Until Then

When you really sit with death, not in fear but in honesty, something shifts. You start realizing we do not actually know what is going on here. We believe things. We defend things. We argue things. But truth? The full truth? We just do not have it.

In ceremony, under a psychedelic medicine, the identity drops. The stories drop. I can see clearly. I can see my potential without my prejudice, without my insecurities, without my blockages. It feels like seeing life without the filter of the mind and without the wounds of the heart.

Then I come back.

Bills. Stress. Responsibilities. And especially old patterns. The same reactions. The same fears. The same loops. The clarity fades. Reality gets heavy again.

And the world is loud. Conspiracies. Agendas. Religion. God. Heaven and hell. Everybody speaks like they know.

But we do not know.

That used to frustrate me. I wanted certainty. I wanted answers that felt solid. That frustration turned into searching. Into seeking. Into trying to manifest the version of myself I saw in ceremony.

Something simple landed as I turned 50.

Maybe we are not meant to know everything here. Maybe the full truth only shows up the day we die. Maybe that is when we finally see whether there is truly a God. Whether heaven or hell are real. Whether we see the people we loved again. Or whether it all goes quiet and dark.

We will know when we die.

Not before.

And strangely, that relieves me. I felt my shoulders drop when I accepted that. I do not need to solve every mystery. I do not need to win every argument. I do not need to figure out what comes next.

If there is something more, it will reveal itself. If there is nothing, then this moment matters even more.

Either way, the pressure drops.

I will know the truth when I die.

Until then, I live. I grow. I do my work.

And that gives me peace.