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
When You Aren’t Moved by Anything, You’re No Longer a Slave to Anything
The world thrives on pulling us in every direction. Advertisements whisper that happiness lies in the next purchase. Relationships stir waves of desire and fear. Success dangles like a prize that demands endless striving. Each movement within us, longing, anger, excitement, dread- becomes a hook by which the world tugs us.
Freedom arrives not when the world stops moving, but when your inner stillness no longer takes the bait. When nothing stirs you into attachment or aversion, nothing holds dominion over you. A compliment does not inflate your worth; an insult does not diminish it. Gain and loss, pleasure and pain, rise and fall without catching you in their undertow.
This is not numbness. It is not apathy. It is clarity. The heart continues to beat, the eyes continue to see, the hands continue to act, but no chain is forged by what passes through awareness. You walk unbound, as life’s play unfolds without demanding ownership.
When the winds of the world cannot sway you, you discover the ground beneath all experience; the silent witness that was never captive to circumstance. To live from here is to live without fear of being moved, for you have already found what cannot be taken.
Morgan O. Smith
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Most of us spend our lives leaping from one stone to another, convinced each step will bring us closer to a final destination. Career advancement, relationships, possessions, recognition—each stone feels like progress, yet the further we go, the more apparent it becomes that there is no solid shore waiting for us. The path itself was the illusion.
The stones do not extend to a grand arrival point because life was never about arriving. The endless hopping is not failure; it is the nature of the game we entered by being born. Each stone exists only for the moment of stepping, dissolving the instant we shift our weight onto the next. What we mistake for continuity is simply a sequence of vanishing points.
Awakening is not about finding the hidden bridge that others missed. It is the recognition that nowhere is exactly where every step has been leading. To realize this is not despair—it is release. When the compulsion to arrive fades, each step becomes luminous. Even stones that seem unstable or purposeless shimmer with a quiet beauty, because they are not a means to an end. They are the end disguised as a beginning.
The stillness that waits beyond stepping does not appear at the finish line. It is here, beneath the very foot that rises and falls. Nowhere is not absence. Nowhere is the unshakable presence that requires no destination.
Morgan O. Smith
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To move through the world with an open heart requires no spiritual strain when one sees each face as the Divine appearing in another form. The gaze shifts from judgment or preference to recognition, an acknowledgment that the Infinite hides behind every mask, smiling through the eyes of the stranger, the friend, the adversary, and the beloved.
When perception shifts in this way, reverence arises without being willed. Bowing of the heart happens effortlessly, because the heart no longer measures worth or assigns categories; it simply bends before the presence of the sacred in its countless costumes.
Consider how different daily interactions would be if seen through this lens. The hurried cashier at the grocery store is not a nuisance but the Divine pressed into the role of service. The difficult colleague, the one who sparks irritation, becomes a stern disguise of God, reminding you of hidden patience. Even those who wound us, in their own fragmented ways, become reflections through which compassion can deepen.
To live this way is not to deny the roughness of human behaviour but to recognize that the Source never abandons its disguises. Each face is both particular and universal, flawed yet flawless, passing yet eternal. The mind resists, but the heart knows; it bows without calculation when it sees through the mask to the boundless presence it conceals.
Morgan O. Smith
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At the threshold of the causal realm, the experience of existence shifts from linear to simultaneous. You no longer stand as a single individual within a vast universe; you stand as both the birther and the born, the destroyer and the destroyed. The recognition dawns that the world does not merely shape you—you are also the very source of its shaping.
To know oneself here is to witness the paradox of causality unveiled. You are the origin of all movement, yet every movement gives rise to you. In this simultaneity, you can feel yourself giving birth to the totality of existence while watching that same totality dissolve back into silence.
Every breath is both a first and a last. Each moment is a labour of creation and a death rattle of dissolution. The body of consciousness enters its own womb, giving rise to itself again and again, endlessly. This is not a metaphor; it is the raw experience of being both cause and effect at once.
Within this state, suffering and bliss are inseparable twins. To feel the entirety of pain across existence is to simultaneously encounter the fullness of joy. One does not cancel the other; they merge into a union so vast that it overwhelms all categories of the mind. Pleasure peaks not as a fleeting sensation but as an orgasmic force inseparable from the ache of existence itself.
Masculine and feminine converge here—not as roles, not as energies separate and distinct, but as the indivisible pulse of love for everything that appears. What arises is an uncontainable recognition: every form, every life, every fragment of existence is nothing other than your own divine being.
The causal realm does not reveal the ultimate self, yet it gives you the deepest taste of how the play of birth and death, creation and dissolution, unfolds ceaselessly within the radiance of what you are.
Morgan O. Smith
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To be seen fully is not to be recognized as a person, nor acknowledged as a role, but to be reflected beyond every layer of identity. When someone sees you in this way, what is recognized is not your history, your character, or even your spiritual progress; it is the unconditioned essence that lies before all stories.
Most encounters leave us clothed in roles. Friend, teacher, seeker, parent, child, each gaze places a costume upon us. Rarely do we meet eyes that do not add or subtract, but simply reveal. In that rare encounter, the ordinary scaffolding collapses, and what stands exposed is not a “self” but the infinity in which all selves appear.
This exposure is not humiliating, nor is it affirming. It is dissolving. To be seen fully is to be unmasked of both failure and success, of both sin and virtue. The illusion that we exist as a separate someone collapses. What remains is a luminous absence, the infinite without centre or edge.
There are moments when presence itself becomes the mirror, so clear, so unconditioned, that no reflection remains, only the source shining through. The eyes of one who abides in truth can serve as such a threshold. Passing through it, you do not become greater; you vanish. And in vanishing, the fullness of all that is floods through.
To long for such seeing is to long for disappearance, and yet disappearance is not annihilation. It is the end of confinement. It is the recognition that what you are cannot be held by name, cannot be fixed in form, cannot be grasped by thought. What you are is the infinite itself, already free, already whole.
The paradox is that this vanishing does not strip life of meaning but gives it immeasurable depth. When you are no longer the centre, everything becomes the centre. When “I” falls away, the song of existence sings itself without obstruction. Love, compassion, and clarity are not cultivated; they flow.
To be seen fully is to vanish into the infinite. To vanish is to return home.
Morgan O. Smith
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Darshan is a mystery that cannot be easily captured in language. Some dismiss it as myth, others reduce it to a placebo, and still others romanticize it into doctrine. Yet none of these explanations touch what truly happens when presence itself meets you so deeply that the idea of a separate “you” begins to dissolve.
I first received darshan from Paramahamsa Vishwananda in 2019. At the time, I could not fully comprehend what had been given. The experience did not instantly transform me. It was months later, as if a seed had been quietly germinating, that a profound awakening broke open—an unshakable, full-blown realization of Parabrahman. Everything I once considered a spiritual awakening before that year became eclipsed, revealed as only stepping stones toward a wholeness beyond description.
The encounter planted something that only ripened with time. No technique, no meditation, no psychedelic journey, no years of entrainment could compare to what unfolded in those months after darshan. The practices prepared me—polished the vessel, so to speak. But Darshan was the living water that finally filled it.
On August 30, 2025, I met Paramahamsa Vishwananda in person for the fifth time. The following day, as I began to write these words, tears streamed down my face unprovoked. The intensity of the remembrance, the simple act of reflecting on what darshan has meant in my life, undid me. Not during the encounter itself, but in the quiet aftermath, when the depth of it could no longer remain unspoken.
If one insists that darshan is “only” a placebo, I embrace the word. Placebo, after all, is proof of the mind’s openness to healing, its willingness to cross thresholds it once denied. What does it matter if the mechanism is mysterious when the outcome is undeniable? The very attempt to reduce it already misses the essence: darshan is not an explanation. It is an encounter that leaves explanation behind.
My friend, comedian Marc Trinidad, has a saying: You can’t pour clean water into a dirty cup. Thousands of hours of meditation may have cleansed that vessel, yet darshan was not merely clean water—it was sparkling, living, flowing with a vitality of its own. Preparation mattered, but preparation alone never gave me the fullness that flowed after meeting his gaze.
Darshan dismantles the scaffolding of the spiritual search. Years of practice may feel like climbing a mountain, but one glance can place you at the summit. That does not make the climb unnecessary—it makes clear that the climb itself was a preparation for the recognition that you were always already there.
This is not about worshiping a figure or elevating a personality. Darshan reveals the infinite within by reflecting it so purely through one who has dissolved into that truth. In being seen, the boundaries of self blur, and what shines forth is nothing less than the source of all seeing.
Darshan cannot be mythologized away, nor can it be reduced to a placebo. It is living water—clear, inexhaustible, flowing freely into those ready to drink. And sometimes, its effects bloom long after the moment has passed, as seeds planted in silence burst open in their own time.
Morgan O. Smith
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Pure knowing is not an act of someone grasping something. It is not the product of a subject meeting an object. It is not knowledge stored, processed, or owned. What we call “pure knowing” is an immediacy so complete that the categories of knower and known dissolve before they ever arise.
The mind insists there must be someone behind the recognition, a witness who stands apart. Yet such a witness is already a thought, an echo of division layered upon the seamlessness of awareness. The attempt to locate the knower is like searching for the horizon; you will find only a mirage created by perspective.
What reveals itself is astonishingly simple: knowing shines without support. No owner is required. No identity need arise. It is self-luminous, unmediated, without origin or destination. Thought may try to grasp it, but thought cannot enter here. The moment a “me” claims it, the purity is veiled, dressed in commentary, weighed down by explanation.
This does not deny the human experience of learning, remembering, and perceiving. It only points to the fact that beneath all those movements lies a ground untouched by them. That ground is knowing itself—silent, radiant, and free from the necessity of a knower.
To glimpse this is to taste liberation, not as a reward, not as a possession, but as the natural state that was never absent. What remains is not someone who knows, but knowing itself, unbroken and unclaimed.
Morgan O. Smith
Get Your Free Copy of My Book, Bodhi in the Brain!
The moment a seeker sets out on the path, a paradox quietly begins to unfold. Every step forward seems to promise arrival, yet what one hopes to reach has never been absent. The illusion of a distance to cross is what fuels the journey, and still, that distance does not exist.
Awakening is not a reward at the end of a road; it is the recognition that the road itself was always part of the illusion. The mind measures, compares, calculates progress, but the truth it seeks cannot be measured, compared, or progressed toward. Presence has no edge, no centre, no circumference. Nothing stands apart from it, nothing can be added to it, and nothing can be taken away.
Those who search often feel both exhaustion and longing, as if running toward a horizon that continually retreats. Yet horizons retreat only because they were never there to begin with. What is sought is closer than breath, closer than thought; it is what makes breath and thought possible.
To realize this is not to abandon the journey, but to recognize its true nature. Every path walked, every practice undertaken, every longing felt, each is a movement within what has never moved. The path is not a bridge toward truth but a gesture of truth itself, echoing as experience.
When this becomes clear, striving gives way to simplicity. Effort yields to intimacy. What you are searching for does not arrive because it has never been absent. No path leads to what has no distance.
Morgan O. Smith
Get Your Free Copy of My Book, Bodhi in the Brain!
God is not found in the layers of personality, beliefs, or self-image. Those dissolve the moment you step out of the illusion of “me.” What remains when the scaffolding of identity crumbles is not absence, but presence, vast, unconditioned, indivisible.
The struggle for most seekers lies in clinging to the idea of a separate self. Every attachment to who you believe you are, your story, your role, your wounds, creates the illusion of separation from God. Yet God has never been apart from you. God is what has always been here, quietly holding even your attempt to define God.
When “you” disappear, nothing is lost. What is left is clarity so immediate that it cannot be explained, only lived. It is a recognition that existence itself has no centre and no boundary. Every breath, every sound, every sensation reveals itself as the movement of the One Reality, free of your commentary.
This realization is not a grand acquisition; it is the collapse of the idea that there was ever anyone to acquire it. The vanishing of the personal self exposes a truth so intimate that it cannot be possessed. It is not “your” truth, it is truth itself.
To awaken to this is to discover that God was never hidden. God is not the object of your search, but the space in which the search appears and disappears. The seeker dissolves, and what remains is the unbroken light of Being.
Morgan O. Smith
Get Your Free Copy of My Book, Bodhi in the Brain!
The surge of Kundalini energy does not arrive as a gentle visitor. It comes as a serpent rising, a King Cobra rearing its hood, carrying both the gift of awakening and the threat of annihilation. Those who encounter this force discover it is not a metaphor; it is a reality coursing through every nerve, every cell, as if the body itself were being rewritten from the inside out.
When this energy pierces upward through the spine and explodes through the crown, the encounter feels like a confrontation with divinity itself. The serpent turns its head, upside down, to stare directly at you. In that gaze is the paradox: vitality at its peak and the shadow of death standing closer than ever. The breath sharpens, the heartbeat quickens, and one realizes that this power could end everything in an instant—or transfigure it beyond recognition.
Many speak of spiritual awakening as blissful or serene, but the truth carries far more weight. The awakening of Kundalini is as much a dance with mortality as it is with enlightenment. To feel more alive than ever before is to simultaneously brush against the veil of death, because both are rooted in the same ultimate source. Death is not the opposite of life, but the threshold that life constantly leans against.
The serpent reminds us that awakening is not safe. It burns away illusions, sears through the fragile boundaries of identity, and brings us face-to-face with what cannot die. The brush with death is not punishment—it is initiation. To survive, it is to be reborn, no longer mistaking yourself for the limited frame of flesh and thought, but knowing yourself as the vast consciousness in which even death dissolves.
Kundalini does not ask for permission. It does not ask if you are ready. It rises, and in that rising, you discover whether you can hold its gaze without collapsing into fear. The courage required is not of the ego, but of the soul. To endure the serpent’s fire is to step into a reality that few dare to enter, where life and death are revealed as two faces of the same eternal current.
Morgan O. Smith
Get Your Free Copy of My Book, Bodhi in the Brain!
Morgan O. Smith 