Author, Philosopher, Spiritual Teacher, A Lead Facilitator at Sacred Media's Integral Mastery Academy, Founder of Yinnergy Meditation/Neurofeedback, Bodhi Mental Care & Wellness, Co-founder of KeMor Centre for Innovative Development
Those who speak of God as not being outside of you often mean well—but which “you” are they pointing to? The body? The persona? The memory of identity that walks through time? Or something deeper?
There’s a difference between saying God is not outside of you and realizing why that’s so. If God is all, then every appearance—internal, external, formless, formed—is God. This includes the illusion of separation. To claim that God is not outside of you while affirming that something is external still subtly upholds the illusion of division. That illusion, too, is God—played through veils of thought, language, and perspective.
But when the idea of “you” dissolves into beingness itself, the paradox clears. You are not merely a part of existence. You are existence. And existence is God, not as a figure, but as totality. Even the idea of “outside” collapses, because outside implies another space, and there is no second to the One.
This doesn’t mean there’s nothing. It means everything is not-two.
Even nonexistence exists. Not as an object, but as a category known within existence. Its very naming proves its place within the whole. Therefore, there’s nowhere God is not—and no self outside of God to speak of God as elsewhere.
So, when someone says “God is not outside of you,” pause. Feel what is really being said. It’s not a statement about boundaries—it’s a pointer toward boundarylessness. Not about spiritual pride or metaphysical positioning. It is the erasure of location itself.
And in that clarity, what’s left is not you as you know yourself. What remains is what’s always been—God, appearing as you.
Morgan O. Smith
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There may come a moment when stillness deepens, and the mind gives way to something vast and formless. No longer bound by identity, perception turns inward, unveiling a presence that has always been there—unseen, yet intimately familiar.
This is not the face reflected in mirrors or the self shaped by memory and experience. It is something far more primordial, resting beneath all layers of perception. It neither belongs to time nor is confined by space. It is the first and the last, the one who watches and the one being watched.
To encounter this presence is to witness creation itself—a fluid, luminous movement, folding and unfolding like breath. What appears as a single vision contains an entire cosmos, shifting and reforming in patterns beyond understanding. A current of knowing flows from it, carrying the weight of both stillness and storm, tenderness and terror. There is no contradiction—only the totality of what is.
This vision may stir awe, but it will also strip away illusion. The small self—the fragile construct of name, form, and history—begins to dissolve. The ego, unprepared for its own undoing, clings to the edges of familiarity. It resists, yet it cannot hold. The presence that once seemed separate reveals itself as the origin of all things.
Ancient myths have spoken of this encounter. Some say none can see it and live. But it is not the body that perishes—it is the illusion of separateness that fractures beyond repair. And while the mind trembles, something deeper recognizes the moment for what it is: a return, not a loss.
What once appeared unreachable was never distant. The face sought for lifetimes has always been the one looking through these eyes. The one seeking has always been the sought.
Standing before this presence is not to be destroyed but made whole.
Morgan O. Smith
Yinnergy Meditation/Neurofeedback, Spiritual Life Coaching & My Book, Bodhi in the Brain…Available Now!
Many have longed to grasp the mystery of existence, to touch the essence of something vast, limitless, and wholly beyond the conditioned intellect. Some wander outward, chasing knowledge across lifetimes, while others, weary of the chase, turn inward and dissolve into the revelation that the answer was never elsewhere.
There is a being who awakens, eyes once sealed now open, untethered from the weight of what was once mistaken for reality. This one recognizes that what they sought as God was never separate from themselves. Not a distant deity reigning above, nor a dogmatic construct built to cage the mind, but a living essence radiating through all things. They once believed this ideal self was an unreachable mirage, an aspiration always slipping beyond the grasp of physicality. But upon awakening, they no longer chase it—they become it.
What is this awakening? It is nothing more and nothing less than remembering how to imagine with the boundless wonder of a child. And not imagination as the mind toys with, but an intelligence so refined that it gives birth to worlds, perceives the invisible, and dances in the paradox of what is and what is not. The one who awakens does not strive to merge with God, for they see that this very merging is the illusion. There was never a separation to begin with.
Yet, alongside them walks another—one who clings tightly to a framework set in place long before their arrival. They follow the lines drawn by those who feared their depths, mistaking doctrine for truth and control for salvation. Their mind, fortified with walls of certainty, rejects the fluidity of growth. Anything that threatens their inherited beliefs is cast aside as danger, as corruption, as false prophecy.
The awakened one embraces their shadows, understanding that transformation does not come by denying the full range of human experience but by walking through the fire of it, unafraid to be burned. Shame is not an enemy to be conquered, nor is desire a force to be chained. They do not rush to crucify what it means to be fully human. Instead, they enter the chaos willingly, knowing that only by standing at the center of their own storm can they emerge as the calm itself.
Something miraculous happens in that surrender. The one who awakens watches their unfolding with wonder, like an artist witnessing a masterpiece take form in real time. Each step is both the path and the arrival, a self-created adventure where the destination remains unimportant. The act of movement itself—the curiosity, the play, the willingness to jump without knowing where they will land—is the divine act. The shimmering glow of their being is not a thing to be achieved but something they always were, now recognized at last.
Meanwhile, the fundamentalist stands still, mistaking their immobility for stability. Their beliefs, rigid and unyielding, have encased them in a fortress. To them, water is dangerous—too unpredictable, too wild. The awakened one drinks deeply from this same stream, intoxicated by its endlessness, while the fundamentalist sees it as a force of destruction, something to be feared and avoided at all costs.
Yet, both are children of the same source, actors within the same unfolding story. Neither is greater than the other, for both play their roles in the grand theater of existence. But only one of them has chosen to create the map of their becoming. Only one has dared to build a bridge where others have built walls.
So, the question arises: who would you rather be? The keeper of walls, or the architect of the infinite?
Morgan O. Smith
Yinnergy Meditation/Neurofeedback, Spiritual Life Coaching & My Book, Bodhi in the Brain…Available Now!
Morgan O. Smith 