—simply experienced. I sit—open, curious, as each sound arises and passes without a label.

Is there a self looking? Past and future disappear—only now exists. Who or what is looking? Me? The identity woven into a story? A personal history? Unnamed shades and textures fill my vision—there is only now—no self, no labels.

In the quietude, a mental image forms: a dog sitting beside me, observing the scene. I realize the dog wouldn’t perceive separate objects as I do. The animal experiences the field as a seamless whole—one continuum. I suddenly realize the perception of separation arises from our habit of naming things—these divisions exist in the mind, not reality. What a shock to realize the separateness I take as real is merely a habit, not the true nature of things.

I sit back, amazed. I’d been taught to see “otherness” everywhere, when none actually exists. Scanning my surroundings with soft eyes, astonishment sweeps over me as I take in textures and colors without division. Nature and spirituality harmonize seamlessly.

A year later, summer of 2014, Corinne invited me to watch a video of a teacher she’d been following. The talk lasted only fifteen minutes but delivered exactly what I needed to hear, offering a non-dual perspective that revealed reality in a radically new light.

“If you perceive a problem, observe your actual experience—here, now. What is actually occurring? You define your problems into existence, as well as their hoped-for solutions. Leave the realm of the describable! It doesn’t exist! Thought-interpretations about the problem will arise and continue. However, focusing on the actual experience of now will transcend thought. What is here, now, is more relevant than you think. This actual, present condition is absolutely inconceivable.” P.B.

Peter emphasized that reactivity is just a small subsystem in the vastness of experience. Returning attention to direct experience maintains this recognition while acknowledging emotions without bypassing them—everything is welcome. Noticing how interpretations—including expectations—arise after the fact, they can be seen through and released. Dance with whatever arises without the story.

Participants asked questions about their personal difficulties, and Peter integrated an absolute reality perspective. He elaborated on the fullness of experience and the importance of direct engagement with reality, challenging the belief that our experiences are limited to the conceptual model of problems to be transcended. “We’re always experiencing this miraculous perfection, an inconceivable mystery.”

However, he pointed out that, from our human orientation, we misinterpret this extraordinary presence as limitations happening to me. How easy it is to slip into the belief in separation—me and my problems. But as thoughts that create reactivity are noticed, the realization emerges: nothing that arises is separate from This— orientation shifts and identification eases.

Absorbing these exceptional insights, a lightness and inexplicable gratitude flowed. Experience needs nothing added or omitted to feel more complete.