Sometimes, quietly, a question rises in the heart.
What’s the point of all this?
The reflection. The discipline. The uncomfortable honesty.
Why bother with inner work when it’s easier—so much easier—to eat, drink, sleep, scroll, and repeat?
For many people, life is just that.
A sequence of routines. A soft loop of distractions. A rhythm that numbs just enough to feel manageable.
It can even feel joyful—on the surface.
You laugh. You buy something nice. You binge a show. You treat yourself.
But underneath it all, in the silent part of your being, something whispers.
Something feels… missing.
We were not made only to consume.
There is a deeper part of you that cannot be filled with entertainment or comfort.
A part that doesn’t care how new your phone is or how curated your life looks online.
It is the part that aches when you realize how much time has passed without meaning.
That ache isn’t failure.
It’s a call.
This path—the spiritual one, the inward one, the one you sometimes want to quit—isn’t about achieving something impressive.
It’s about remembering something essential.
You were made for something more than survival.
You were made to be aware.
To be awake.
To recognize the sacredness of your own breath.
To reflect on your existence, your origin, and your return.
And yes, you were made to die.
That truth may sound grim. But it’s also clarifying.
Because death doesn’t wait until you’re ready.
It doesn’t care if your schedule is full, if you just found love, if you finally booked the trip.
It arrives as it pleases.
And when it does, your routines won’t save you.
Only what you became in this life will remain.
And that is the point of the path.
Not to live in fear.
But to live in truth.
To walk through your days knowing they are numbered.
To look at the people in your life and love them like it matters.
To treat your time as a trust.
To meet yourself deeply before your time runs out.
This path is not always soft.
It will confront your illusions.
It will challenge your ego.
It will peel back your coping mechanisms and ask you to sit in the silence you’ve avoided for years.
But beneath all of that?
There is joy.
A joy not born of pleasure, but of purpose.
The joy of knowing why you’re here.
Of knowing who you are beyond your thoughts.
Of knowing what your soul longs to return to.
That joy is quiet.
It doesn’t shout.
It waits beneath the noise.
It waits for you to come home.
So what’s the point of this path?
It is to remember.
It is to live before you die.
It is to know the One who made you—through the journey of knowing yourself.
And in that remembrance, to find a joy that cannot be imitated, purchased, or replaced.
A joy that endures.