As I have been writing these posts, I’ve realized I may take a little time off to think more deeply about where to go next. With over 100 posts already written, it feels like a good time to pause and reflect.

Some of you might get the idea that I am discouraging being part of a religious organization. I am not. What I have been saying is that it is not a requirement. It can be beneficial for fellowship with others, but it could also pull you away from seeking deeper understanding. What is important, in my opinion, is a relationship with our Creator.

Over the years, I have held many different ideas about who or what I am. The one thing I do know is that I exist, I have thoughts, I have feelings, I have compassion for others, and I also have a deep compassion for animals. I believe we are meant to care for what we have been entrusted with, especially our families. When the bible states that man is to take dominion and rule over the earth, it really means to care for it, not be a dictator.

I also know that many stories predate the Bible and share similar themes. The names may differ, but the patterns are often familiar. Over time, I’ve come across ideas and accounts suggesting that our history may be more complex than we’ve been taught—ranging from ancient structures that are difficult to explain, to questions about how humanity developed.

I don’t claim to fully understand these things, but they have led me to believe that there is more to our story than we may realize. To me, all of this still points back to a guiding source—what I would call God—not necessarily as always described, but as the origin of all things.

The way I have come to understand creation is something I still hold with an open hand. One way I’ve thought about it is this: what we call the Big Bang may have been the beginning of God expressing and experiencing creation. Not in a literal human sense, but as a source unfolding into what we now see as the universe.

From that perspective, it has made sense to me that we are, in some way, expressions of that source—like small parts of something much greater. We live, experience, and grow, and in doing so, something larger is also being experienced.

That doesn’t make us God, but it may mean we are connected more deeply than we often realize.

Some teachings say we are God ourselves. I’ve never quite been able to accept that fully. It makes more sense to me that we are part of something greater—like a drop from a very large ocean. Connected, but not the whole. It would be similar to a rock saying it’s the Earth. That understanding has helped me keep both a sense of connection and a sense of humility.

As I have come to believe, we are souls in a sense, finding our way back home. The nice thing is that we have been given three things: individuality, free will, and a desire to worship the Creator. These can bring both clarity and confusion. This allows us to do good or do harm. If we can align ourselves with what is right, the journey back may be smoother.

Some believe some souls will never return. That is something that may be debated for a long time. I don’t claim to know the answer.

At some point in our history, I believe a higher expression of that source entered into our world in a very direct way. Christ came not only as someone to believe in, but as someone to observe and learn from.

From my understanding, his life showed us what is possible and reminded us of what we may have forgotten. It was not an easy path, and those who held power within the belief systems of the time resisted that message.

There is still much confusion about what part we are to play in all of this. Are we damaged, or are we souls who have simply forgotten who we are? Did Christ come as a sacrifice, a teacher, or perhaps both? These are questions each of us must come to terms with in our own way.

This is something I have wrestled with. I’ve heard people say they have accepted Christ as their savior, yet still see themselves as unworthy—as if they are meant to remain low. That has never fully sat right with me.

My understanding has become that Christ came not to remind us of our worthlessness, but to remind us of our value—that we may have simply forgotten.

In my earlier years, I held very firm beliefs. If something was not in the Bible, I did not consider it to be true. Over time, I found myself on what I would call a “church roundabout,” visiting different churches over a period of years. I valued the people and built good relationships with many pastors, and I still do.

What I found, though, was that each had their own interpretation. There are said to be over 45,000 different Christian denominations in the world today. That alone made me pause and reflect. If the Bible is our guide, how can there be so many different understandings?

That question stayed with me.

As you can see, I have been on a long journey of wanting to know what is true—not just accepting what I am told, but trying to understand it for myself. After all, a lot is riding on this. We each have this decision to make, as we are all on our own individual journeys, in whatever way we deem important.

I am also in the process of writing an autobiography for my children. It is something I will continue to build as memories come to me, and it will remain private for my family. I often wish more of those before us had done the same, as we are usually left with only bits and pieces of their lives.

As for future posts, I am not sure exactly what that will look like. They may continue as they have, or I may take a little time between them. Only time will tell.

My hope is not that you agree with everything I have written, but that you take the time to think, to question, and to seek understanding for yourself.

May your journey in this life be prosperous in all ways,

Warren

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In my 75 years, I’ve seen a lot of change. Shortly before I was born, much of the farming was still done with horses. Today, tractors with several hundred horsepower are common. What once took long days of hard physical labor can now be done in a fraction of the time. Technology is growing at a pace that feels different than anything before it. With the advent of AI, we can now do calculations in seconds that once took hours, days, or even longer. There is no doubt that much of what people do for work will continue to change. Where that ultimately leads, I don’t know. But the question I keep coming back to is this—has any of it made us happier?

We produce more than enough food to feed the world, yet many still go without. The issue is not always supply, but distribution and the ability to afford what is available. Food banks help, but much of what is provided is highly processed, designed more for storage than for health. In solving one problem, we may have quietly created another.

What does it actually take to be happy? It seems we are built to improve things, to fix, to build, to make life easier. I have lived much of my life through projects—always working toward something better. But I’ve noticed something over the years. Once the project is done and life becomes easier, there is often a sense of letdown. Maybe even boredom. It makes me wonder if making life easier was ever really the point. Perhaps it was the effort, the purpose, and the engagement along the way that mattered more.

A simple life might be closer to the answer than we think. A garden in the backyard. Children getting dirt on their hands. Learning how food is grown, not just bought. There was a time when families worked side by side, not because it was ideal, but because it was necessary. In that necessity, something else was built—connection, responsibility, and a shared sense of purpose. Today, much of that has been handed off to systems and institutions. Schools do what they can, but they don’t replace the quiet lessons learned by working alongside a parent.

I still remember working with my dad. My brother and I were young, but we wanted to help. When he came back from the mill with feed, we would try to pull the bags toward the edge of the truck so he could carry them into the barn. It wasn’t much, but to us it meant something. We felt part of it. Looking back, those moments carried more value than we probably realized at the time.

We have seen the family farm largely replaced by large-scale production. In many ways, it is more efficient. But it also changed how we live and how we relate to one another. Now we are starting to see some people move back in the other direction—toward homesteading, growing their own food, and spending more time together as a family. It may not look the same as it once did, but the desire behind it feels familiar.

Somewhere along the way, life became more convenient, but also more disconnected. There was a time when one income could support a family. Over time, that shifted, and now in many households, both parents work just to keep up. That change didn’t just affect finances—it changed the rhythm of family life, often in ways we are still trying to understand.

I don’t claim to have the answers. Progress has brought many good things, and I would not want to give all of them up. But I do think it is worth asking what we may have lost in the process. Not everything that makes life easier makes it better.

Maybe happiness isn’t found in how much we can produce or how efficient we can become. Maybe it’s found in being part of something—working toward something that matters, alongside people who matter.

And maybe the question isn’t how far we’ve come, but whether we’ve stayed connected to what mattered in the first place.

Maybe the things we’re searching for were never ahead of us at all—but behind us, in the way we once lived, worked, and showed up for each other.

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CHAPTER 18 — WHAT IS THE ROLE OF THE BODY IN SPIRITUAL AWAKENING?

The body is not the opposite of the spirit. It is spirit-informed. The body is the only way that the soul can experience emotion and is able to be tested. Emotion is stored in the body and is carried from this life into the next unless it is cleared. Clearing in the present life is easier, yet typically, we do not think that. So many come into their present life with baggage they do not understand. They do things or feel things they do not understand. Healing can come, but usually help is needed that traditional psychology does not always have answers for.

The body holds memory: trauma, joy, contraction, release. Healing often begins not with thinking, but with feeling.

The body is where learning becomes conscious. It is a very important process for the growth and understanding that we came here to learn.

Sensitivities, tensions, desires, and limits can mirror the soul’s curriculum—design, not punishment.

Breath is the bridge between sky and earth.

Every conscious breath can recalibrate the nervous system and return you to embodiment.

The goal is not to escape the body, but to embody light:

in-body coherence—awake, present, and kind without hardening.

Treat the body as an instrument: keep it tuned, not worshiped. As the bible states, seek and you will find the answers you are looking for. Don’t let anyone tell you that you are weak or not worth much. You do not know how much power over your life that you really have. It has been hidden from you, and all you have to do is believe this and act accordingly. Christ said these things I do so shall you and much more than this. The key thing is to believe and act on it.

CHAPTER 19 — WHAT IS DEATHLESS PRESENCE, AND HOW CAN IT BE FELT WHILE ALIVE?

There is a space within you that was never born and can never die.

Some call it awareness, the witness, I AM, Source spark, God essence.

You cannot fully understand it. You can only be it. Stillness reveals it.

You can experience it in flashes:

nature, meditation, the edge of sleep, grief, awe, unconditional love.

In those moments, the story-self steps aside and something vast and quiet emerges.

It is hard to stay there because the mind categorizes and grasps. But deathless presence is not here to destroy the ego—only to hold it in peace.

To taste it:

Sit. Breathe. Let the next breath come on its own.

Ask silently: Before this thought, what am I?

Don’t answer. Wait. Feel the silence that watches.

Return often. It is not far.

CHAPTER 20 — HOW CAN I SERVE THE WHOLE WITHOUT LOSING MYSELF?

True service is never depleted. It is overflowing.

Service must begin with self-balance and a distinct heart felt compassion for others.

Ask:

Am I giving because I must, or because I can and want to.

Am I acting from the heart, or from obligation?

Do I collapse when my service is not received?

Serve from overflow, not emptiness.

When the center is nourished—rest, joy, solitude, beauty, truth—what spills over is grace, not strain.

Watch for the savior reflex:

“If I don’t help, they will be lost.”

“If I suffer for them, they’ll be healed.”

You are not here to save anyone. You are here to stand clearly enough that others remember how to save themselves.

True service is listening, not leading.

Sometimes the greatest service is unconditional presence.

Boundaries are sacred containers.

Your yes has power only when your no is honored.

CHAPTER 21 — A CLOSING THAT IS ALSO A BEGINNING

If you’ve made it here, you may not feel like the same person who first began—not because you gained something, but because you shed something: weight, illusion, and the veils that kept you from hearing your true tone.

This booklet was never meant to give answers. It was meant to mirror something within you—to help you remember what was never lost.

You are not becoming light. You are remembering that you have always been made of it.

Many go through life without ever exploring these questions. It is like owning something powerful but never truly engaging it—never discovering what it was capable of. Christ pointed toward that potential, but it is up to each of us to stretch gently toward our own edges.

We are not alone, and never have been.

Every act of presence ripples into futures unseen. Quiet awakenings matter.

A few remembrances:

You are not behind.
You are not broken.
You are not too late.
You are not here by accident.

If you ever forget, return to the breath.
If you feel lost, touch the stillness beneath thought.
If you feel small, place your hand over your heart and listen.

The benediction:

May you walk in silence deeper than fear.
May you see with eyes cleansed by wonder.
May your no be as sacred as your yes.
May you forgive without forgetting your worth.
May your presence soften those who carry pain.
May beauty interrupt your mind often.
May your words be shaped by love’s original tone—not to convince, but to remind.

This is not the end.

This is the tuning from seeker to remembrancer.
From question to quiet knowing.
From path to presence.

There is more I could explore—especially around our human story and where we come from. Perhaps I will find the courage to write about that more fully someday. For now, it is enough to say that when certain pieces begin to come together, life can start to make a different kind of sense.

Your life carries the same inherent worth as any other.

With love,
Warren

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CHAPTER 15 — HOW DO I STAY IN BALANCE WHEN THE WORLD FEELS CHAOTIC?

The world can feel like a storm. How do we stay in balance—not by escaping the world, but by becoming whole within it?

Resonance or balance feels like calm clarity, spacious awareness, love without grasping, and truth that doesn’t need defense.

Step one: Withdraw from the distraction on purpose.

Protect your field like sacred ground. Turn off the feed. Walk in nature. Breathe in silence. This is not ignorance; it is hygiene.

Step two: Choose what you amplify.

You are an amplifier. Ask:

Am I repeating fear or transmuting it?

Am I reacting or responding?

Am I reinforcing division or embodying soundness?

Step three: Practice sacred intervals of return.

Simple daily resets:

• A breath before checking the phone

• A silent walk without input

• A tone check-in: reaction or clarity?

• A pause before speaking: true, kind, needed?

Step four: Stay soft without becoming fragile.

Be clear without being cruel. Set boundaries without closing. Stay awake without becoming aggressive.

The soft weed bends in the storm and survives where the stiff tree breaks.

You are not here to escape the storm. You are here to be a lighthouse within it.

CHAPTER 16 — HOW DO I KNOW IF I’M ON THE RIGHT PATH?

The soul’s path is not a tightrope; it’s a spiral. It’s a song. Its one that Christ paved the way for.

There is not one distinct path within the context of our life. Life is less like a maze with one solution and more like a melody you improvise from a core tone. We each have our own gifting to bring to others.

Your path may not feel grand, but it is still sacred.

Some souls are here to be a calm presence, a seed planter through kindness, a bringer of peace in unseen spaces.

You recognize alignment by inner tone:

Clarity even in challenges.

Energy that replenishes more than drains.

Steps that feel light rather than forced.

Less fear, comparison, and guilt.

When you feel off-path, don’t panic. Ask:

What am I avoiding?

What am I doing out of fear or habit, not love?

Where am I betraying my truth to fit a story?

Then return—gently. The path strengthens each time you remember your way back.

CHAPTER 17 — WHAT IS THE ROLE OF SACRED RELATIONSHIPS IN AWAKENING?

We were not meant to remember alone. Relationships can mirror us into deeper truth.

A sacred relationship is not perfect or always peaceful. It amplifies resonance, reveals shadow, invites remembering, and honors sovereignty.

Sacred relationships are mirrors, not finishing lines.

They can bring triggers and tension—not necessarily as a sign to flee, but as invitations to heal together or apart with consciousness.

Beware romanticizing the “twin flame” idea if it is used to justify harm or avoid accountability. In the context of what is called a twin flame, it is not the person that meshes with you. A twin flame is one that challenges you to see yourself or a reflection that is not usually nice to see as it brings up areas in your life that need work.

A true sacred union can challenge you, but it will not diminish dignity.

You can love deeply and still let go. A sacred relationship might be differant than what is called a twin flame. A twin flame can burn you to bring about change.

Some sacred relationships are brief but lifelong in impact. The gift is not the other person; it is what awakens within you through them.

Ask:

Does this connection deepen self-awareness?

Do we grow in honesty?

Do I feel free and seen?

Can I remain in balance while staying connected?

If not, release with grace when the time is right.

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CHAPTER 12 — WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO FORGIVE TRULY?

Forgiveness is often spoken of and often misunderstood. It is not excusing harm, denying your wound, or trusting too soon.

Real forgiveness does not erase truth. It frees you from carrying the weight daily.

Forgiveness releases the need for retribution.

Holding pain binds you to the one who hurt you and shapes your breath, your energy, your future.

Forgiveness is not forgetting. It is remembering you are more than what happened to you.

Forgiveness is reclaiming power:

“You no longer get to shape my energy.”

“I will not stay in resonance with this pain.”

You know you’ve forgiven when you no longer replay it with anger, no longer wish harm, and can breathe in peace when you think of them.

Forgiveness is a path you keep choosing—step by step.

Forgive anyway—not for their sake, but because your peace is worth it.

CHAPTER 13 — WHAT IS LOVE, TRULY?

Love is the most used and most misunderstood word.

Love is not merely an emotion. Emotions rise and fall; love is the field beneath all feelings.

The opposite of love is not hate; it is fear. Hate is a child of fear.

When fear enters, love distorts into clinging, fixing, pleasing, and performing.

Love is not transactional.

True love does not keep score, withhold presence, or demand conformity. Love holds space. Love sees essence through distortion. Love remains, even when form changes.

Boundaries are not the absence of love. They can be love’s clarity.

When people encounter God in profound ways, they often describe love—deep, knowing, transformative love that melts shame. That love lives in you already.

You recognize true love not by fireworks but by calm, presence, safety, and clarity.

Love isn’t something you chase. It’s what you become.

CHAPTER 14 — WHAT IS MY PURPOSE, REALLY?

Purpose is not a job title. Roles change.

Purpose is the tone you carry into whatever you do.

Think of the universe as a great symphony. Each soul is a distinct note.

Your purpose is to resonate your note so clearly that the whole field becomes more harmonious because of your presence.

If you don’t know your purpose, ask:

What makes me feel alive—deeply alive?

What opens others around me?

What pain have I endured that wants to become compassion?

Purpose evolves. Resonance deepens.

And your very existence is purpose. Even stillness can be service when it is a coherent presence.

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CHAPTER 10 — What happens after this life?

No one can describe that final moment fully. But many who have come close speak of peace rather than fear. You may find that you are not lost—but returning to something deeply familiar. Hospice nurses, I have spoken to have many heartfelt stories to tell, as did my aunt, who sat next to my grandmother at the time she passed on.

Death is, as I believe, not the end; it is more like a transition of frequency or a doorway we step through.

Like a plucked string whose vibration continues beyond what we can hear, the soul shifts beyond the dense weight of this realm. Death is more like a remembering—a return to the field from which you came.

Your soul, some believe, has possibly known this or something like it before.

The body is new. The name is new. The personality is new. But the witness behind your eyes—the tone of your being—has possibly traveled through many shapes as the soul is said to be eternal.

Do we choose, in a certain type of way, to return?

From personality, it can feel like fate; from the soul, it can feel like calling. Return can be about completing a lesson, embodying a frequency, or stabilizing a field. Not punishment—participation.

What carries over?

Not job, fame, wealth, or even the memory. What endures is the capacity to love, wisdom, and resonance.

Should we fear death?

No. But we should honor it. One day, when the last breath leaves your lips, you will not be lost. You will be home.

CHAPTER 11 — IF GOD IS WITHIN EVERYONE, WHY DO SOME PEOPLE CAUSE SO MUCH HARM?

If the divine lives in each of us, why do some lie, destroy, and harm without remorse?

The divine is within everyone, but not everyone remembers. Presence can be hidden behind layers of trauma, fear, power-seeking, and distortion.

To say “God is within all” is not the same as saying “all live from God-awareness.” One is origin; the other is choice.

Free will means some will forget—sometimes deeply. Compassion is not the same as condoning, and justice must walk with wisdom.

Evil is not a thing; it is profound resonance distortion—fear replacing love, power replacing connection, separation hollowing identity.

Sometimes the most loving thing is to set a boundary while still holding the truth: “This too is a soul on a long, slow journey home.”

Your job is not to fix everyone. Your job is to stay in resonance—acting without becoming what you resist, remember what you resist persists.

Those who cause harm carry their dissonance by the natural mirror of life. No one escapes the mirror.

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CHAPTER 9 — IS HEAVEN A PLACE, OR A STATE OF BEING?

Many imagine heaven as a distant paradise and a reward after death. But Jesus spoke of the kingdom as within and at hand—an invitation to present-moment realization.

Heaven is not only a location; it is also a frequency or dimension.

It is not something we earn later. It is something we allow now.

A quiet sunrise. A genuine act of kindness. The pause before reacting. A heart that chooses peace when it could choose conflict.

“On earth as it is in heaven” is not only a prayer—it is a possibility of alignment, right here.

Many have touched it without ever leaving their daily lives.

And just as we can fall into that state, we can step out of it

Like tuning a radio, you experience what you are aligned with. Heaven is accessed through forgiveness, love without condition, and stillness without grasping.

Can Earth hold heaven?

Yes—in small moments of presence. “On earth as it is in heaven” can be a now-alignment.

Hell, likewise, is not necessarily a pit of punishment. It can be an inner state of dissonance: fear, hate, shame, and separation. The invitation is always open: return to stillness, return to love, return home.

Death does not create heaven; remembrance does.

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Chapter 7- Saving and what does it mean?

For thousands of years, humanity has looked up and whispered, “Please save us.” From suffering, from death, from the unknown, and often from ourselves. Across cultures, the pattern appears again and again—a rescuer, a sacrifice, a hero. That longing is not wrong. But over time, it can quietly turn into a kind of dependency.

This is not a rejection of Christ—it is an attempt to understand more deeply what he was pointing us toward. It is my understanding that he came to teach us how to walk in his footsteps and to remember that we are already whole.

The problem is not the Savior; it is the smallness we place on ourselves. When we believe someone else must save us, we can begin to step back from our own sacred responsibility. Life becomes something we wait on instead of something we participate in. At some point, what began as a relationship can shift into something closer to spiritual outsourcing.

Jesus came to awaken the sleeping ones. His miracles were not magic tricks; they were mirrors. He revealed inheritance, not superiority. He pointed to what already exists within us, not something forever out of reach.

Many say a salvation prayer, yet never experience a true change of heart. It is the change of heart that matters—whether it comes in stillness, in a quiet realization, or in a moment that reshapes how we see everything.

Keep Yeshua close. Honor his love. Feel his presence. But let go of the idea that you need him to earn divine favor. You are already held in God’s favor. You are already loved.

He did not come to stand between you and God. He came to stand with you and say, “This love is already yours. Let’s walk in it together.”

Chapter 8 - Why do bad things happen?

If God is real and God is love, why do children suffer? Why do the innocent die? Why does pain touch everyone?

At its core, this is a question about trust. Let’s look at it with a little space for deeper remembering.

Life was never meant to be without pain. Birth and death, joy and grief, union and loss are all part of becoming. Pain is not proof that God is absent. Sometimes, pain stretches the soul into a new shape.

Love does not control; it liberates. Love that controls becomes coercion. Choice is real. Consequences unfold. Growth emerges from within.

Even in dark moments, compassion, transformation, and awakening can arise—not because suffering was sent as punishment, but because something within us responds.

God is not the storm; God is the stillness within it—not always in the rescue, but often in the steadiness that remains within the chaos.

We remember through contrast. Without darkness, would we understand light?

And so the question begins to shift.

What does this moment invite me to remember? How might I bring love into it? What deeper strength is being formed through this fire?

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CHAPTER 4 — IF THE KINGDOM IS WITHIN YOU, WHY DO WE KEEP LOOKING OUTSIDE?

Many were taught that God lives “out there”—in a church, in the sky, in a distant realm.

But Jesus said: “The kingdom of God is within you.” (Luke 17:21)

We search temples, books, rituals, and leaders because we forgot how to trust the stillness inside. Sometimes we fear silence. Sometimes we feel unworthy. Sometimes we simply don’t know where to look.

But the presence you long for has never been separate from your breath. You’re not waiting for God to arrive. You’re learning to notice the place God never left.

You are the living temple.

Jesus spoke of the temple and, by extension, of the body. You don’t need stained glass to be close to the sacred. You need the courage to enter your own being without fear.

If you feel God more strongly in church, then by all means attend, besides we do need fellowship with others too, but it might not just need to be in a traditional building. If you begin to believe you absolutely need a building, a leader, or a ritual to be with God, pause and ask:

What do I believe I’m missing?

What if I already carry it?

What if God is whispering, not thundering?

You are the sanctuary now—imperfect, yes, but sacred.

CHAPTER 5 — WHAT IS SIN, REALLY, AND IS GOD KEEPING SCORE?

Many of us were taught that sin meant breaking rules, making God angry, and deserving punishment. But love doesn’t keep score.

Sin is not primarily about rule-breaking. It is about losing connection—and forgetting who you are: a son or daughter of the living Source.

The ancient meaning of sin.

The Greek word hamartia means “to miss the mark.” It suggests misalignment, not condemnation.

Sin becomes anything that disconnects you from love, truth, and stillness—because your soul has drifted out of tune.

Repentance is not groveling; it’s turning back around.

The Hebrew teshuvah means “to return.” Return to truth, wholeness, and the frequency you forgot. The invitation is not shameful. It is: come home.

Sin is not the problem. Forgetting is.

The cure is not sacrifice. It is remembrance and return.

CHAPTER 6 — DOES GOD EVER GET ANGRY?

Many of us grew up with a version of God that seemed moody—loving one day, furious the next. But that story doesn’t match the deeper current of love.

Often, “anger” language in ancient texts describes the felt experience of disconnection—like the sun hidden by clouds. The sun hasn’t moved; our perception has changed.

Perfect love does not need human-style rage. When consequences unfold (touch fire and you burn), it is not God punishing. It is the mirror of cause and effect.

If you’ve ever been afraid of God… you’re not broken. You were taught fear too early.

You have permission to release fear, stop tiptoeing, and stop apologizing for being human.

The “anger” of God was never about you failing. It was the ache of love waiting to be remembered again. God is really not an old man in the sky. God is spirit who is also manifesting in you and me (made in his image) plus all of creation to experience all things good and bad. If you want to see the face of God, just look at everyone around you. We are ment to be the arms and legs of God individualized, its just to bad that many do not know this and have chosen a path of distortion and are full of mostly self inflicted pain and anger and a need to control others. When the bible speaks of dark forces in this world it is true and this force has been with us for a very long time. Controlling forces do not want you knowing the truth because if you did they would loose control over you. Do you really think that all the riots etc. taking place in the world today are from just people being people, or people being manipulated?

The Bible holds much truth but some of it has had a bit of twisting of the original meanings depending on the understanding of the time along with some other reasons as well. At some point I might get into this more but there is a lot of built up emotion in those who look at the bible as the literal word of God. People need to do their own searching and when doing this try and come from a place of neutrality in what you seek or you will not see it as clearly. Seek and you will find if done with an open mind or if not, then just treat others as you would like to be treated and move on with your life while not policing “judging” others.

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CHAPTER 2 — DID JESUS COME TO START A RELIGION, OR TO SHOW US THE PATH TO BE WHOLE?

Most people know the name, Jesus. Some use his Hebrew name, Yeshua. Some call him Lord, some Teacher. Others simply feel something stir when they hear his story. In this writing, I use either the name Jesus or Yeshu, depending on the people I am around.

In my humble opinion, Jesus didn’t come to start a religion. He came to dissolve the distance between God and humanity. And for that, the world gave him a cross. Even so, the resonance he carried could not be broken.

He didn’t say, “Worship me.”

He said, “Follow me.”

Read his words slowly, beyond fear and noise, and something becomes clear. He never demanded worship. He invited remembrance:

“You are the light of the world.”

“The kingdom of God is within you.”

“You will do greater things than I have.”He didn’t say you are worthless and weak. In the state most people are in is a state where they have forgotten who and what they really are.

In our present state of unknowing, we have placed ourselves in a state of feeling helpless, and we need to grow out of it as we have more control over our situations than we are taught.

We sit around hoping someone will lift us out of this despair, when it’s us and only us who have been given the power to overcome. Sometimes we need to go through things for some presently unknown reason, and sometimes it’s a test for us to overcome something we allowed in.

He broke the rules to reveal the truth beneath them. We think we can’t do the same to get to the truth.

He healed on the Sabbath. He touched the untouchable. He ate with the outcast. He forgave before anyone asked.

He didn’t throw away the law—he revealed its purpose. The law was meant to serve, not control.

His death was a pattern to follow: pick up your cross and follow me! No matter what you are going through, seek to be like who you are made in the image of.

Jesus didn’t die because God demanded it. He died because love met fear head-on and did not flinch. Love has more power than death has.

He showed: you can move through betrayal, suffering, even death, and remain in love. You can lose everything and still be whole.

He didn’t really come to be an exception—he came to be a mirror for us to see ourselves once we really understand!

He said again and again: “Follow me.” Walk like me. Love like me. Forgive like me. Be still like me.

If Jesus came back today, he wouldn’t check which church you attend. He would ask:

Do you love without condition?

Do you forgive when it’s hard?

Do you listen to the quiet voice inside more than the loud voices outside?

It is taught in evangelical Christianity that one needs to say the salvation prayer for eternal salvation. If you believe this, then by all means say it. It is, though, an internal heart change rather than words possibly said out of fear, like fire insurance.

CHAPTER 3 — DOES GOD REALLY CARE WHAT YOU EAT, WHAT YOU WEAR, OR WHAT DAY YOU WORSHIP?

You are not made holy by what goes into your mouth but more by what comes out of it! You were made holy by how you live from your heart or inner being, which many times is shown by what you say, but really in truth by what you actually do.

Many traditions gave food laws. These were often about discipline, identity, and remembrance. But when sacred things become empty habits—or fear-based rules—they lose their meaning.

Eat as your conscience and consciousness guide you, and judge no one for what they choose to eat or not eat. If you feel called to follow certain food laws, then do so in freedom—without shame and without judging others.

Why were there food laws?

In ancient times, there was no refrigeration, no modern medicine, and limited ways to separate safe from unsafe. Food laws helped people avoid danger, build shared identity, and practice mindfulness.

Jesus and food without fear.

Jesus broke bread with all kinds of people. He emphasized that what defiles a person is not what enters the mouth, but again, what comes out of it.

Your body is sacred—feed it with care.

You are not bad for eating bacon. You are not holier for eating only vegetables. Your body is a living instrument. Everything you put into it becomes part of your energy, breath, and tone.

Fasting, blessing, and ritual can be beautiful when done in freedom, not fear. Let ritual serve resonance, not replace it. It is the same with how and when you worship or what to wear.

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Here is my Sunday rant, tomorrow we will be back to Understanding the Human Soul.

There are times when I find myself wondering not so much about what was written, but about how it was heard.

Even something as simple as a name can point to that difference. The one we know today as Jesus Christ would not have heard that name spoken in his own time. More likely, he would have been called Yeshua—“Yeshua, son of Joseph,” or in the language of the day, Yeshua bar Yosef. That name carried meaning: “God saves,” or “God is salvation.” It was not just a label. It said something about purpose, about identity, about relationship. Over time, as the name moved from Aramaic into Greek, then Latin, and eventually English, it became the name we now use—Jesus. Nothing wrong with that. But something subtle shifted. What was once a name with an immediately understood meaning became, for most of us, simply a name.

That small shift opens the door to a larger question. If even the name has traveled that far, what about the words?

We read those words today through layers—translation, culture, tradition, and familiarity. Again, none of that is wrong. It is simply the path those words have taken to reach us. But it does raise a quiet question. When those words were first spoken, standing on the ground of that time and place, what did they actually mean to the people who heard them?

Take a phrase many of us have heard countless times: “The kingdom of God is within you.” Today, that can feel like a distant or even abstract idea, something theological or reserved for deeper thought. But to those hearing it back then, the idea was likely far more immediate. “Kingdom” was not just a place—it was an active presence, a living reality. The statement may have landed more like this: something of God is already here, already among you, already closer than you think. Not far away. Not later. Now.

Or consider the simple line from the Lord’s Prayer: “Give us this day our daily bread.” It sounds straightforward enough—food for the day. But the language behind it carries a broader sense of sustenance. Not just bread on the table, but what is needed for life in that moment. Strength, clarity, even peace. It becomes less about asking for provision alone and more about recognizing dependence on something deeper than ourselves, moment by moment.

There is another line that has always puzzled people: “If your eye is single, your whole body will be full of light.” On the surface, it feels almost mysterious. But in the culture of the time, this had a very practical meaning. A “single eye” pointed to a clear, undivided way of seeing—free from conflict, free from double motives. In other words, if the way you see life is clear and steady, your whole being follows that clarity. That feels a lot less like a riddle and more like something that shows up in everyday living.

Even the word “repent” has taken on a tone today that can feel heavy, tied closely to guilt or wrongdoing. But the original sense behind it was closer to a shift in awareness. A turning of the mind. A re-seeing. It wasn’t simply about feeling bad—it was about waking up to something different, something more aligned, something more real.

And then there is the moment on the cross: “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.” We often hear that as a statement about ignorance. But the deeper sense leans more toward a lack of awareness. Not just that they didn’t know facts, but that they were not fully aware of what they were participating in. That changes the tone from judgment to something closer to understanding.

None of this suggests that what we have today is wrong. But it does suggest that something can be softened when words travel too far from their original ground. Not lost completely—just shifted, or narrowed, or made more distant than they were meant to be.

Maybe the more useful way to look at it is this. The people hearing these words back then were not studying them. They were experiencing them. The language met them where they lived—on the road, in the field, in their daily struggles and relationships. It was direct. It was close. It was meant to be understood, not decoded.

Over time, as those same words moved through different languages and cultures, they became something we often approach more carefully, sometimes even cautiously, as if they were distant truths rather than living ones.

But what if they were never meant to be distant?

What if, even now, they are still pointing to something just as immediate as they were then—something not waiting to be figured out, but noticed?

Sometimes it feels like the words haven’t really changed at all.

Only the way we have learned to hear them.

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WHEN A BIRD GROWS WINGS, THE CAGE FEELS SMALLER

Imagine a bird raised in a golden cage. The cage is beautiful—full of songs, stories, and wisdom passed down through generations. The bird learns all the rules of the cage: when to sing, what food to eat, where to perch, and even what to think.

But one day, something stirs. A longing. A strange wind in its chest. The bird looks out and sees the sky, and for the first time realizes its wings were never just ornaments.

We raise a few chickens. When they are small, they stay in a warm building with a heat lamp, especially when it’s cold. They have small waterers and feeders. As they grow, they’re allowed outside into a small fenced area. As they mature, the fenced area expands—until one day the fence is removed altogether. They are then able to roam freely and make their own decisions. They no longer need the fence.

It’s much the same with us.

FAITH IS A MAP, BUT YOU WERE MADE TO WALK THE LAND

Religion, at its best, is like a fence. It helps us begin the journey. It keeps us from getting lost early on. But once you’ve walked long enough, you begin to notice something important: the real terrain is larger than the fenced area.

Sometimes the path you need isn’t even drawn yet.

The truth is, you’re not off course. You’ve simply grown quiet enough to hear your soul’s whisper without needing a megaphone.

THIS GUIDE IS FOR THE BIRD REMEMBERING IT HAS WINGS

This little guide is for you if:

• You still believe deeply in love, but less in fear-based rules

• You feel closer to God in stillness than in sermons

• You want to honor where you came from without being trapped by it

• You’re not trying to rebel—you’re trying to remember

You’re not alone. And you don’t need to fight the cage. You only need to trust what you already feel deep down: you were never meant to live in a box of beliefs. You were meant to become a living temple of love.

CHAPTER 1 — WHAT RELIGION GOT RIGHT, AND WHY IT MAY NO LONGER FIT EVERYONE

Religion has helped billions of people. It has offered hope in grief and comfort, structure in chaos, community in isolation, and a shared language for the sacred. If religion helped you find meaning or feel close to God, then it was never wasted.

Religion is like a childhood home.

Think of your childhood home. Maybe it was warm. Maybe it was strict. Maybe both. You knew the rules, the smells, the patterns. That home shaped you. You learned how to walk, speak, and feel safe there.

But as you grew, you needed more space—not because the house was bad, but because you were becoming bigger than its walls. Your soul is doing the same thing now.

Religion teaches us to swim in shallow waters.

Most religions begin by teaching us how to swim in shallow, safe waters:

Don’t do this. Do that. Believe this, and you’re good. Follow these rules,s and you’ll be loved.

These rules aren’t evil. They’re spiritual training wheels. But over time, questions naturally arise:

Is love really conditional?

If God is infinite, how can one book explain everything?

Didn’t it say that if all of Christ’s works were written down, the world couldn’t contain the books?

Why does fear sometimes seem emphasized more than peace?

Suddenly, the shallow waters feel small. And you begin to sense the pull of the deeper sea.

You’re not doubting God—you’re hearing God more clearly.

You’re not losing faith. You’re losing fear. And those are not the same.

Faith says: “There’s more than I understand, and that’s okay.”

Fear says, “Don’t ask questions. Don’t change. Stay safe.”

You’re not betraying God. You’re moving closer than rules ever allowed.

Where this path leads.

This guide won’t tell you what to believe. It won’t hand you new rules. Instead, it asks different questions:

What if God is within you, not above you?

What if love is the only law that matters now?

What if peace—resonance—is the clearest sign of truth?

You don’t need to fight where you came from. You only need to walk forward, loving each step and the stillness in your breath.

Resonance (as used here) is when one frequency meets another, and they begin to harmonize—like one tuning fork taking on the tone of another. Our soul can drift out of tune, and much of this journey is about “re-tuning” back to God.

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A couple of years ago, I put together a little booklet of about 20 chapters just as a way to organize my thoughts. I am going to add it here a couple of chapters at a time. Many of my earlier posts have similar thoughts to those you may encounter here.

PREFACE

Before the introduction, I want to share a few thoughts about what we call living our lives, as this context may help frame what follows.

This is not, nor can anything ever be presented as an absolute explanation of how things work “behind the scenes.” If what follows resonates with you, that’s good. If it doesn’t, that’s fine too—simply continue your own search for truth.

There was a study conducted by Michael Newton using hypnotic regression into memories beyond this life, documented in Journey of Souls. While what follows is not drawn from that work, it resonated deeply with me, and I would recommend reading it alongside other works.

When we are born, we arrive with what could be called an innate self—the soul—and an outer or surface self—the body and ego. Most of what we experience in daily life occurs at this surface level.

From a very young age, we learn how to behave within our family systems and culture. We absorb rules, expectations, beliefs, and identities. We make friends, go to school, and learn history, language, and math. On the surface, we become what society would call “normal” or “good” people. We are pretty grounded in the physical, and that is the way it should be; this is how we learn in the school of life. We learn lessons such as forgiveness and hopefully love that affect or expand our souls for the long journey ahead.

Yet beneath that surface, we are not the same.

Each of us carries a unique inner persona—a particular way of seeing, feeling, and being. We come into this world with a hidden talent, sensitivity, or perspective that belongs to us alone. Most people never dig deeply into this inner terrain. They continue with what is called a typical daily life.

Depending on family tradition, some go to church and remain there for much of their lives, rarely challenging inherited beliefs or asking why they are here at all. What follows is part of that deeper searching—an exploration of what may be shaping who we are, why we react as we do, and why life unfolds so differently for different people.

Some say it’s simply the luck of the draw—that some lives are easy while others are heavy. But when you begin to explore the inner world of the soul, answers sometimes appear where none existed before.

Fair warning: this may get a bit strange—especially if you haven’t had spiritual experiences that began the awakening process. Once that process begins, it becomes difficult to simply sit on the sidelines and let life unfold unchanged.

I served on several church boards over the years, and my wife and I taught adult Sunday school and participated in other ministries. Many of the ideas that follow were often thought about, but rarely discussed. Consider what follows not as a complete explanation, but as a single drop from a very large bucket.

— Warren

INTRODUCTION

Note:

I began this work as a way to organize my own thoughts around questions I’ve been asking for many years. I’ve shared it only with a small group, knowing that some would not be receptive. Much of this sits outside conventional belief systems.

Human nature tends to resist first and reflect later. Undealt-with ego structures are often quite rigid, leaving little room for expansion—either for oneself or for others.

I have no desire for confrontation. I experienced enough of that during my adolescent years, and this writing is not meant to provoke or divide.

This may not resonate with those who have little interest in deeper spiritual growth. Some portions may feel esoteric, especially later on. That said, much of the Bible itself is deeply esoteric—often hidden between the lines. What follows is simply a look behind the scenes of our inner lives.

If these ideas trigger strong resistance, it may be best to stop reading here. My intention is not to challenge or dismantle anyone’s faith, but to invite more open thinking. If this writing resonates with you, that’s wonderful. If not, that’s equally fine. No one fully understands the truth while embodied—and even after, clarity may come gradually.

I believe this writing draws on knowledge embedded deeply within the soul and subconscious, waiting to be remembered. It may surface in dreams, quiet early mornings, or moments of deep stillness. Sometimes it is also remembered through books or teachings that strike a deep inner chord.

I believe that we are all on a spiritual journey, and we are likely exactly where we need to be. Do not force change. Let yourself be guided by the Holy Spirit. If transformation is occurring, allow it to unfold naturally.

You were never meant to remain the same. You were meant to spread your wings and fly.

This is a living document and may change or expand as my understanding deepens.

If you find yourself pulling away somewhat from organized church structures, know that this does not mean you’ve left God. You may simply be hearing a bit more clearly. Christianity alone has tens of thousands of denominations worldwide. No one holds the full picture—myself included.

There is a saying:

“When she transformed into a butterfly, the caterpillars spoke not of her beauty, but of her weirdness. They wanted her to change back into what she had been—but now she had wings.”

At times, I refer to God as Source. This is not meant to diminish God, but to move beyond the historical misuse of the word by power-driven ancient institutions. When I use “God,” it is always in the sense of the Source Creator of all things.

There comes a moment in many lives when old answers no longer satisfy. Prayer may still bring peace, yet words feel less full than they once did. This is not betrayal—it is growth.

Years ago, I prayed: “I want to know the truth, even if it changes what I believe.” When I said that sincerely, doors began to open. I was drawn to books, people, and ideas that helped illuminate long-held questions.

This writing exists because it is often easier for me to express these thoughts on paper than to speak. Some of this journey is private and not shared, and I believe that is okay. On the surface, little may appear different with me—but inwardly, something has shifted.

What follows does not alter my devotion to Christ. We live in service to Yeshua/Jesus, not out of fear, but out of honor. And that, I believe, is enough.

In a couple of days, I will include the next portion and the beginning chapters.

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Courage is often talked about as something bold and visible. We picture big moments, decisive actions, or standing firm in the face of something obvious and immediate. But most of the courage I’ve seen in life doesn’t look like that at all. It’s much quieter, and because of that, it often goes unnoticed—even by the person showing it.

I remember well when my Son-In-Law asked me for permission to marry my oldest daughter. I had gotten to know him fairly well before that. For just an instant, I was going to give him a bit of a hard time, but I could see how nervous he was and quickly decided maybe now is not the time to joke with him. He had gotten up the courage to ask me, and that for me was enough pressure on him.

Real courage shows up even in the small decisions that don’t draw attention. It’s the moment you choose not to respond in anger when everything in you wants to. It’s admitting you were wrong without trying to soften it or shift the blame. It’s sitting with something uncomfortable long enough to understand it instead of pushing it away or covering it over with distraction.

I’ve noticed that courage and honesty tend to walk together. Not honesty directed outward, where we explain or defend ourselves, but the kind that turns inward. The willingness to see something in ourselves that we might not like. That takes a different kind of strength. There’s no applause for it, no recognition, and no one else may even know it happened.

Over the years, I’ve seen people take great risks outwardly while still avoiding this quieter form of courage. They’ll change jobs, move across the country, or take on big projects, but hesitate when it comes to looking at their own patterns, their own reactions, or the stories they’ve been carrying for years. In some ways, that inward step can be the harder one.

On the farm, courage wasn’t something we talked about, but it was there. It showed up in getting back to work after something didn’t go right. Climbing way up the chute of a silo half full when the silo unloader cable got stuck close to the top, while winching it up at my cousin’s place, onto it to use a come-along to put the cable back on the pulley of a 3-cable system. It also shows up in deciding without having all the answers and then standing by it. It showed up in continuing when you were tired, not because anyone was watching, but because the work needed to be done.

When I bought my used Powered Parachute, I could not find someone to train me, so I trained myself. I could only go up for 10 minutes at a time so my heart could slow down. Eventually, I was able to fly it with more confidence. i am not sure if this realy was courage, or stupidity.

There’s also a kind of courage in letting go. Letting go of the need to be right. Letting go of old stories that no longer fit. Letting go of the image we’ve built of ourselves when it starts to feel more like a weight than something real. The King in us doesn’t like this part. He prefers to hold on, to defend, to maintain his position. But courage often asks us to loosen our grip instead.

What I’ve come to see is that courage isn’t about becoming something more. It’s about being willing to see clearly and act from that place, even when it’s uncomfortable. It’s not loud, and it doesn’t announce itself. But over time, it changes the direction of a life in ways that nothing else really can.

And most of the time, no one else will notice it happening. But you will.

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There’s something I’ve noticed over the years in some people I have known. When something isn’t going right in one’s life, the first instinct is often to look outward. We may look for who or what is responsible—a person, a situation, a decision someone else made. Sometimes it goes even further than that, toward systems, politics, leadership, or just “the way things are.” In the moment, it can feel justified, even obvious. But there’s a hidden cost to that way of thinking that isn’t always easy to see.

Every time we place the blame outside of ourselves, we also place the power there. It’s a quiet trade we make without realizing it. It can feel like we’re protecting ourselves, but in reality, we may be giving away the very ability we need to move forward.

Fear plays a bigger role in this than we often admit. When something feels uncertain or uncomfortable, we naturally want relief. Blame provides that, at least temporarily. It gives us a reason. It gives us something to point to. But underneath, it keeps us from looking at what might actually be ours to face, adjust, or grow through. Not everything that happens is our fault, but how we respond to it always belongs to us.

I’ve come to see that many of our reactions come from a part of us that is trying to protect something. There’s a desire to be seen a certain way, to feel capable, to feel like we’ve got things figured out. When that gets shaken, we can become defensive without even noticing it. That defensiveness can show up as blame, as needing to be right, or even as trying to appear stronger or more certain than we really feel inside. If we’re honest, most of us have been there.

But that part of us isn’t something to fight or get rid of. It’s simply a part that hasn’t fully settled yet. It forgets, at times, that we’re already enough. It thinks it needs to prove something or protect something that doesn’t actually need protecting. When we begin to see that more clearly, we can start to soften instead of reacting.

There is something steadier underneath all of this. A kind of inner knowing that most of us have experienced, especially when things get quiet enough. You can call it conscience, guidance, or something deeper, but it’s there. And when we begin to listen to that instead of reacting from fear, something begins to shift. The need to blame starts to ease, and clarity begins to take its place.

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Today’s reflection is about what we are doing after the distractions of the day fade away.
For many, those distractions just seem to perpetuate themselves. Never a free minute to think—only react. React to the music, conversation at work or at home, the TV being turned on continually, and eating meals in front of it. No wonder we are in the condition we are in. There is always the outer voice dictating how we are to act, live, and even feel. Do we not know inwardly that there is a better way—a way to peace, love, and joy?

For much of my midlife days, this was pretty close to my life. When I discovered that my life was not my own, but was a mixture of everything around me, I decided there had to be a better way. So many look without to find what is missing in their lives and miss the simple inward looking that holds the answers to this question. Why am I really here, and why do I even exist in the first place? Was I just an accident, or is there a plan that I need to realize?

I was very strong in literal Bible Christianity in my early years, as I had many areas in my life that were traumatic—various types of loss—which many times causes a type of awakening to take place, although it may be just the beginning of a long journey. I still consider myself Christian, but my understanding has grown, including more between the lines of the Bible than only verbatim.

I began to study all the time. My home library probably has hundreds of Christian books. I became very heavily involved in church leadership. I served on and led the church board for many years. I developed close relationships with most of the pastors and their families. We had lots of activities and schedules that worked around farming. Dairy chores started about an hour earlier on Sunday mornings, so we were able to get to adult Sunday school, which my wife and I led for many years. I would fill in the pulpit on some Sundays when the pastor was not able to be there. We did so much, but there was still something missing. We have lots of friends who are in various stages of ministry—from music, youth, deliverance, and healing, in which I even participated.

Questions always surfaced. Is this why we are here? Why are there so many that do not see what I see? Why, if this is what God wants, is the church population, compared to the surrounding population, just a fraction? Are they not that concerned about their eternal soul? Is God like an old man looking down on us poor souls, or have we gotten some things wrong?

My journey is a continuous one and will probably not end, just get deeper in the rabbit hole. I have come across many books and other information about deep and mostly forgotten knowledge. How did these people live? What were their beliefs? I have now seen what has, in my opinion, happened.

It is shown through archaeology—from core drillings and dig sites—that this earth has gone through times of catastrophe and resets on a fairly regular timeline of which we appear to be on the cusp of the next one. Many of the early civilizations we read about had long histories and were in place in those prior periods of Earth’s history. Very little can be found physically. There was a study done that asked: if humans were removed, how long before there would be no evidence left that they were even here? In the timeline of Earth’s history, it would be a very short time until there would be little surface evidence. There would, though, be certain items already found, such as baked clay tablets and other written objects made from certain types of gemstones.

There are many myths and legends in books and from indigenous peoples that are carried forward in story form, as stories help lock in life experiences. Languages have morphed along the way as well. There are root languages that started from the beginning of time for man. One is called Anuhzi, which is said to be the original root race language from the early seeders of mankind. Some of the words are recognizable when converted to English and are similar in form to ancient Hebrew. The stories are also similar to what Christ taught—that we need to go within, as we are a part of the Creator, and that all knowledge is there if we dig deep enough. It is a memory that is buried within us, and if we are diligent in the right way, it can come to mind. We can also block this memory with fear, jealousy, blame, etc. You know, the things the bible calls sin.

There is a doctor of psychiatry, who was also a Christian youth pastor, who has been working with this language for years, though he was not the one who translated it, and now teaches on it. It is quite something to see how the words of Christ come through without the many years of man putting a slight twist on them. He states that after learning what he has learned, he has come back to a clear understanding that life is about unconditionally loving each other. That is the message Christ brought forth.

I may speak more on this from time to time. If anyone wants to know more, just comment or send me a message. I can send you some pretty deep stuff.

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After we recognize that we don’t always need to have everything figured out, there’s still something in us that resists that idea. We just seem to need to know the answer as quickly as possible, or we just can’t get to sleep.

We may accept it in thought, but in practice, we often go right back to trying to force it. We revisit the same questions, turn them over again and again, and look for something—anything—that will give us a solid answer we can hold onto.

I’ve done that more times than I can count.

There have been situations where I thought if I just gave it a little more effort, a little more thought, I could finally settle it. I would go over conversations, replay decisions, and try to reason my way into certainty.

But most of the time, that effort didn’t bring clarity. It just brought more tension.

What I’ve come to see is that forcing an answer is very different from allowing one to come.

When we force it, we tend to narrow things down too quickly. We settle on something not because it’s clear, but because we’re tired of not knowing. The discomfort of uncertainty pushes us to grab onto the first explanation that feels like relief.

The “King” doesn’t like leaving things in limbo. He doesn’t like loose ends. He wants things resolved, defined, and under control. So he steps in and tries to close the gap as fast as possible.

But clarity doesn’t usually work that way.

In my experience, the best understanding tends to come when I step back rather than press forward. When I give something room instead of trying to pin it down.

There have been times when I stopped pushing for an answer, and a few days later, something became obvious that I couldn’t see before. Nothing external had really changed. What changed was the pressure I was putting on it. We many times on the township board have to balance between available funds and what needs doing, and letting it simmer was better than an immediate decision.

It’s a bit like working the land. You can prepare the soil, plant the seed, and give it the right conditions—but you can’t force it to grow faster by standing over it. Local government boards have to basically petition the voting population and show the need for additional funds when existing funds do not cover a project that really needs to be done. The same with farming, I really need that new piece of equipment, but what is the payback?

Some things need time beneath the surface. What do I do with some new spiritual teaching? How does it sit with me? What effect will it have on my family and friends? Does it still fulfill the purpose of loving humanity, or will it just cause more division? What is the cost?

This doesn’t mean we become passive or indifferent. It simply means we learn when to step back. When to let things breathe. When to trust that not everything needs to be solved immediately.

When my dad was still around, I could go to him for his opinions. I miss this, but after his funeral, for which I gave the eulogy, I had to come to the understanding that I now needed to be the man of the family and take responsibility for these types of decisions, but remember what I learned from his wise counsel. There is a kind of quiet discipline in that, one that comes with time when you do not force it.

Just maybe we each need to ask ourselves these questions if we are to be at peace with ourselves. It’s something to slowly think on.

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There’s a quiet pressure many of us carry that we don’t often talk about. It’s the feeling that we should have things figured out—what we’re doing, where we’re going, and why things are happening the way they are. We don’t always say it out loud, but it sits there in the background, a steady pull to understand everything, to make sense of it all, and to be certain we’re on the right path.

I’ve felt that more times than I can count. There were seasons in my life where I thought if I just learned a little more, studied a little deeper, or paid closer attention, everything would finally line up. The questions would settle, and clarity would take their place. But that’s not quite how it works.

What I’ve come to see is that life doesn’t unfold all at once. It reveals itself in pieces, and most of those pieces only make sense after we’ve already walked through them. Wanting to understand everything ahead of time can become its own kind of burden. It can make us restless, it can make us doubt where we are, and it can quietly take us out of the present moment.

There is a difference between seeking understanding and needing certainty. Seeking keeps us open, while needing tends to close things down.

The “King” (ego) in us prefers certainty. He wants a clear map, a defined outcome, and reassurance that he is doing things right. Not knowing feels uncomfortable to him, so he tries to fill in the gaps as quickly as possible. But life doesn’t always cooperate with that.

Some of the most meaningful parts of my journey didn’t come with clear explanations at the time. They came as experiences that only made sense later—sometimes much later. Looking back, I can see that not knowing wasn’t a problem. It was part of the process.

There’s a kind of quiet trust that can take the place of needing to have everything figured out. Not a passive trust, but a steady one—a willingness to move forward without having all the answers, to let things unfold in their own time, and to admit that we don’t always need to know.

That doesn’t mean we stop asking questions. It just means we stop demanding immediate answers. And in that space, something begins to shift. The pressure eases, the mind settles, and we start to notice what’s right in front of us instead of always reaching for what’s ahead.

I’m still learning this. But I’ve found that life tends to meet us a little more clearly when we stop trying to force it to explain itself all at once. I am still on a spiritual journey and probably always will be.

If you settle down and do not force this, synchronicity just starts to happen. It has served me well now that I do not force anything but let it just happen. One thing to note is do not strive for a particular outcome, as you may get what you wish for, and it just might not be what you actually need.

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For over twenty years now, our family has gathered to observe Passover. We started doing it when we led adult Sunday School and have kept this tradition going in our family.

We are not Jewish, but we have always felt a deep respect for what it represents. It has been a meaningful time for us—one of reflection, remembrance, and a recognition of something much bigger than ourselves. The story of deliverance, of protection, of a people set free, has never felt like just history. It has always felt personal.

But lately, I’ve found myself sitting with a quiet question.

Not one that comes from wanting to challenge tradition, but one that seems to rise on its own when understanding begins to deepen or resurface.

What exactly are we remembering—and what was it ultimately pointing to?

Passover, at its core, is about freedom. A people marked and protected. A movement out of bondage and into something new. It is also about preservation—not just of individuals, but of a lineage, a people through whom something would come into the world.

As Christians, we believe that something was fulfilled through Jesus Christ or his spoken name back then as Yeshua.

And this is where the question begins to take shape.

If Passover was a foreshadowing—a type—then should not Christ be the fulfillment or what is called the ant-type, aka the real thing? The reality that the symbol was pointing toward all along?

And if that is so, then what do we do with that understanding?

Do we continue to hold onto the symbol in the same way, or do we begin to shift toward what it revealed?

These are not easy questions, especially when they don’t just affect us individually, but touch something shared—family & friends traditions, long-held practices, and the meaning we have built together over time.

For us, there has also been another layer.

We moved away from celebrating what is commonly called Easter years ago, based on what we had been taught about its origins. There were concerns about pagan roots, about things that did not feel aligned with what we believed we were honoring. And so, we stepped back from it.

But stepping away from something does not always answer the deeper question.

Because underneath the name, underneath the traditions that surround it, there remains something central—the resurrection.

Not as a holiday, but as an event. Not as a ritual, but as a turning point.

If Passover represents being brought out of bondage, then the resurrection represents something even deeper—life overcoming death, a transformation that is not just external, but internal.

And so the tension begins.

Not between right and wrong, but between earlier understanding and what is beginning to unfold now.

When this happens, it can create a quiet divide. Not always outwardly spoken, but felt. One person begins to see things a little differently, while others are still grounded in what has always been. Neither side is trying to be difficult. Both are simply standing where they are.

The question then becomes less about what is correct and more about how we move forward without losing one another.

I have come to see that there may not be a need to choose one and discard the other.

Passover can still be honored as the foundation—the story of freedom, the beginning of the path.

And the resurrection can be acknowledged as the fulfillment—the continuation of that path into something deeper and more complete.

One does not have to cancel the other.

In fact, when held together, they may reveal more than either one alone.

Perhaps the real shift is not in what we celebrate, but in how we understand it.

Traditions have value. They anchor us. They give us shared moments and continuity across time. But understanding is not meant to stand still. It grows, often quietly, sometimes uncomfortably, asking us to look again at what we thought we already knew.

And when that happens, we are faced with a choice.

Not simply about what to believe, but about how to carry that belief in the presence of others.

It is possible to see differently without needing to correct.

It is possible to grow without needing to divide.

And it is possible that what we are being invited into is not a rejection of the past, but a deepening of it.

Freedom was the beginning.

What comes after may be something even greater. Let’s celebrate this time not only in memory of the freedom of a people long ago, but freedom for all of us now in the present!

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Is there a little deeper meaning we should celebrate this Easter or Passover? This is in no way to lessen what Christ did, but to expand on it and His message with the meaning behind it.

There is an idea that runs quietly underneath the word sacrifice, and most of us have misunderstood it for a long time. We’ve been taught to see sacrifice as giving something up in order to gain something else, or to prove something, or to be seen in a certain way. But that version always seems to carry a kind of tension with it, as if we are losing something we still want to hold on to.

The King (our ego) understands sacrifice in that way. He is willing to give, but only in measured amounts. He will work hard, help others, step forward when needed, but underneath it all, he is keeping track. There is always a quiet calculation going on, making sure that what is given does not cost too much, that his position remains intact, that his identity is still secure.

Because the King is built on holding. He holds his place, his story, his sense of being someone who matters. He holds control where he can, and where he cannot, he at least tries to shape how things are seen. Even his version of sacrifice often becomes another way of maintaining that structure. It can look generous on the outside, but inside, it is still protecting something.

Real sacrifice feels different than that. It is much quieter, and it usually happens in places where no one else is paying attention. It shows up in moments where you could speak but choose not to, where you could correct but let it pass, where you could claim your part but allow it to remain unspoken. It is the willingness to let go of being right, of being noticed, of being affirmed.

In those moments, it can feel like something is being taken from you. There is a brief sense of loss, almost like a small part of you is being asked to step aside. But if you stay with it, you begin to see that what is being released is not your value. It is the need to protect that value.

That is where something begins to shift. When the King is not constantly managing, defending, and maintaining, there is a kind of relief that comes in. Not all at once, and not in any dramatic way, but in small, steady openings. You find yourself less caught in rehearsing what to say, less driven to shape how things unfold, and less concerned with how you are being received.

And nothing falls apart.

In fact, something becomes lighter. There is more space in the moment, more ease in simply being present, more freedom in not having to carry that constant weight of maintaining who you are.

It makes me wonder if what we have called sacrifice all these years was never really about loss in the way we thought. Perhaps it was always pointing toward this quiet releasing, this loosening of the grip we keep on ourselves. In earlier times, we may not have known how to live that inwardly, so we expressed it outwardly through offerings and rituals, trying to touch something we could not yet fully understand. It also makes you wonder if this wasn’t at the core of what yeshua tried to express, that the change was meant to happen within. And yet, over time, even that message seemed to be shaped back into sacrifice again.

You can see this pattern if you look back far enough. Long before the Bible, people were already offering things to what they believed were higher powers—food, animals, even their own lives in some cultures. It seemed to be something humanity carried early on, this idea that something valuable had to be given up to stay in right relationship with life. Maybe what was being pointed to later wasn’t the continuation of that pattern, but a quiet turning away from it.

Now it feels closer. Not something done on an altar somewhere else, but something that happens right in the middle of ordinary life. In conversations, in reactions, in the small turning points where the King rises and insists that something must be held, defended, or claimed.

And in that same moment, there is often another voice, much quieter, that simply asks if it is necessary.

That may be where sacrifice truly begins now. Not in losing who you are, but in letting go of the part that believes it must always be held together, protected, and proven.

There are times I have listened to people trying to save others with the right words, the right prayer, the right formula. And I understand the intention behind it. But it has made me wonder if what people really need is not something spoken over them, but something awakened within them.

A recognition that we are not as powerless as we sometimes believe. That there are things in our own lives we are meant to face, to carry, to work through. When Christ spoke about picking up the cross and following, it seems less like a statement about belief and more like an invitation into responsibility, into transformation.

It also raises deeper questions. About what we carry into this life. About the patterns that show up in how we treat others, or the fears that seem to have always been there. Questions about what is truly being asked of us, and what it means to be aligned with something greater than ourselves.

We have a tendency, as people, to shape things into forms we can understand and manage. Even our ideas of God can begin to reflect that. And yet, when you sit quietly with what Christ actually said, there is something in it that points beyond all of that. Something less about control, and more about becoming.

And maybe that is where this all leads back to.

Not to something we say.
But to something we are willing to live.

There is so much we do not understand because of the shift from Eastern ancient thought to modern Western understanding. \

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