🖌️ The Brush and the Painting — Remembering Who We Are
Every remembrance is also a new beginning. The moment we begin to recognize the Light within us, another invitation appears: Can we embrace that Light without turning it into a new identity? Can we allow this remembrance to slowly expand — until the Light we discover within ourselves becomes the Light we recognize in everything?
Because perhaps the deepest truth is not that we are nothing. And it is also not that this little human self is everything. Perhaps the mystery is much more beautiful:
🖌️ We are the brush.
🖼️ We are the painting.
🫳 And somehow, we are also the hand moving the brush.
The Mystery We Keep Returning To
There are moments when something moves through us so naturally that the boundaries between “me” and “something greater” become a little softer.
- A word touches a place within us that we did not know was waiting to be touched.
- A moment of compassion arises where we expected judgment.
- A piece of creativity flows through us, not because we forced it, but because we became open enough to receive what was already there.
- A connection happens that feels bigger than two separate people meeting.
And somewhere inside, we recognize:
“This is more than my small personal story.”
For a moment, we remember. We remember that we are life itself, expressing through a unique form.
🎼 When the Song Finds the Musician
Sometimes it happens through words. Sometimes through a painting. Sometimes through music.
A musician sits down, and suddenly something begins to move through them: a melody appears that feels almost as if it was waiting somewhere quietly, until the right moment to be heard.
Of course, the musician has practiced. The hours of dedication are real. The struggles are real. The instrument is real. And yet, many artists know this mysterious moment: The art feels as if it is both created and received.
It comes through them. But it also comes from them. The musician is not separate from the song. And yet, the musician is not the only source of the song.
Maybe this is the mystery of being human: We are not separate from the Source. But we are also not the entirety of the Source expressed through one single perspective.
We are one unique doorway through which the infinite experiences itself. We are the Divine gently remembering itself through a human experience.
🪟 The Window and the Light
Maybe this is why humility is such a central part of so many spiritual traditions. Not because we are supposed to reject ourselves. Not because we should become smaller, quieter, or less alive.
But because we are invited to remember the whole mystery.
A window does not become humble by pretending it is not there. It does not serve the light by saying: “I am nothing. Please ignore me. The light belongs somewhere else.”
The window is part of the beauty.
Its shape matters. Its colors matter. The way it lets the morning sun enter the room matters. And yet, the window does not need to hold on to the light and say: “This belongs to me.”
It simply allows. It receives. It gives. It participates in the dance.
So maybe humility is the gentle remembering:
“I am a window.
The light shines through me.
I belong to the mystery from which both arise.”
And every window reveals the same light in a different way.
No window needs to become the sun.
No window needs to deny its own beauty.
🌟 Its nature is to
let the light through
in its own unique way. 🌟
🪆 The Layers We Discover Along The Way
It is not a straight line. It is not a staircase where we climb higher and higher until we finally arrive at a place where nothing human remains. Sometimes it feels much more like peeling an onion. Or opening a nesting doll.
We gently remove one layer and think: “Ah. There it is. Now I understand.”
And then life smiles at us and reveals another layer. Another place where we seek approval. Another place where we secretly want to be seen. Another place where fear disguises itself as wisdom.
Another place where the ego takes a beautiful truth and whispers:
“Now use this to become someone.”
😲 When The Ego Meets Infinity
And maybe we can even have compassion for these moments. Because if the ego suddenly hears:
“You are not separate from the Divine.”
…it may understandably get a little excited.
“Wait… What? I am divine? This changes everything!”
And maybe that is not a failure. Maybe that is simply part of being human. The first spark of remembering can sometimes be mixed with the old desire to become bigger, safer, more important.
Because the beautiful truth meets the human need to understand, to hold on, to create an identity. And this is where the mystery begins.
The truth itself is not a problem. The longing to experience it is not a problem. The challenge appears when we try to make something infinite fit inside a limited idea of who we are.
- The brush looks at the painting and whispers: “Look what I created.”
- The wave looks at the ocean and says: “I am the ocean.”
And somehow… both are true. But both are trying to describe the indescribable.
The wave does not need to become ashamed because it discovered the ocean. It does not need to disappear. It does not need to stop moving. It simply needs to remember:
“I have always been the ocean — but the ocean is not only this wave.”
And perhaps the same is true for the brush. The brush does not need to become ashamed because it discovered the hand. It does not need to throw itself away and say: “I am nothing. The hand is everything.”
Nor does it need to believe: “I am the brush and the hand. I painted this masterpiece all by myself.”
It only needs to remember the beautiful mystery:
🪷 Learning Without Judging Ourselves
Sometimes, after glimpsing a deeper truth, we may become frustrated with ourselves. We may think:
- If I already know this… why do I still struggle?
- If I have touched the feeling of oneness… why do I still fall back into the illusion of separation?
- If I know that the Light is not something I need to earn… why do I still search for proof that I am worthy of it?
- If I have touched something beyond the small self… why do I still seek recognition?
- Shouldn’t I be beyond this by now?
But perhaps we forget something very human:
Understanding something is not the same as fully living it. And one does not become more valuable by understanding, nor less valuable by still learning to live it...
A little child can hear an explanation of advanced mathematics and even understand the idea behind it — but that does not mean they can immediately solve complex equations.
And would we ever look at that child with disappointment and say:
“How embarrassing. You should have mastered this by now. There must be something wrong with you.”
We would simply see:
So why do we often forget to offer ourselves the same compassion?
The spiritual journey is not a race toward a future version of ourselves who is somehow more whole, more worthy, or more divine.
We are not walking toward the light.
We are learning to notice
that we have always been walking within it.
There is nothing to achieve.
Nothing to force.
Nothing to hurry.
Only this endless, gentle unfolding:
Understanding.
Forgetting.
Remembering.
Living.
Again and again.
Moment by moment.
🫂 A Gentle Invitation To Remember
While reading these words, you may recognize yourself somewhere in this dance. You may know the feeling of wanting to share something beautiful — and at the same time feeling the fear of being seen.
The quiet voice asking:
"Who am I to share this?"
Or the other voice:
"Look at me. Look what I (...)."
Somewhere within us, I believe, we all know both voices. Because this is part of being human. And the path is not about suddenly becoming someone who no longer has these movements.
It is about meeting them.
With awareness.
With kindness.
With love.
So wherever we are on this journey:
Still learning.
Still forgetting.
Still remembering.
Let us be gentle with ourselves. ❤️
We are not failed masters because we still have layers.
We are not behind because we are still becoming.
We are the universe learning to recognize itself through a human heart — whole in every moment, while playing the ancient game of separation.
❤️💛💚
Yours and mine,
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