𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗛𝗲𝗹𝗹

I do not say that lightly. I say it because I have looked at the world we have built, and I have looked at the answers we already hold in our hands, and the distance between the two is nothing short of hell.

We have access to every ancient text. The Upanishads, the Dhammapada, the Tao Te Ching, the Sermon on the Mount, they are a few taps away on a device that fits in our pocket. The great sages, the awakened ones, the masters who sat in silence until the self dissolved, they laid it all out for us. And what did they say, across every tradition, in every tongue? Love without condition. Serve without expectation. See the divine in every face. The Buddha said to cultivate a boundless heart toward all beings, just as a mother would protect her only child with her life. Jesus said to love your neighbor as yourself, to love even your enemy. The Isha Upanishad says the one who sees all beings in the Self and the Self in all beings hates no one. The answer could not be clearer. It has been shouted from every mountaintop for thousands of years.

And yet.

We hate each other. We draw lines on a map and kill to defend them. We hoard resources while children starve. We argue over the correct name of God while ignoring the God in the person standing right in front of us. We have turned religion, a word that means to bind back together, into the sharpest instrument of division. Christian against Muslim, Hindu against Sikh, believer against atheist. We fight over sexual preference as though loving another human being were a crime. We build identities out of our differences and then defend those identities to the death. This is hell. Not a place we go after we die, but a condition we have created here, now, with full knowledge of a better way.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗢𝗻𝗲 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗘𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗧𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗔𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗲𝘀 𝗢𝗻

What fascinates me, and what breaks my heart, is how unified the great teachings actually are. Strip away the ritual, the cultural wrapping, the politics, and you find the same core beneath every one.

From the Buddha:

𝐻𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑐𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑏𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑑, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒; 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑒.
— 𝐷ℎ𝑎𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑑𝑎 1.5

From Jesus:

𝐴 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝐼 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟: 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟.
— 𝐽𝑜ℎ𝑛 13:34

From the Bhagavad Gita, describing one who is truly established in wisdom:

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑢𝑝𝑜𝑛 𝑎 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑎ℎ𝑚𝑖𝑛, 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑤, 𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑝ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑡, 𝑎 𝑑𝑜𝑔, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑛 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑒𝑠ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑑𝑜𝑔𝑠.
— 𝐵ℎ𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑑 𝐺𝑖𝑡𝑎 5.18

From Lao Tzu:

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑥𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑; ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑤𝑛. 𝐻𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑; ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠.
— 𝑇𝑎𝑜 𝑇𝑒 𝐶ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 49

From the Isha Upanishad:

𝐻𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠, ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑛𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒.
— 𝐼𝑠ℎ𝑎 𝑈𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑 6

Ramakrishna, the great mystic of 19th century Bengal, spent years practicing Christianity, Islam, and various Hindu paths. His conclusion?

𝐺𝑜𝑑 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑝𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑠. 𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑒. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑓. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑦 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑠 𝑜𝑟 𝑏𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑠 𝑜𝑟 𝑏𝑦 𝑏𝑎𝑚𝑏𝑜𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑝𝑠 𝑜𝑟 𝑏𝑦 𝑎 𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑐𝑙𝑖𝑚𝑏 𝑢𝑝 𝑏𝑦 𝑎 𝑏𝑎𝑚𝑏𝑜𝑜 𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑒.

The same God, the same love, the same call to dissolve the ego and serve others. This is not hidden knowledge. It is the most published, most translated, most accessible wisdom in human history. And still we choose hell.

𝗠𝘆 𝗢𝘄𝗻 𝗪𝗮𝗹𝗸 𝗧𝗵𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝗛𝗲𝗹𝗹

I am not standing above any of this. I am not the smartest man. I dropped out of high school and got my GED. I have battled substance abuse. I have spent the majority of my life behind a computer screen, playing video games, escaping into worlds that did not ask anything of me. I have chased selfish desires, tried to capture fleeting feelings just to make it through the day. I have done things I am genuinely embarrassed to remember. I am not a monk. I am not morally or ethically superior to anyone.

But there was always a pull. I remember being asked as a child what I wanted to do when I grew up, and I said I wanted to help people. Little did I know that would set my life on a trajectory I still do not fully understand.

I started with Buddhism. Then Hinduism. I explored Christianity, Islam, Judaism. I read the scriptures of each with the same question burning in me: What is real? After years of searching, I came to a conclusion I did not expect, God is one. The differences are in language, culture, and ego, not in the thing itself. Then I discovered Advaita Vedanta through a teacher in India, and it confirmed everything I had found on my own. Non-duality. Not the gimmicky new-age concept that gets misquoted on social media, but the realization of those who sat with themselves long enough and mastered the pull of the senses. They saw, directly, that there is no boundary, no barrier. All exists within the stratum of Brahman. Brahman is just a word to describe something indescribable, the essence of all reality.

Ramakrishna walked this same path before me. He explored religion after religion, practiced each one with total sincerity, and every single one led him to the same shore. God is one. We fight over the name, the practice, the form. Why? To have some exclusivity over God. To have the correct path, the correct deity, the correct identity. It is the ego. It always was.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗜-𝗠𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗿

The Sanskrit word for it is ahamkara. The I-maker. It is not the ego in the modern therapeutic sense, not a bundle of insecurities. It is the very function of the mind that claims experience as "mine." It takes a fleeting thought and says, "I thought it." It takes a spiritual insight and says, "I am awake." It takes the name of God and says, "My God is the true God, and yours is false."

Shankara, in the Vivekachudamani, says it plainly:

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑔𝑜 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑠𝑎𝑟𝑎. 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑐𝑢𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑠.

The I-maker is what divides. It is what builds walls between "my religion" and "your religion," between "my country" and "your country," between "my identity" and "your identity." It wants to be important, to be in the know, to be powerful, to survive. And it will twist even the highest spiritual teachings into fuel for itself.

I see this so clearly now that sometimes I just laugh. I read texts like the Ashtavakra Gita or Shankara's Crown Jewel of Discernment, and I laugh, not at anyone else, but at my own ego. The wanting to be someone. The wanting to have the secret knowledge. The wanting to be right. It is all the I-maker, doing what it does. And I have watched it play out on a global scale. We fight over the name of God because the I-maker needs its God to be the correct one. It cannot bear to dissolve into something that includes everyone.

Lao Tzu opens the Tao Te Ching with a warning that should be printed on every church door and every Facebook feed:

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑇𝑎𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑇𝑎𝑜. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒.

The moment we name it and claim it, we have lost it. The very act of packaging the divine into a concept the mind can own is a departure from the divine itself. And yet the world is a frenzy of naming and claiming. My path. My truth. My God. The I-maker feasts on names because it can collect them. It can say, "I am this, I believe that, I belong here." And the belonging always comes at the cost of excluding someone else.

𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗪𝗲 𝗔𝗿𝗲 𝗗𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗢𝘂𝗿 𝗧𝗶𝗺𝗲

Here is the tragedy. We have been given a higher faculty, the ability to experience and question our own existence. We do not even know if animals share this capacity, but we know this: we can make choices that go against our own survival. We can choose to sacrifice. We can choose to love someone we do not understand. We can choose to serve someone who will never repay us. This is our birthright, and we squander it daily.

Most of us are stuck chasing selfish desires that only benefit our own survival or comfort. We consume. We scroll. We distract ourselves with entertainment and ambition and the endless pursuit of a feeling that never lasts. I know this because I have lived it. I have wasted so much of my life on video games, on chasing pleasures, on trying to capture something to make it through the day. I am honestly embarrassed at the time I have lost and the actions I have taken.

But I have this breath. This moment. However much time is left in my life, I can still do what I feel called to do. Call it dharma. And I will do it with karma yoga, no attachment to the outcome, only the doing itself, because it is what I am here to do. The Bhagavad Gita states this as a law of action:

𝑌𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑏𝑒𝑑 𝑑𝑢𝑡𝑦, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠. 𝑁𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑑𝑢𝑡𝑦.
— 𝐵ℎ𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑑 𝐺𝑖𝑡𝑎 2.47

We do the work. We release the result. This is the only way to serve without the I-maker turning service into another identity.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗡𝗲𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗥𝗲𝗻𝘂𝗻𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻

I really feel what Shankara and the great monks speak of when they talk about renunciation. Not necessarily leaving the world and living in a cave, though I understand the impulse, but an inner renunciation. Until we can be free of worldly attachment, how can we be sure we are not acting out some selfish desire or another? How can I know that my urge to help is not just another way for the I-maker to feel important?

Jesus addressed this directly:

𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑜𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑡, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑜𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑦 𝑠𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡.
— 𝑀𝑎𝑡𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑤 16:25

The life that must be lost is not your physical existence. It is the life of the I-maker. The one who clings, who owns, who defends. When that is surrendered, what remains is something far more real. Unconditional love is not a feeling we generate; it is what is left when the I-maker stops filtering everything through "What does this mean for me?"

This is not a teaching of weakness. It is the most demanding discipline there is. To look at another person, any person, and see them the way a mother sees her only child. To look at the one who voted against you, the one who worships differently, the one whose very existence challenges your worldview, and to see no difference. This is the work of a lifetime. It is also the only work that matters.

𝗔 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱 𝗪𝗲 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗕𝘂𝗶𝗹𝗱

We have the world at our fingertips. We have the ability to impact and transform the world for future generations. We have every scripture, every teaching, every example of what a realized human being looks like. We have Ramakrishna, who in the 1800s was already demonstrating what the world desperately needs now, that God is one, that all paths lead to the same summit, that love is the only law. We have Vivekananda, who said:

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒.

We have the Buddha, the Christ, the Upanishads, the Tao. The wisdom is not hidden. The instructions are not obscure. They are free. They always were. The problem is not that we do not know. The problem is that we do not want to let go of the I-maker long enough to live what we know.

I am not a perfect adherent. I am not a monk. I am someone who has spent more time failing than succeeding, more time lost than found. But I have concluded my search, and what I found is so simple I almost missed it. All is one. Love without condition. Serve without attachment. See the Self in every being. The rest is commentary.

I wake up each morning and read these ancient scriptures. I compile them. I study them. I am working on a project to modernize these texts, to render their messages in the language of today, so that they might reach people who would never open an Upanishad. I want to have an impact on this world for the positive. It is not about me. It is about my children, and all children. What kind of world am I creating? Will I be just another consumer who lives, consumes, and dies, contributing nothing to the whole of humanity?

I refuse. I will spend whatever time I have left doing what I feel I was called to do. And I will do it without attachment to the outcome, because the doing itself is the worship. This world can be heaven. The answer is already in our hands. The only question is whether we will finally put down the I-maker long enough to live it.

𝐴𝑠 𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑘 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑐𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑎 𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠.
— 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝑢𝑑𝑑ℎ𝑎, 𝑀𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑎 𝑆𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑎