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As far back as Ancient Egypt and the philosopher Plato, humanity has been hearing ideas that it lives in its own inner space, in its own information bubble—and almost never leaves it.
Plato compared people to prisoners in a cave who, from birth, see only shadows on the wall and mistake them for the only reality that exists. They do not even suspect that another world lies behind them, illuminated by genuine light. Moreover, if someone were to tell one of them about this world, they would most likely not believe it. It is impossible to imagine the existence of something you do not even know exists.
The ancient Gnostics, whose writings were discovered in Egypt, spoke of a false spirit that makes people mistake desires and impulses alien to them for their own. Egyptian ascetics of the first centuries AD taught people to observe their thoughts, because by no means does every thought that arises in a person’s mind deserve their trust.
Centuries later, George Gurdjieff spoke of the mechanical existence of human beings, while Carlos Castaneda described the inner dialogue that continuously sustains the familiar picture of the world. In his view, people become so accustomed to their own description of reality that they stop noticing the difference between reality itself and their ideas about it.
It is remarkable that thinkers from different eras, belonging to entirely different cultures and traditions, they returned again and again to the same theme: a person is held captive by what they consider to be themselves.
They are convinced that they are free because they can choose among the options presented to them. But they almost never ask who shaped those very options, their desires, fears, beliefs, and ideas about happiness.
A person thinks they think independently, although most of the time they merely repeat familiar thoughts. They believe they are looking at the world, although they are often looking at their own ideas about it. They are convinced that they make decisions, although they often simply follow habits formed long before they became aware of their existence.
And the most astonishing thing is that this captivity does not necessarily involve suffering. A person can become quite comfortable in their invisible prison. They decorate its walls, call them their worldview, defend them against other people’s views, and even take pride in how solid those walls are.
When someone tries to show them the way out, they perceive it as a threat. For beyond the familiar world lies the unknown, and the unknown frightens them more than familiar limitations.
But perhaps humanity’s greatest delusion lies not even in living inside this bubble, but in identifying itself with it.
A person says: “These are my thoughts, my beliefs, my desires, my character.” However As soon as he manages to immerse himself in deep silence, even for a short while, and begins observing his own consciousness, something astonishing reveals itself: thoughts arise on their own, desires appear unbidden, and emotions flare up without his permission.
And then an inevitable question arises: if I can observe my thoughts, who am I—the thoughts themselves or the one who observes them?
This is where true awakening begins. Not in acquiring new knowledge, accumulating yet more beliefs, or even searching for extraordinary experiences. It begins with a simple yet extraordinarily important realization: there is a space of freedom between a person and the contents of their consciousness.
This space can be discovered through meditation, inner silence, and attentive self-observation. And the more clearly a person begins to distinguish themselves from the continuous flow of their own thoughts, the weaker the power of their habitual description of the world becomes.
At some point, they notice that the walls of their invisible prison are not made of stone. They are made of thoughts they have grown accustomed to believing, fears they have learned to accept, and assumptions they have never questioned.
And the most astonishing thing is this: to begin setting themselves free, they do not have to destroy these walls at all. Sometimes it is enough to stop considering them the boundaries of all existing reality.
Yet for thousands of years, humanity has preferred to discuss the structure of its owncaves, instead of trying to get out of it. People argue about the nature of shadows, develop teachings about their origin, divide them into true and false, but rarely think about the fact that they can simply turn their head toward the light.
But to leave one’s inner space, one must at least begin knocking. People do not even do that.
And yet the first knock is already the beginning of awakening. It is the first doubt in the absolute truth of one’s own thoughts. The first attempt to stop the inner dialogue. The first minute of true silence. The first question asked not of the surrounding world, but of oneself.
And when a person finally decides to do this, an astonishing discovery awaits them.
The door they have considered locked all their life was never closed.
Moreover, it opens at the first knock.
Plato compared people to prisoners in a cave who, from birth, see only shadows on the wall and mistake them for the only reality that exists. They do not even suspect that another world lies behind them, illuminated by genuine light. Moreover, if someone were to tell one of them about this world, they would most likely not believe it. It is impossible to imagine the existence of something you do not even know exists.
The ancient Gnostics, whose writings were discovered in Egypt, spoke of a false spirit that makes people mistake desires and impulses alien to them for their own. Egyptian ascetics of the first centuries AD taught people to observe their thoughts, because by no means does every thought that arises in a person’s mind deserve their trust.
Centuries later, George Gurdjieff spoke of the mechanical existence of human beings, while Carlos Castaneda described the inner dialogue that continuously sustains the familiar picture of the world. In his view, people become so accustomed to their own description of reality that they stop noticing the difference between reality itself and their ideas about it.
It is remarkable that thinkers from different eras, belonging to entirely different cultures and traditions, they returned again and again to the same theme: a person is held captive by what they consider to be themselves.
They are convinced that they are free because they can choose among the options presented to them. But they almost never ask who shaped those very options, their desires, fears, beliefs, and ideas about happiness.
A person thinks they think independently, although most of the time they merely repeat familiar thoughts. They believe they are looking at the world, although they are often looking at their own ideas about it. They are convinced that they make decisions, although they often simply follow habits formed long before they became aware of their existence.
And the most astonishing thing is that this captivity does not necessarily involve suffering. A person can become quite comfortable in their invisible prison. They decorate its walls, call them their worldview, defend them against other people’s views, and even take pride in how solid those walls are.
When someone tries to show them the way out, they perceive it as a threat. For beyond the familiar world lies the unknown, and the unknown frightens them more than familiar limitations.
But perhaps humanity’s greatest delusion lies not even in living inside this bubble, but in identifying itself with it.
A person says: “These are my thoughts, my beliefs, my desires, my character.” However As soon as he manages to immerse himself in deep silence, even for a short while, and begins observing his own consciousness, something astonishing reveals itself: thoughts arise on their own, desires appear unbidden, and emotions flare up without his permission.
And then an inevitable question arises: if I can observe my thoughts, who am I—the thoughts themselves or the one who observes them?
This is where true awakening begins. Not in acquiring new knowledge, accumulating yet more beliefs, or even searching for extraordinary experiences. It begins with a simple yet extraordinarily important realization: there is a space of freedom between a person and the contents of their consciousness.
This space can be discovered through meditation, inner silence, and attentive self-observation. And the more clearly a person begins to distinguish themselves from the continuous flow of their own thoughts, the weaker the power of their habitual description of the world becomes.
At some point, they notice that the walls of their invisible prison are not made of stone. They are made of thoughts they have grown accustomed to believing, fears they have learned to accept, and assumptions they have never questioned.
And the most astonishing thing is this: to begin setting themselves free, they do not have to destroy these walls at all. Sometimes it is enough to stop considering them the boundaries of all existing reality.
Yet for thousands of years, humanity has preferred to discuss the structure of its owncaves, instead of trying to get out of it. People argue about the nature of shadows, develop teachings about their origin, divide them into true and false, but rarely think about the fact that they can simply turn their head toward the light.
But to leave one’s inner space, one must at least begin knocking. People do not even do that.
And yet the first knock is already the beginning of awakening. It is the first doubt in the absolute truth of one’s own thoughts. The first attempt to stop the inner dialogue. The first minute of true silence. The first question asked not of the surrounding world, but of oneself.
And when a person finally decides to do this, an astonishing discovery awaits them.
The door they have considered locked all their life was never closed.
Moreover, it opens at the first knock.
