THE NEXT LEVEL IS NEVER IN THE FUTURE

There’s a common idea in spirituality that awakening happens later—after enough meditation, discipline, or effort. As if enlightenment sits somewhere ahead of us on a timeline, waiting to be earned.

But the truth is much simpler:

The next level is never in the future.
It can only happen now.

Zen, Advaita, awakening—whatever word we choose—already exists in the present moment. The moment we forget this, we imagine distance where none exists. And yet we were never separate from truth in the first place. Every sincere teacher points us back to the same realization:
You already are what you’re seeking.

I’m writing this beside a massive window overlooking the skyline of Santiago, Chile—the tallest tower rising like a surreal monument, reminiscent of Mordor from The Lord of the Rings. It always makes me smile. A living reminder that everything exists within the same field of awareness: silence, chaos, stillness, ambition, and the wild mystery of being alive.

This morning I woke from a deep sleep, but my mind rushed awake before my body did. Thoughts scattered in every direction. The urge to control or organize it began pulsing almost immediately. But I knew what to do—not fight it, not examine it, not resist it.

Just breathe.

So I closed my eyes. One breath in. One breath out. Within moments the landscape shifted—not dramatically, but unmistakably. The mind softened. The nervous system surrendered. The noise loosened its grip. Breath remains one of the most reliable gateways to presence, not because it’s mystical, but because it’s immediate. Breath only exists now.

When I began creating content, the intention was to teach—to guide others toward a path or method. But somewhere along the journey I realized something humbling:
Truth is not something I can give.
It is something a person recognizes in themselves.

So instead of teaching, I share. Not doctrine or technique, but lived experience. If any of this resonates with you, it isn’t because you need it—it’s because you already know it.

Some people tell me they sense something in these words and pauses, even before meaning forms—a frequency, a presence, a quiet recognition. They describe it as a kind of hidden well—not eternal youth of the body, but renewal of the spirit. A remembering.

What do we call that?

Zen?
Awakening?
Nonduality?
Stillness?

Every word fails somewhere. Language points, but never becomes the thing it points to.

So rather than define it, I demonstrate it.

As I continue sitting with breath and awareness, one word rises again and again:

Wonder.

Not knowledge.
Not mastery.
Not striving.

But raw, childlike wonder.

To see without labeling.
To experience without filtering.
To rest without trying to control.

Most ancient traditions point toward the same principle:
Think only when necessary.
Live in non-thought.
Let awareness lead.

At first, clearing surface thoughts is simple. The louder mental noise quiets quickly. But beneath that layer lives something subtler—background identity, conditioned expectation, emotional memory, the constant hum beneath conscious thought. That is where my current practice resides: clearing the metadata of self.

Not later. Not someday.
Now.

And now, having written this, I feel completely different than when I began. Not because anything was accomplished, but because I remembered.

Presence is always the doorway.
Silence is always the path.
Wonder is always enough.

So here is the invitation and the reminder:

Take one breath.

You’ve already arrived.