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.

It feels like the heart opens, and I am seeing from a cleaner place.

 

Then I come back.

Bills. Responsibilities. Stress. And especially old patterns. The same reactions. The same habits. The same fears. The same mental loops. Old patterns come back strong. The clarity fades. Not gone, but harder to hold. Reality becomes heavy again, and I am back inside the human conditioning.

And the world is loud. Manipulation. Agendas. Theories. Conspiracies. Everyone says they know what is happening. But none of us truly know. We are trying to understand reality from inside a limited body and a limited mind.

That used to frustrate me. I wanted answers. I wanted certainty. I wanted my life to match the vision I saw in ceremony. When it did not, I felt behind. In relationships. In money. In purpose. In growth. In all of it.

Something shifted when I turned fifty.

It was not dramatic. It was gradual. A slow awareness. I started realizing maybe we are not meant to know everything here. Maybe this life is not about solving the entire mystery. Maybe the full truth only shows up the day we die.

Maybe that is the moment when everything is revealed. Not just personal truth, but all of it. The hidden layers. The manipulation. The conspiracies. The real structure behind what we think is reality. Maybe that is when consciousness sees clearly, without distortion, without narrative, without fear.

And that thought did not scare me. It relieved me. I actually felt my shoulders drop. A physical release. Like something I had been carrying quietly for years finally loosened its grip.

If that is true, then I do not need to rush. I do not need to force clarity. I do not need to solve every global question. I do not need to carry the weight of understanding everything happening in this world. I do not need to accomplish everything in one lifetime. I do not need to punish myself for what did not happen.

Maybe consciousness continues. Maybe we return in another form. Maybe we forget the details but carry the essence. And if that is the case, nothing is wasted. What I become here expands somewhere else.

And if everything ends when we die, if it is just silence, then being fully present right now matters even more.

Either way, the pressure drops.

Turning fifty made time feel real. Not scary. Just real. Finite. Measured. And instead of panic, what I felt was peace. I stopped fighting life so hard. I stopped chasing answers I cannot have yet.

I will know the truth when I die.

Until then, I live. I grow. I stay aware. I do my work. I appreciate what is in front of me.

And that gives me peace.