No One Heals Alone, No One Hurts Alone
“The true is the whole.” — Hegel
One person’s breakthrough is never an isolated event; it ripples through the shared field of human awareness, raising what Hegel calls “the whole.” When skills sharpen in one village, tools improve in the next. When a heart opens in one household, empathy becomes easier everywhere. Consciousness is a single fabric: tug a thread in Karachi or Manchester and the weave tightens or frays across the loom.
War dramatizes the same principle in reverse. Bombs fall on a map, yet the costs travel far beyond the blast radius: supply chains kink, markets tremble, children on other continents have nightmares they cannot name. History confirms the pattern:
“History is not the soil in which happiness grows. The periods of happiness in it are the blank pages of history.” — Hegel
Conflict fills the pages; its debts, both financial and psychological, are paid by generations unborn.
Physics offers a mirror. Current cosmology shows a universe almost perfectly balanced: roughly 68 percent dark energy pressing outward, 27 percent dark matter holding form, and just 5 percent visible matter making stars, planets, and people. Every expansion meets an equal counter‑pull; nothing alters without cost. Personal growth obeys the same arithmetic. Each time awareness widens, an old comfort zone tears. Pain is not a bug in the system; it is the system conserving total energy while allowing form to evolve.
Passion is the fuel for that evolution.
“Nothing great in the world was accomplished without passion.” — Hegel
Passion ignites curiosity, drags hidden assumptions into light, risks embarrassment for the sake of insight. Of course it burns. Growth is flame against habit. Yet only flame forges new tools.
Mystics call the guiding axis of this process Higher Self, Atman, Father, or simply the Witness. Touching it is pure stillness, a glimpse of home. But the glimpse never lasts; identity re‑forms, carrying only the perfume of silence. That repetition is mercy. A permanent union would dissolve the individuality required for experience. So we climb, merge, fall back, and try again—each round adding texture to the soul and, by extension, to the collective mind.
Pain encountered on the climb is not permanent.
“The wounds of the Spirit heal and leave no scars behind.” — Hegel
Spirit absorbs the cut, learns the lesson, then closes clean, leaving only capacity where there was once limitation.
What, then, is the natural state beneath both joy and sorrow? It is simple, silent presence—aware, uncolored, like clear sky before weather. Clouds of bliss or grief drift through, yet the sky itself remains unchanged. Life asks us to recognize this sky while staying present on the ground: paying bills, guiding children, taking out the rubbish. Matter is spirit in slow motion, and dismissal of the physical world only restarts the lesson.
There are no hooks strong enough to hold absolute certainty, yet there are laws we sense. Interconnectedness announces itself in uncanny timing, in ideas arriving simultaneously on opposite sides of the planet, in the way a stranger’s smile can thaw an unseen grief. Such laws cannot be diagrammed once and for all. They must be verified in personal practice. Cultivate a process, trust it, refine it.
The game is compulsory. Better to play wholeheartedly. Feel everything. Create when energy surges. Study pain when it visits. Dance your dance without apology. Each honest step widens the weave for every other dancer. When even one soul grows, humanity grows. When one soul bleeds, humanity bleeds. In the deepest accounting there is only one balance sheet, and every choice—silent, shouted, private, or global—writes its numbers there.
Like it or not, this is one organism. The beauty and the breakdown, the bloom and the rot, are part of the same living field. Growth is not all light. Decay has its role. Shit is as important as the flower. What nourishes the roots is rarely glamorous. But the roots are where the real work happens. To embrace this truth is to stop picking sides within oneself, within humanity. All of it belongs. All of it is part of becoming.
In the experience of nonduality, every peak dissolves back into the plain. Each time the ego thins and awareness blooms into its impersonal, wordless infinity, the bliss is brief: you become pure witness, expanding without edge, then the veil closes and form reasserts itself.
No matter how often consciousness widens or how delicate the ego fabric grows, the duality returns. That is the design. The real work, therefore, is not to chase the summit but to labour here in the valley of matter, paying rent, raising children, repairing what breaks.
It is a task entirely of this world, owing nothing to dogma or ornamental spirituality. We build limits, systems, and rituals only because a body must eat and a society must cohere. Yet if we remember, even faintly, that the infinite still flows beneath every chore, those very limits become channels through which the boundless can keep shining, moment after ordinary moment.
And nonduality today has become just another dogma, another shiny object to chase. But its real work is simple. The unmanifest and the manifest are two sides of the same coin. The spiritual and the material are not separate. This right here, right now is the only reality worth living in because it is not apart from anything. It is already whole.
“Matter is spirit in slow motion.”
“The Ego, the Rocket, and the Berry”
Doubts were strapped to a secondhand rocket
Dreams in socks and fears in the pocket
Launched with a scream toward grown-up skies
But tangled mid-flight in a web of old lies
Thoughts rebooted like Windows ’95
Voices shouted “Decide, survive!”
Neurons rioted, ego danced loud
While kindness wept beneath the crowd
Wholeness was sought but the mirror cracked
Each shard reflected what once was lacked
Positive thinking while others fall?
One heart’s sorrow is the sorrow of all
This dream is shared, this ache not solitary
Yet grace still blooms as a sweet blackberry among wild berries
