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| A bald eagle gliding through a clear blue sky — a symbol of spiritual maturity and courage to rise beyond the nest. |
The Child and the Door
When a child first hears about sex, the reaction is almost always the same:
a mix of shock, disgust, and a little fear.
It feels messy, dangerous, even grotesque —
something adults whisper about but never explain.
This is natural: a child’s body and psyche are not ready yet.
It is as though the soul itself says: “Not yet. This door will open later.”
But imagine a grown adult, decades later,
still covering their ears, still saying:
“No, no, I don’t want to know about that!
I have my coloring books, my bedtime stories —
please don’t disturb me with this other world!”
There is something heartbreaking about that picture —
not because the innocence is bad,
but because it never grew into maturity.
The threshold was meant to be crossed,
and instead a shrine was built in front of it.
When the Path Stops Transforming
I have seen this again and again in the spiritual world.
People who once entered the path with fire in their hearts —
who sang, prayed, fasted, and served with sincerity —
but years later are still exactly where they were.
The mantras are the same.
The dogmas are the same.
The arguments are the same.
The fear of the “outside world” is the same.
It is as if time itself has stopped for them.
The outer sādhana has not stirred anything deeper:
it has not broken their pride,
not expanded their view of life,
not opened their hearts to the full breadth of the Divine.
They repeat the same formulas, police the same clothing rules,
argue about the same petty points of doctrine —
but they are not more fearless, only more anxious.
Not more humble, only more certain that they are right.
Not more compassionate, sometimes even more harsh —
because their whole identity now rests on guarding
the little boundaries of their process.
This is not holiness — this is heartbreak.
The rituals that were meant to ripen them into living saints
have become walls around a nursery.
They were meant to grow into lions,
but they are still clutching a wooden sword,
reciting the same lines,
fighting imaginary demons while their own heart remains unopened.
This is not said with contempt — it is said with grief.
Because the divine path was never meant to keep anyone small.
It was meant to break us open,
to drag us through fire if necessary,
until nothing false remained and the heart burned like the sun.
When the Path Is Alive
A true path does not leave you the same.
It does not just give you a new vocabulary,
or a set of rituals to repeat until the end of your life.
When a path is real, it bears fruit —
not imagined, not just declared,
but visible, undeniable fruit that can be tasted in the very air around you.
Your heart grows softer and wider.
Your mind grows clearer and less afraid.
The walls you have built inside begin to crack.
You become more truthful, even when it costs you.
You become more free, even when it terrifies you.
If years go by and nothing in you has ripened —
if you are still repeating the same formulas,
clutching the same fears,
nursing the same resentments —
that is not a badge of loyalty.
It is a red flag waving in the wind.
And if your teachers, your leaders, your so-called examples
have not been transformed either —
if they are still as anxious, as controlling,
as narrow and brittle as the day they began —
then that is a warning bell at the very gates.
The path is not a museum piece.
It is a living fire.
It exists to burn away what is false
and make you blaze with something so alive
that no one can mistake it for pious habit.
Stepping Beyond the Nursery
If you feel that sting — let it wake you, not shame you.
This is not about blaming yourself for being where you are.
This is about daring to admit that you were meant for more.
The Divine never intended you to sit in the same classroom forever,
copying the same lines year after year.
Even a child, when the time comes, must leave the nursery
and step into a wider world.
Yes, it is frightening.
Yes, it will cost you the comfort of being “safe” and “right.”
But this is what a living path demands.
It will ask you to drop the picture books
and step into the forest where the real initiation happens.
Do not wait for your teachers to give you permission —
some of them are too afraid to cross that line themselves.
Do not wait for the rules to change —
they rarely do.
Instead, listen for the pull inside you,
the one that says: “There must be more than this.”
That voice is not your rebellion —
it is the path itself calling you forward.
The measure of your journey is not how many years you have stayed,
but what it has made of you.
If it has not broken you open,
if it has not taught you to love wider and live freer —
then the next step is still waiting.
Take it.
Even trembling, even alone.
Take it, because this is what you came here for.
May Your Path Be Alive
May you refuse to settle for a path that leaves you small.
May your practice not become a glass box
where you admire your own piety but never breathe fresh air.
May the rituals you keep be living rivers, not stagnant ponds.
May the mantras you chant break you open
rather than lull you back to sleep.
And if the fire comes —
the crisis, the loss, the fierce dismantling —
may you recognize it as grace,
the hand of the Divine pulling you out of the nursery
and into the wide world where your heart must grow.
The measure of the path is not how long you have walked it,
but how much more alive, more tender, more fearless you have become.
May your path stay alive until it takes everything —
and gives you back only the Truth.
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