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The last day of the year. It has been a long time since I experienced a day this beautiful. The air is so clear. The sun has been shining all day, and the snow glitters white in its gentle light. All the winds have fallen silent. The tall trees around the house stand solemn and still, their branches extended like open arms, radiating absolute peace. A small tit lands on my windowsill and watches as I write. And I know — these final hours are a story only about me. The rest of the world has faded, withdrawn into unreachable distance. Only my reality remains now. And all of it belongs solely to this moment. I savor every passing minute. Today, solitude has been gifted to me — a solitude filled with myself and gratitude. I am grateful to the depths of my heart for every event and every experience I have lived through in these past years, and for the people who were present within them, no matter what was experienced. I have never before said goodbye so deeply and so fully to what has finished existing within me. I listen inward. I feel. Today I allow myself to do only what flows through me without force. And these are entirely different things from what I have been accustomed to doing on this day throughout my life.

At one moment, unexpectedly, one of my old notebooks fell from the table — a notebook I had not opened in a long time. It opened by itself. Inside were my reflections and insights about my book “The Silent One.” I had completely forgotten that I had once written those words. And now it resonates so deeply with everything I recognize as already having happened. Not through the mind anymore — but here, in the heart
and far beyond it.

“The Silent One” is an uncomfortable book. Stripped. Bare. Honest. It invites you to look where you have always avoided looking. Within yourself. At that point where you know you will see where you have been hiding — pretending to be anything at all just to avoid meeting your true self. Why? Because you will see that you have been playing. Forgetting. Becoming trapped in the narrow corridors created by your own mind. You may still try to play through the illusion that somehow you will get lucky and arrive directly in bliss. But you have no idea that along the way you will have to meet yourself in all the forms and roles from which your hair will stand on end. Hundreds of times you will turn away just to avoid seeing it. Hundreds of times you will pretend that none of it is there. Yet each time you will be peeled like an onion. And it will hurt. You will resist — and it will hurt more. You will resist even harder — and it will hurt even more. Until you surrender. The rose-colored glasses will shatter. Perhaps a shard will cut you — and it will not feel pleasant. Not pleasant at all. Every illusion you once followed, listened to, clung to — will dissolve. Everything will collapse. The ground will seem to slip from beneath your feet. And there will be no one to blame. You may want to fight. To continue resisting. To find a way around what stands before you — relentless, seemingly indifferent, uncompromising in its unconditional clarity, rejecting every attempt to pretend again, to play again, to put on yet another mask and slip past unnoticed. But what stands before you will polish you like a diamond. Until, in the middle of your path, you stand bare and clear — allowing, permeable. The real you. Transformed into the Silent One. 

And suddenly you see that the one standing opposite you is yourself. Your being. Your energy. Your consciousness. Your true essence. It was playing back to you the roles you demanded within yourself. You were playing with your own reflection, and the main instrument was your mind and its projections — perfectly aligned with the limits of your awareness. Then confusion will arise. For a time there may be shame. A sense of smallness. A desire to cover yourself, to hide, to disappear. For a while. Perhaps. Until you gather the courage to stop turning away. And you begin to feel that your nakedness and this clarity are the long-awaited return. Home. Far more beautiful and fulfilling than all the role-playing and masquerades that had become so ingrained you no longer knew how not to perform. And each conscious moment in this nakedness begins to fill you with a different feeling — a free awareness. You see differently. You feel differently. Moment by moment. Each one expanding you, so you can allow more and more free awareness to move through you. For whom? For yourself. For your life. For your reality. And then the one who stood before you as teacher steps aside. You move on. Free. And you realize that there is nowhere to go. The teacher was always you. There is no other. You are whole. And that realization changes everything.

31.12.2025.