Escapism is so much of what we do now.

We tell ourselves the world is our oyster.

One flight away, and the pain disappears.  

One drink away, and the memories blur.  

One more high, one more dopamine hit, and suddenly it feels better.

But does it?

So many of us spend our lives sprinting, only to realise we are running in the opposite direction of our own essence.

What we call fun is often just a prettier way of covering our wounds.

But a wound is still a wound, even with a glove over it.

To truly heal, you have to take the glove off.  

Look at it properly.  

Then slowly apply the ointment.

Day by day.

Nothing real comes easily.  

Some wounds are deeper than others.  

But with patience, presence, and devotion, they heal.

And what remains is sovereignty.  

Essence.  

Purity.

No escape.

Just the hard, sacred work of facing your own shadow.  

Calling out the darkness.  

Looking it in the face and saying:

“I am not afraid of you.”

Hugging your younger self, the one who needed love, and whispering:

“I am here now.”

And most importantly, being present.

Fully present.  

With yourself.  

With the silence.  

With the oneness.

Because once the lights go off,  

the music stops,  

the pleasure fades,  

and the noise disappears,

there you are.

The one who remains.

The one who will always remain.