Most of us carry a wound. Not necessarily some dramatic trauma, but a painful sense that something is wrong with us, that we are not quite okay as we are. Sometimes it appears as anxiety, loneliness, tension, or a vague dissatisfaction that follows us through life.
And naturally, we look for relief.
Some drink. Some use substances. Some work endlessly. Some distract themselves with entertainment, relationships, or constant activity. Or we build a personality of authority and hide in there.
Anything that allows us, even temporarily, not to feel the pain.
Eventually many discover that these remedies do not last.
And so some of us turn toward spirituality. Perhaps we have already exhausted other options. We realize that temporary bandages will never bring lasting peace. We are willing to go all the way. We are ready to transcend suffering itself !
But here we encounter a great disillusionment:
Transcendent experiences do not heal the wound.
Years of spiritual practice do not heal the wound.
Even the most profound enlightenment experiences do not heal the wound.
In fact, as many sincere seekers discover, the pain may become even more intense. The structures and defenses that once protected us begin to fall away, and what we spent our lives avoiding may stand before us more naked than ever.
So what is it that we are really seeking?
The ability to simply be ourselves without tension. Peace of mind. Contentment.
Who worries about enlightenment when they are deeply content? Who thinks about transcendence when there is simple peace?
Perhaps what keeps us in perpetual suffering is not the wound itself. It is the endless effort to avoid feeling it.
And healing begins not when the wound disappears, but when we stop running.
What we have always wanted was never some extraordinary state.
We simply wanted permission to be here.
Exactly as we are.
Without tension.
Without inner war.
Without having to become somebody else.
Without hiding our beautiful, vulnerable self.
