top of page


Updated: Mar 15

Within every human being resides a Divine Calling that we frequently forget about.
The sacred Calling

As the Shadow seeped through the walls, it knew. At that hour, the wind was carrying cold currents, and heavy clouds were weighing down the sky. Another storm was set to wash away the hues of myths, yet words were passing from one mouth to another, page by page, lesson by lesson, within every household that embraced stories. They knew that legends do not perish, whilst the human being sought the eternal. Daily, at the appointed hour, he explored the ruins. And as night fell, he was detaching from earthly matters. In the past, days sufficed, as their passage held no concerns. They merely slipped away. Yet, the day he discovered the ruins on that hill, the human lost control over his stride. He ventured into that wilderness only to confront the shadow, to inquire and then retreat once more. Stepping cautiously one day, he decided to give his body a brief respite. The sky remained unchanged while the ruins stood uncovered. As he overcame an hour of fear, abandoning his escape, he began reflecting on the shifting clouds engaging in a game of hide-and-seek with the rays. It seemed like the sky wanted to talk, he envisioned. Caught in that thought, he received a sign. Out of nowhere, a dove sat in front of him, enticing him to rise and follow. And so he did, though in the impulse to catch it, he stumbled, hitting the heavy stones and unable to get up anymore. Amidst his painful groans and tears clouding his vision, he witnessed the dove fading into the distance, as if traversing those formidable walls. And disbelief set in. It all appeared like a figment induced by the pain of the fall, a blurred vision, or an expression of weariness. A manifestation of his own mind, seeking something not within his household beyond the hill. Still, something kept on bringing him there every day. As moments had slipped away, entangled in complaints and laments, the human heard a voice whispering, while propped against the wall.Bewildered, he ceased cursing and uttering words full of resentment for his unjust destiny to listen. The voice appeared non-human and stopped shortly after. Skeptical, he attempted to redirect his focus to his enduring pain, and unable to make a move, he caught the whispers once more. Through a growing resonance, the man heard myriad sounds giving birth to words, lexical fields, worldly dialects, timeless memories, and phrases composing forgotten and present myths. In that identical location, at that identical moment, within that identical self. Amidst all that vertigo, he positioned his hands, as if to wipe away the lime, to seek answers in the despair of that incessant noise. With deafened ears and closed eyes, his hands fervently scraped against the wall until weariness and depletion set in. His palms burned, tears burned his cheeks, and his body burned its own pain, yet who had ever listened to the noise of burning? Only the one who did not remember. Until weariness prevailed.

Legend has it that he sat in its agony until his palms became stone in that ancient ruin. Even as the storm unfolded, he still sought echoes. There, on that hill, life helped him understand. The walls communicated with him. The doves beckoned him. The clouds embraced rays, and light danced with the darkness. Time had patience, yet the human did not. And the Shadow was observing.

I believe every dwelling on this planet has narrated at least a single myth, cherished at least one legend and had fortified beliefs. Somehow, these were described separately from the earthly, always presenting a surreal, supernatural, superhuman framework. And the ears of the listeners remained fascinated, pushing the voices to convey further with even more words that provoked astonishment and the separation of two worlds that seemed never to meet. Or, at the very least... not on this Earth. Just as they came into existence, they faded away. Closed cycles about which people spoke more and more discreetly concerning the human who sought ruins. He became a myth on everyone's lips, bringing more and more fear of what the sky might say if one sought ruins again by climbing the hill. As a result, the human chose to acknowledge that the myth was firmly established, even entertaining uncertainties about its existence. It is a well-known reality that the oral traditions of the world always give rise to the imagination of each individual. Consequently, the human being stopped undertaking the solitary journey, ultimately choosing to derive amusement from that myth and to be wary of it. In that separation, a chilling apprehension of the truth of existence began to manifest. He couldn't grasp that myth. How could one validate the truth of the UNSEEN? How would the earthly realm respond to the revelation that walls harbor memories, that ruins can be heard once you traverse the Journey , and that the mysterious shadow only observes? And thus, over years, seasons, and lifetimes, the human progressively chose to silence that internal scream. He led his monotonous life in that flat valley, building without respite houses with thicker and thicker walls, to shield himself from storms and shadows. Upon nature's revival, he strolled through the narrow streets, and when the time came for shelter, the myth was recounted repeatedly with humor and disbelief. Counsel was even shared with the youth to be vigilant. At the end of the myth, uncertainty and fear endured, transferring from generation to generation, from heart to heart. Once, there existed a singular time and a singular place. Now, a significant divide. There was a here and there. There was a past estranged from the present, and a reality negated by the other. An obscure realm as it couldn't be seen, and a profoundly familiar one, as eyes could describe it. A realistic realm and a realm triggered by emotional imagination. The human unmistakably opted for and defended the realistic realm that could be immediately substantiated, while the unseen became increasingly forbidden here and now, in the flat valley of facts and houses. Nothing was spoken of as a myth except in the evenings that brought humor and feasts among acquaintances. Nonetheless, as the separation grew, the human's inner cry felt even more pronounced. With each passing day, in every task, in every friendly conversation, a void expanded. As such, everything that had been concealed emerged with every sigh, through unfinished phrases, amidst solitudes surrounded by people, within the mechanics of tasks that did not transcend the valley's reality. And when they could no longer endure, they looked at the sky, expecting something they couldn't describe. Their beings wept, but then they understood they've been hiding all along.That had been the unspoken rule of the valley: in order to belong, one must forget that the myth was intertwined with the natural course of each life. However, the Calling did not diminish its potency. It existed prior to their first breath. Incapable of withstanding the internal scream and the disorienting murmurs, the words and the unfathomable memories that surfaced when they shut their eyes, some, driven by fear, embarked on a journey toward the hill, seeking ruins that might provide understanding. Meanwhile, others—growing in number—stayed within their own moans and agony. In their heavy-walled houses with small windows, there was less mystery. More tangible...

Dear ones,

At the age of 9, my journal became the initial space where I encountered the Calling. What was a part of me and I didn't understand, guided me more and more to understand why I struggled to articulate my feelings and desires. The Calling manifested through a growing emptiness during my trips through school, home, friends, and my beloved books. At times, I'd forget, assuming it vanished, convinced that past answers sufficed. Yet, it persistently drew closer, entwining me in an unexpressed yearning. A yearning for something unknown, triggering recollections of a self way beyond my current existence. A yearning for existence within non-existence. A quest for meaning, understanding, and a love transcending earthly bounds. I carried this yearning in my veins, navigating through life without vocal complaints, and often neglecting its presence. It proved challenging, yet I deliberately opted for it not to be. I invested my trust in a Journey that reminded me daily of ruins, of my own myth in which I believed wholeheartedly. We existed, exist, and will exist within Everything, which embraces both comprehension and misunderstanding, the visible and the invisible, division and unity, darkness and light. But, above all, a realm where 'I was', 'I am', and 'I will be' harmoniously coexist throughout the ceaseless flow of Time. The Calling precedes our existence, and we embody the Calling here and now, traversing time and space. Regardless of our beliefs and definitions, there is a single Call: the call to awaken. From the very beginning, each of us arrived with this singular purpose. To recollect the potency of our ruins. To heed the whispers and trust in the eloquence of silence. To unite heaven and earth in our every breath. To remember the shared visage, shaped from the same substance. To love and exist within love. To voyage across mountains, valleys, and waters, extending our wings not merely for possession and construction of statues but to feel the wind, embrace expansion, nurture the freedom of the spirit, and welcome life with all its sensations.

Frequently, the pivotal moment in a person's awakening is perceived as suffering, a sense of purposelessness, and the turmoil of one's own existence. In this scenario, the human sense of helplessness acts as the guiding force propelling one to seek aid. However, chaos takes on myriad forms, unique to each individual journey. From what I've experienced, chaos presented itself wholly before me: with sealed doors, countless unanswered queries, endless waiting and most significantly, the apprehension that I might not know how to heed the Call. In the teachings I've embraced over the past five years, led by my teacher Samar Ajami and Jason Shulman the creator of "A Society of Souls" – The School for Nondual Healing and Awakening, Jason prompts contemplation for those embarking on the Journey, with his words in the profoundly meaningful essay 'First Light': “Even when we feel we are not called, we feel sorrow because somewhere in us we remember what it is like to be called or connected to this something, even if we have never consciously admitted this thought to ourselves or actually heard this calling. In this case, the longing or sorrow IS the calling itself in another form.”

This brought me to a profound understanding. I express my Gratitude.

Those who have accompanied me thus far, seeking guidance or seeking a bit of clarification, or engaging in a healing process, have spoken about the transformative force of suffering. In their voices filled with gratitude, I've heard that ultimately, everything falls into place, and the fragments of the puzzle come together and harmonize. With a smile, I often recollect the words of my guiding mentors proclaiming, "because the Caller and the Call are ONE." The joy that accompanies the wide opening of our hearts is profound. These hearts harbor myths even before the mind comprehends synapses. Indeed, the process that ensues after feeling the call for the first time does not happen instantly. Frequently, the initial natural response is resistance. Nevertheless, life, founded on the Supreme Intelligence, places before us situations, guidance, and individuals capable of supporting and directing our quest (explore further in the article "Divine Guidance - our companions on the Spiritual Journey"). Jason Shulman also explains in the same essay 'First Light' from his book "Beyond the Now": "Because of the holographic nature of the world — which sometimes shows itself as synchronicity, accident, hunches and intuitions — the world begins to show its cooperation, offering ways pleasant and unpleasant, into the inner chambers of our being."

It's not a simple task, dear reader, to hold belief when the preceding chaos seems to have swept the world from beneath your feet. Yet, in the very place where destruction permeated, it reconstructed itself robustly; where there was pain, there was also solace and comfort. The very force that disassembles a structure is, indeed, the same force that facilitates reconstruction. When an individual comprehends that medicine can double as poison and poison can usurp the role of medicine, it marks the embrace of the entirety. As we delve into healing within a transformative process, the mind can broaden to grasp the understanding of this Calling. The mind is steered by myth, by the heart, by the essence of our existence, and the very words carried by our bodies in unmarked space and time awaken the act of "calling the Calling."

And this is the "A-ha" moment that, as I pen down my thoughts, vividly recalls through every pore of my skin where I initiated and where I conclude.When was I beckoned, and what am I beckoned to? Have I not beckoned myself through the very essence of my existence in this world? Have I not opted to learn, to venture, to journey, and to experience? Human memory is undeniably selective and might choose to overlook. But the "I am" carried from places without words and spaces without distinct times and rhythms, recognizes. THE SELF ACKNOWLEDGES.
Fear not your personal suffering, destruction, or stagnation. All are safeguarded by the same CALLING. Primarily, there exists the Calling, and subsequently, our deliberate steps. Listen and proceed with confidence. All will be well, even as the wind disperses the tiles of your house at this moment.The descent and the ascent share a common origin, yet their dance facilitates your Creation. I leave you now to ponder, accompanied by a concluding message from my esteemed mentor, Jason Shulman: “It is this combination that is our greatness. We make the journey that is impossible to make, we fail and fall into the arms of God. We all always have this chance to shine and, in this shining, fall into our own future, the future when God’s face is as easy to see as the back of our hand.”

Receive these words with an open heart.
Perhaps broken, but open.
I welcome you.
229 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page