WHY HEALING?

WHOLENESS.

I carried this question for too many years, and it hollowed me out every time it slipped mockingly from doubtful lips. Yet the heaviest burden lay in asking it of myself, even though—at every guided moment of this life—I realized I never needed an answer.

Psychologists told me plainly: “because there are too many wounds.” Life, in its soft but persistent voice, coaxed me toward belief in destiny, purpose, a guiding star—words fashioned to resonate with quiet mystery.

A beloved teacher leaned close and whispered, again and again, “it’s the choiceless choice.” Finally, in Jason Shulman’s words I discovered peace: “because it is our birthright.”

A river never asks why it must flow, yet the human being, over and over—fiercely and relentlessly—questions the need for healing. The greatest sorrow resides in those silent moments when no question even emerges…

And here I am, restless once more: how could I frame in words that timeless truth which needed none?

For healing is the second nature of the human soul. It is the very essence of this earthly journey.

Over time, grander, loftier words have clustered around it—enlightenment, awakening, salvation—each carrying the same whispered call:

“Do not forget, dear soul, who you are, where you come from, and where you return.”

These are burdens not easily carried. I write not as one who has arrived, but as a fellow traveler who tumbles forward every single day—yet never, not for a moment, forgets that she is not alone, and reaches out for help with the same trembling voice of a beginner…

If we truly pay attention — if we open our eyes even just a little — everything around us, each day, quietly reveals why healing is not a luxury, but a necessity. Every interaction, every reaction, every moment of tension, every tragedy we witness or hear about in the news — they all reflect something deeper beneath the surface. Every human heart carries at least one story that once ached and never quite left. Every smile, every sigh, every wrinkle etched on a face holds a memory tucked away in the quietest drawer of the soul.

There has been love, and there has been loss. There has been pain endured, longing carried. I don’t believe we ever truly forget — we only bury it beneath the layers of time, hoping it will stay quiet.

So before we ask, “Why would healing even be necessary?”, I want to ask you this: have you ever loved again — fully, freely — without fear or hesitation, after the first time your heart broke?

How many years of your life have been shaped by the absence of something or someone? And later, how many choices have you looked back on with the quiet ache of regret?

Only your heart, the one that has known wounding, knows the full truth of those answers.

Throughout history, we have conquered one another in ways both loud and silent. We’ve defended our personal territories — our beliefs, our values, our ways of seeing the world — all while believing we had the right to protect them, to exist without being erased. And yet, so often, we’ve tried to erase those of others. Sometimes, the very people closest to us — a neighbor, a friend, a partner — became the battlefield. Decades have passed. Centuries. And still we draw borders, still we stand with our backs arched in defense of what is “ours.” But what do we do with the hearts that have watched their loved ones fall? What do we do with those who have lived under the weight of terror? With a world that feeds off conflict and cannot seem to find rest?

It’s true — life isn’t made only of peace or only of pain. That’s not how this experience was ever meant to work. But there is a place in between, a sacred middle ground, and I believe the only way we’ll reach it is through healing. I can’t fully describe that space. It has its own rhythm, its own wisdom. Some truths can’t be explained — they can only be lived.

Still, I’m reminded of something simple and powerful: it was the collision of tectonic plates that gave birth to the continents. The very ground we now defend, the land we divide and mark and claim. Yes, transformation is painful. It brings with it loss, breaking, even devastation. But it also brings creation. And when a human being allows themselves to be reshaped by the breaking — they are reborn.

That is the gift of healing: it rebuilds what seemed beyond repair. It breathes new life into ashes, and from the shattered pieces, something entirely new begins.

We cannot name all the wounds carried by humankind, but if we slow down — even for a moment — and step outside the automatic rhythm of our days, we might begin to realize that there is not a single heart on this earth untouched by pain. No soul without a weight, no matter how fleeting it may appear at first glance. And though it can be hard to accept, our scars are not just remnants of suffering — they are reminders. At times, they even become our teachers.

Perhaps they are the most honest and transparent answer to the question, “Why healing?” They flicker like stubborn little fireflies in our loneliest nights — the nights we spend face-to-face with ourselves, when silence feels the heaviest. I still remember one of those nights… when I found myself wondering if I was afraid of eternity.

You know, sitting with the question — “Why healing?” — has taught me more than offering any polished response ever could. Whether the question comes from another soul carrying confusion, or from my own unhealed ego desperately needing certainty, the invitation remains the same: to stay with it. Not to run toward the next step. Not to scramble for relief from what we instinctively label as “uncomfortable.” But to stay. To breathe. To be in the question.

So here is a gentle offering for you, dear one. The next time you find yourself asking, “Why would I need healing?”, I invite you to pause. Sit with the question, not to fix it — but to feel it. Maybe ask yourself a little more deeply: Which part of me is asking this? Is it the part that wants a direct, linear path? The part that fears what the truth might require? The part that longs to control the unknown — our so-called protector? And perhaps, if you stay with that just a moment longer, you’ll begin to notice that all these voices come from the same place: the ever-restless, tender, unhealed ego. And that’s okay. Because in witnessing it, without needing to push it away, the healing has already begun.

Nothing from what we call 'time', ever loses its living essence. It travels with you as  your carry-on baggage in every form you take to continue the Journey. It's the most sacred knowledge you sign under the I AM, your very BEING.

Do yourself a favour, and be kind to your shoulders. Everything you avoid healing — which is nothing more than receiving with tenderness the parts of yourself that ache the most — risks becoming your sad-ever-after. The unhealed places within you won’t stay buried. No matter what place of purification you think you will arrive at by the end of your wandering.  Ultimately, heaven it's not a final escape from suffering as your ego would have you believe, but a state of integration. True wholeness isn’t found in bypassing pain — it’s in the full integration of what is, here and now. In that first form of being, where form and formlessness lived in the same container — and that was enough. Still is.

In wholeness, there is enoughness.

As I sat with this, an image came to me. Something quiet but clear: it all begins with a simple bridge. I don’t think humanity is blind to this bridge — but trusting it enough to cross, to see what lies on the other side, that’s the hard part. Perhaps what we fear most is the realization that what once looked like separation… can actually be seen as wholeness, once we include the bridge itself in the picture.

And what does this bridge divide? Two worlds, or so we’ve named them. One, fragmented and bound by definition — and another, just as real, but softer, infinite, rooted in breath and prayer and soul-searching. The one who builds the bridge may believe they’re separate from the one who waters the garden and carries in their chest a longing, a sacred question, a flame of eternity. But they are not separate. Not truly. The air that surrounds these two sides — these two illusions of duality — cannot be measured, labeled, or cornered. That’s why we doubt it. That’s why we forget it holds everything.

And yet, should the one who waters the garden, who moves with devotion and wonder and quiet breath — should that one stop? Should they pause their being, their carrying, their becoming… every time they inhale the air that sustains both sides of this seemingly divided world? No.

Because life is what lives between, above, and beneath. It is not confined to either shore — it is the bridge, the breath, the invisible wholeness that was always there, waiting to be remembered.

Why healing?

Ask your body — the one that aches without knowing why. Ask your mind — the one forever spinning stories not grounded in the present.

Ask your heart — how much longer it can carry that shell it believes to be protection.

Ask your face — the one that still wears a mask for the very same reason.

And when the night comes, ask yourself why you reach for sleeping pills, or for apps that guide you to rest as though rest were no longer natural. 

Why does everything feel like an “I need”? And why is “I have” never quite enough?

Why do we choose to stay in relationships not because we’re deeply seen, but simply because we’re terrified of being alone — or worse, judged?

And most of all, why are we endlessly chasing something without even understanding what that something is?

I can’t help but notice that life has become a string of fleeting celebrations — quick highs, then the return of the quiet, unresolved undercurrent. Another news flash, another shift in focus, before the last wound was ever seen, let alone tended to. And maybe that’s where this powerful question, “why healing?”, truly begins.

Because healing is never a one-time answer — it’s the question within the question within the question.

Because healing is an ONGOING QUESTION: the question of your BEINGNESS, existence, I AM, infinite Journey.

You think you ask this question rarely, or maybe seldom, or not at all, or only when you are in pain and confusion,  but actually the question lives in you from your beginning through your unfinished wholeness and nothingness, precious drop of the Ocean.

I would like you to ask yourself, what brought you here to this page, to this specific article?

What does it say to you, or even better, what makes you question? 

Kindly meet me celebrating the ongoing question.

Why healing?

Because I AM HEALING. 

Because, eventually everything goes back to its origins.