I recently told a friend of mine that my real education started the day I learned that nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, is as it seems.

In school, we are taught to worship at the altar of intellect and certainty; that is, we are carefully and cunningly programmed to use the tool of the mind to sharpen the faculties of logic and to enhance our capacity to analyze incoming data.

However, the Greek philosopher Aristotle once said, “Educating the mind without educating the heart is no education at all.”

Despite the fact that he may or may not have missed the mark on what it actually means to educate the heart, from my point of reference, I believe that that statement, if taken at face value, could not be closer to the truth of the matter.

Over the course of several years, I have slowly but surely come to the realization that, although my mind is undoubtedly a gift when I use it exactly as nature intended, I am far more attuned to the language of the heart, which is subtle yet nevertheless all-pervading and substantial. It is the force in the fierce, howling wind, the rhythm in the rapturous music, and the core of all creation.

Although it knows nothing of equations and spreadsheets, it follows a formula of it’s own, and at the same time, stirs our imaginations with it’s own implicit recollection of infinite abundance.

Indeed, the heart is the language I respond to, and it is in her voice I can hear the intelligible whispers of my soul, whose words never lead me astray.

In fact, as some of you have probably gathered if you’ve read any of my articles within the last two years, my inner world, while always a pearl of supreme importance, has now become paramount to my life. After all, it is the inner world that is primary, and it is there where the buds bloom and the constellations align.

Like many others who have also uncovered the precious gem that is the heart, I too have poured over an array of books and taken in lecture after lecture on the topics of spiritual growth, eastern philosophy, and non-dual teachings, and this is how I discovered my now friend and mentor, Terrence Stephens.

When I first found Terry’s content on none other than YouTube in October or November of the year 2022, I was feeling the imminence of winter in my heart. Hope and levity felt like some distant memory, one that I recalled rather vaguely, from some whimsical daydream in the summers of my youth.

Alice, my beloved fur baby at the time, had recently been diagnosed with a terminal condition that would eventually render her breathless and incapacitated, and I was frozen in my grief.

My only source of comfort was this wise and gentle man I saw behind the screen, postulating about death being no more than a mere shadow in the light of the moon, and that there is something so much more dynamic than a psychological character animating a body with all it’s complexities.

Somehow, between this and hearing Rupert Spira tell an inquirer that we can never really lose anyone because the only place they’ve ever resided in is in our heart, I was sheltered from the bitter sting of my own biting sorrow, and ever-so-slowly, a semblance of light broke through the barren sky.

With that, Terrence became both a refuge and a guide on my own path toward the spring that is ultimate self-realization, and I have since come back to sip from that well, time and time again, and taste the fresh water that is self-understanding.

Take it from me when I tell you that my journey has been far from an easy ride.

As a child, I often felt lonely, forgotten, frightened, and misunderstood. While my parents are lovely people who did their absolute best for me while I was growing up, school and society were two entirely different stories.

Often, I struggled to understand rules that did not make sense to me simply because they weren’t expansive enough or in tune with the nature of the heart.

I was bullied off and on throughout my formative years just for being who I was, was excluded from groups and teams, gossiped about, teased, and sometimes blatantly and callously ignored. As an intensely sensitive child, all of this felt like a blow to my sense of person-hood. Due to these early life experiences, I came to see myself as a fundamentally flawed and unlikable character, and subsequently withdrew further and further inside myself because, wherever I went, I expected other people not like love, want, or approve of me after all was said and done.

Around age 10, I was diagnosed as having (inattentive-type) ADHD and was further made to feel like a dismal failure because my brain functioned differently and wasn’t entirely compatible with the nature of the traditional education system.

In high school, I still struggled vehemently to “fit in” to no avail and often struggled with bouts of anxiety, depression, and had difficulty coming to grips with my sexual orientation, which also made me feel like the odd-person-out.

However, my grades were stellar and I worked hard to get into university only to face a soul-crushing disappointment in my first year. This eventually led me to question my own path and detour.

A few years later, I fell in love, got married, and moved to the other side of the continent hoping to find ultimate love and happiness outside of myself. Not long into my marriage, I began to realize how unhealthy the relationship was, and a few years after that, it ended in divorce.

In between college and my divorce, I struggled with my health and with finding the right kind of job and career for me, and sometimes I truly felt cursed and wondered whether I’d been born under a dark star.

Sure, there were moments of pleasure, but at the end of the day, I never quite knew where I belonged or understood why certain things that others often took for granted seemed incredibly challenging for me—and certainly not for a lack of effort on my part.

Nearly one year after my marriage fell apart, I met the person whom, unbeknownst to her, became a catalyst for my awakening.

The beloved American poet Mary Oliver once wrote, “Someone I once loved gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to realize that this, too, was a gift.”

Whenever I see this quoted anywhere, I think of this catalyst.

Losing her felt like being gutted and left open to bleed. Yet, after two-and-a-half years of pain, I finally came to see that the connection had been divinely orchestrated to show me all the ways I wasn’t living in resonance with my own personal spark of the divine, and that I needed to remember who I was before the world claimed me.

Fast-forward to today, in late 2024.

After having been on an intense and all-consuming path of self-understanding for the last couple of years, I am sometimes rendered both frustrated and fatigued.

Over and over, I have been called to take a hard and painstakingly honest look at myself. I’ve had to hold myself accountable for my own limiting beliefs, habits, and behaviours. This is far from an easy task in life, as it requires formidable maturity, emotional courage, integrity, and introspection—none of which we’re ever taught or encouraged to master. It also requires immense focus and commitment to yourself and your growth in a world riddled with a constant and endless barrage of noise and distraction.

There have been times I’ve felt stagnant, or as though I was moving backwards. There have been times I’ve wanted to simply throw in the towel and give up, despite the fact that something deep inside of me won’t allow me to do so.

So, this is when I called on Terry for help.

When I sat with Terry on the other side of the screen on Monday December 2, 2024, I was besieged by weeks of frustration.

In particular, I was beginning to feel as though my daily practice of self-inquiry was now relegated to the background of my life as I grappled with a world that wouldn’t allow me to rest nor look in the metaphorical mirror. Slowly, I was losing interest in anything of a spiritual nature altogether, and feeling miserably disconnected from myself.

In addition, I explained to Terry that I seldom had enough time alone and was feeling swayed by the shouts and the common collective.

Work harder, do more, and be more was what everyone around me was saying.

You aren’t okay right here, right now, just as you are. You must strive, strive, strive, and strive for more, more, more!

Instead of agreeing with those distorted and overly ambitious voices, though, Terry debunked them all, one at a time.

I told him of my former and current struggles and that I felt internal pressure to keep growing so that I can write the book I want to write, because after all, I owe it to myself to follow my dreams and have something good happen to me after a couple decades of struggle and never feeling good enough for myself or anyone else, for that matter.

Lovingly and with the honesty that is so characteristic of him, Terry himself relayed his own trials and tribulations, many of which I could relate to. He also told me that one day he found himself at a fork in the road.

“I actually found myself on my hands and knees praying,” he said.

“I said, ‘Dear God, either take me or save me, but don’t leave me like this.’”

Tears of empathy flooded my eyes as he spoke these words to me.

He resigned, and continued his story.

“But then I asked myself the following question, which was if this is as good at it gets, can I live with it? And you know what, Sarah? I looked around me, noticed what I was seeing, hearing, tasting, touching, smelling, and breathing, and the answer seemed to come from a much different place inside of me. The answer, my dear, was a deep and resounding yes.”

I was stunned. Mystified. Rendered utterly speechless at this point.

He explained, “You see, Sarah, the feeling of presence and aliveness I felt in that moment, as simple as it may seem, was more than enough for me to realize that there was something in me much more powerful, more intelligent than who I thought I was, and that that very same sense of presence was the wind beneath my wings and had been all along. All of a sudden, I felt so much peace and gratitude, if you will, and it had absolutely nothing to do with me and my story, which was the life I thought I’d been living until then…We’re all sold these narratives, Sarah, about how we can control life, but that is simply not true. I’ve tried so, so hard to control my life for several years, and it was seldom the way I wanted it to be, no matter what I did to try to get it to be exactly as I wanted it. If we were all truly in control of our lives, wouldn’t things be so much different for most of us? The truth is, we are not living life; rather, life is being lived through us, and the sooner we come to terms with that, the pressure eases off. Therein lies the great surrender, and we can be open to what life actually has to offer instead of trying to resist and control things as if we know better.”

Upon hearing these words, a deep and unfathomable peace washed over me, clearing all the leftover fear and debris and dissolving it back in the immeasurable depths of life itself.

“Write that book,” he encouraged, “but know that it isn’t ‘Sarah’ writing it; rather, it is coming through the vessel that is Sarah and onto the page from a greater intelligence than any individual person alone could summon.”

As someone who admittedly struggled with faith in the processes and unfolding of life, this man’s words became for me emblems in the darkest night, and never have I felt so utterly shaken in my life.

Better yet, I have come to perceive life as an endless treasure chest, filled with things of more infinite value than any precious diamond alone.

Every time we surrender to what is and remain open and receptive to what life has to offer, each and every moment is a gift, and why would we ever wish it to be any other way?

After all, even hardship is our teacher if we choose to see it that way, as it has the potential to bestow wisdom, depth, grace, and humility. Without hardship, we couldn’t possibly know ease and joy, which bask on us like the mid-summer sun.

Why assume we know better when an inconceivable yet all-knowing force has always been in the driver’s seat?

Sir Alan Watts once said, “The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.”

I now understand that that same motto can be applied to each and every aspect of this thing we call “my life.”

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