Have you ever found yourself in a difficult place—emotionally, spiritually, or even physically—and in the midst of that storm, a thought appears?
A gentle, clear, comforting thought.
One that doesn’t panic.
One that reminds you of something true.
And somehow, that single thought keeps your head above water.
It doesn’t always happen.
But when it does, something in you knows.
Knows it’s not just your mind being clever.
Knows that what you just remembered… didn’t come from the fear.
It came from something deeper.
And the question arises:
Who was that?
What part of me was that calm?
What part of me knew?
There is a part of you that remembers.
Not intellectually. Not philosophically.
It remembers existentially.
It remembers who you are.
It remembers why you’re here.
It doesn’t speak often.
Not because it can’t, but because most days, it’s drowned out by noise.
By distractions, worries, roles you’ve picked up.
But in rare, still moments—or when difficulty tears the noise away—you hear it again.
And when you do, something changes.
You become curious.
You want to return to that place.
Not to escape life, but to live it from that awareness.
To find that clarity not just in crisis, but in everyday breath.
And here’s the beautiful thing:
You can return to it.
You can build a relationship with that remembering.
Through stillness. Through reflection. Through acts that align the outer self with the inner one.
In that place, transformation doesn’t feel forced.
It unfolds.
You’re not chasing some imagined future version of yourself.
You’re uncovering the part of you that was always there.
There is a kind of joy that comes with this.
A quiet excitement.
Not the joy of getting what you want, but the joy of knowing you are being guided.
That you are not lost.
That something within you has always known the way.
You don’t need to name it.
You don’t need to prove it.
Just keep listening.
Keep showing up to the part of you that remembers.
And let it teach you how to return.