Category Archives: Uncategorized

by | September 7, 2026 · 2:08 pm

Walking into Silence: What pilgrimage taught me about uncertainty, and trust

There are moments on a long walk when you stop thinking about where you are going and simply walk.You simply hear the rhythm of your feet. The landscape changes slowly. Your breathing settles. The noise in your head begins to diminish.I experienced something of that on a recent walk on the Pilgrims’ Way, from Winchester.

But before I took my first steps, I went into Winchester Cathedral. I sat down and was silent during a morning prayer ceremony with only a handful of people. For a few minutes I sat in that extraordinary building, surrounded by centuries of history, and thought about all the people who had come here before me.

Wonchester Cathedral

People who had stood exactly where I was standing and wondered what life meant.I set out on this walk with contemplations from the great Mystics such as Meister Eckhart and Julian of Norwich.

Julian lived in fourteenth-century England, during one of the darkest periods of European history – the Black Death.She knew all about illness, death and uncertainty. During a serious illness in 1373, when she believed she was dying, she experienced a series of visions that became the basis of her Revelations of Divine Love. And from Julian came those extraordinary words:

“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

Julian said this living in a world in which almost everything was not well, and at the same time offering hope. She was saying that we may not understand what is happening in the world but we can still trust that love is deeper than suffering.

That is a very different kind of hope. We cannot plan and control the journey. Life happens in unpredictable ways while we try to protect ourselves against uncertainty.When we’re young, we often imagine that if we make the right choices, life will eventually become predictable.

People and pets we love become ill and die. Relationships change and fail. Homes and jobs change. Your body begins to remind you that you are not going to be here forever.

You begin to realize that you cannot control the journey. You can only walk and adapt to circumstances beyond your control.That thought stayed with me during the first hours of my walk during the unspoilt Itchen valley. 

The first kilometres are always slightly deceptive. You are still thinking about the destination. You look at the map. You calculate how far you have to go.

But gradually, something changes.

You stop thinking about the end.

You begin to pay attention to the next step.

And then the step after that.

That is one of the great gifts of walking.

It brings you back into the present moment. You hear the birds. You stand in awe before ancient trees. The Pilgrims’ Way takes you through landscapes that seem to exist outside ordinary time. There are stretches where ancient trees form tunnels over the path.You walk beneath them and suddenly feel very small.

The trees don’t know your worries. They simply stand there and some of them have been standing there for hundreds of years.And I found myself wondering how many people had walked beneath those same branches.

Medieval pilgrims walked these same old paths, possibly with the same questions as pulgrims today. And now they are gone.

The trees remain and there is something humbling and comforting about that. 

In the bigger order of things one lifespan is fleetingly small. The gravestones around the chapels, some dating back to the 12th century, are a stark reminder of that. You walk into a chapel after several hours on the trail and the experience can be almost startling. Outside, the modern world continues.

Inside, time seems to have stopped. The stones are old and the light is different.

And these are the moments when the boundary between the ordinary and the sacred really does feel a little thinner.A thin place isn’t necessarily a destination to an ancient sacred site but something that happens within.

St Augustine wrote about discovering God not by endlessly looking outward but by turning inward.Meister Eckhart later spoke about becoming empty — letting go of the endless accumulation of thoughts, desires and attachments that fill the mind.

And Julian of Norwich arrives at another extraordinary insight:beneath everything is love. Three different voices pointing towards the same thing. Turn inward. Become quiet and listen.

The longer you walk, the less important the things that seemed so urgent that morning can become.

You begin to notice the magic of life. The small things. The movement of leaves, the creaking of tree branches, the smell of moist earth in the forest, the taste of juicy wild blackberries and thoughts.

Not the thoughts you are trying to manufacture, but the ones that rise naturally when the noise becomes quiet.

That, too, is pilgrimage.

  • How do you deal with uncertainty?
  • How do you live when you don’t know what happens next?
  • How do you cope with the things you cannot control?

Julian’s answer is surprisingly simple. 

Certainty says:

I know how this is going to turn out.

Trust says:

I don’t know how this is going to turn out, but I can take the next step anyway.

That may be one of the most important lessons of a pilgrimage walk.

You don’t need to see the entire road.

You only need to see enough of it to take the next step and keep walking, leaving everything behind you but they remain as memories.

Perhaps that is what happens on all journeys.

And perhaps the same is true of the people we meet, the experiences we endure and the questions we never will answer.

So I keep coming back to Julian.

“All shall be well.”

I don’t hear those words anymore as a promise that everything will work out exactly as I want it to.

I hear them as an invitation to trust.

To accept that some things will remain unresolved and that life contains suffering as well as joy.

Beneath all the noise, all the uncertainty and all the attempts to control life, there may be something much more subtle.

Not travelling towards a place where you hope to find the sacred. But discovering that the sacred has been travelling with you all along and that all shall be well just by taking the next step.

Reino Gevers – Host of the LivingToBe podcast

P.S: If you enjoyed this article, you might be interested in reading one of my four books, available where all good books are sold.

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by | September 1, 2026 · 5:46 pm

When Things Fall Apart

The very first small things that go wrong often tell us far more than we realise. They can pinpoint the beginning of the slow decline of a company, a neighbourhood, a town or even a country.

The other day, after a walk in Dorset, we decided to stop for coffee in a nearby locality. It was by no means a bad area. In fact, we chose it precisely because it seemed quieter and less crowded than the place next door.

Perhaps that should have been our first warning sign.

We went into what appeared to be an upmarket restaurant. When we ordered coffee, the waitress asked whether takeaway cups would be acceptable because they were apparently out of clean mugs. We agreed. Then we waited. And waited. About ten minutes later, the coffee finally arrived, and the cups were only half full.

I asked for some brown sugar. The waitress returned with a straw.

They were out of spoons.

It was almost comical, but then we noticed a customer being served the wrong meal. Curious, we looked at the restaurant’s Google reviews.

That was when the pattern became apparent.

The ratings had begun falling sharply about five months earlier. The comments told a familiar story: owners apparently turning up intoxicated, increasingly long waits for food, staff arguing with one another, customers being ignored and orders repeatedly getting wrong.

None of these things, taken individually, would necessarily destroy a restaurant. A broken coffee cup, a missing spoon, a delayed meal or an unhappy employee can happen anywhere.

But collectively they tell a different story.

They are symptoms.

What struck me was how quickly a perfectly viable business can begin to unravel once small failures become normal. Standards slip. Nobody taking responsibility. Customers become frustrated. Good employees leave. Management becomes reactive rather than proactive. The remaining staff become demoralised. More things go wrong. And eventually customers stop coming.

By the time the doors finally close, the collapse may look sudden.

But it wasn’t.

It began months or perhaps years earlier, with small things that nobody considered important enough to fix.

Ernest Hemingway captured this remarkably well when he wrote:

“Gradually and then suddenly.”

He was describing bankruptcy, but the observation applies to so much more than money.

Think about a neighbourhood. The first street lamp stops working and isn’t repaired. Then a pothole appears and remains for months. Rubbish begins accumulating around overflowing bins. Graffiti isn’t removed. A vacant property deteriorates. A once-busy shop closes and isn’t replaced. Public spaces become neglected.

None of these things means a neighbourhood is collapsing.

But they can be early indicators that something underneath the surface is no longer working as it should.

The same is true of companies and institutions. A missed deadline. A call that isn’t returned. A customer complaint that isn’t taken seriously. A manager who repeatedly behaves badly but is protected because of their position. A small deterioration in standards that everyone notices but nobody addresses.

Eventually, people stop expecting things to work.

And that may be the most dangerous stage of all.

We become accustomed to dysfunction. We explain it away. That’s just how things are now. We make excuses for poor behaviour. We lower our expectations. We tolerate what we would once have considered unacceptable.

And once a society, an organisation or a relationship begins lowering its standards, decline can become self-perpetuating.

Relationships are no different.

A friendship rarely ends because of one isolated irritation. More often, it is a succession of small disappointments: the phone call that never comes, the promise that isn’t kept, the insensitive remark that goes unchallenged, the recurring behaviour we keep excusing.

We tell ourselves it doesn’t matter.

Until it does.

Small resentments accumulate. They become a reservoir of unspoken anger. And then, one day, something apparently insignificant triggers an emotional outburst that brings years of accumulated frustration to the surface.

To an outsider, the reaction may seem disproportionate.

But the outburst isn’t really about the final incident.

It is about everything that came before it.

This is why we should pay more attention to the small things.

The first broken street lamp.
The first pothole left unrepaired.
The first customer complaint ignored.
The first promise broken.
The first time someone behaves badly and we decide it isn’t worth confronting.

These are not necessarily signs of impending collapse. But they are signals.

And signals are useful precisely because they give us a chance to act before the damage becomes irreversible.

Things rarely fall apart all at once.

First, something stops working.

Then another thing.

Then another.

We adapt. We excuse. We tolerate.

And eventually we look back and wonder how everything changed so completely.

The frightening thing about decline is that it is often almost invisible while it is happening.

The hopeful thing is that the same is true of repair.

A pothole can be fixed. A lamp can be replaced. A customer can be listened to. An apology can be made. A standard can be restored.

Sometimes the difference between decline and renewal is simply whether somebody notices the first small thing that has gone wrong, and cares enough to do something about it before its too late.

Reino Gevers – Host of the LivingToBe podcast

P.S: If you enjoyed this article, you might be interested in reading one of my four books, available where all good books are sold.

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by | August 4, 2026 · 6:10 am

Finding Meaning Beyond Success: A Personal Journey

Are you one of those people living with this sense that your work somehow contradicts the deeper yearning of the soul? Outwardly you may appear successful, yet inwardly something remains unsettled.

Each person is born as a unique individual with gifts, talents, and a particular path to walk. Yet one of life’s great tragedies is that many people discover too late that they have spent decades climbing a ladder only to find it was leaning against the wrong wall.

Our culture encourages us to pursue success, influence, recognition, and wealth. There is nothing inherently wrong with these aspirations. The problem arises when we mistake them for the destination of a meaningful life. Once the goal has been achieved, the excitement gradually fades. What once felt extraordinary becomes ordinary. Habit replaces wonder. Achievement is followed by an unexpected emptiness.

I experienced something similar after walking my first pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela.

Reaching the cathedral filled me with joy and a profound sense of accomplishment. For weeks I had overcome blisters, fatigue, uncertainty, and changing weather. Every step had carried meaning because it demanded something of me.

Yet it was only after returning home to the old routine that I found that work needed to be done on the real pilgrimage. I was still stuck in an unfulfilling job and a marriage that was slowly falling apart.

On the Camino Primitivo

The Camino had changed me within, but my external world was still the same.

The real work was not completing the journey. It was allowing the journey to transform the way I lived afterwards.

That insight has stayed with me ever since.

The deepest satisfaction is seldom found at the destination. It is found in the daily struggle, the uncertainty, the conversations with strangers, the physical exhaustion, the moments of silence, and the countless small challenges along the way.

Perhaps this explains why people who seem to have every comfort deliberately seek difficult experiences. They climb mountains, run ultramarathons, walk across continents or venture into remote wilderness. They are not searching for suffering. They are searching for aliveness.

Growth rarely happens in perfect comfort.

Psychologists have long observed that human beings thrive when they are stretched, but not overwhelmed. Challenges activate creativity, resilience, and learning. When every obstacle is removed, our development often stalls. Muscles strengthen through resistance. Character is shaped through adversity. Wisdom is born from experience rather than convenience.

The workplace is no exception.

Many people see workplace difficulties as something to escape. Difficult colleagues, demanding projects, changing technology or increasing responsibilities can easily become sources of frustration. Yet these very challenges often become the training ground where patience, courage, emotional intelligence and leadership are formed.

This does not mean that toxic work environments should be tolerated. Persistent bullying, exploitation or unhealthy organisational cultures damage both individuals and organisations. But in a healthy workplace, challenge itself is not the enemy. Constructive difficulty invites you to grow beyond who you were yesterday.

The German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer captured this paradox with remarkable clarity:

“If all wishes were fulfilled as soon as they arose, how would men occupy their lives? What would they do with their time? If the world were a paradise of luxury and ease… men would either die of boredom or hang themselves.”

His words may sound severe, but they point to an enduring truth. Human beings need something meaningful to strive for. We are not designed merely for comfort; we are designed for growth.

Over the years, I have facilitated hundreds of workshops on corporate health and wellbeing. One pattern has repeatedly emerged.

Many employees spend years counting the days until retirement, convinced that happiness lies just beyond their final working day. Yet when retirement finally arrives, many discover that the absence of work also means the loss of structure, identity, community and purpose. Without a compelling reason to get up in the morning, freedom can unexpectedly become emptiness.

Work is about far more than earning a living.

People often realise this only after a prolonged illness, unemployment or an extended absence from the workplace. Beyond the salary, meaningful work offers connection, contribution and the opportunity to develop our abilities. It gives us occasions to solve problems, collaborate with others and become more than we were yesterday.

Considering that we spend such a large portion of our lives at work, perhaps the better question is not, “How can I escape the workplace?” but rather, “How can I transform my work into part of my own inner journey?”

Whether you remain in your current profession or eventually choose another path, every challenge can become part of your formation. Every difficult conversation can teach compassion. Every setback can deepen resilience. Every obstacle can reveal strengths you never knew you possessed.

The goal, after all, is not simply to arrive at retirement, promotion or financial security.

The goal is to become the person you were always meant to be.

As I look back on my own life, I rarely remember the periods when everything was easy. It was the pilgrimages, the professional setbacks, the unexpected detours, the relationships that tested me, and the moments when I had to make difficult choices that shaped who I have become.

Perhaps the same is true for you.

Rather than asking, “How can I avoid life’s obstacles?” perhaps a better question is, “What is this challenge trying to teach me?”

The obstacle may not be standing in your way.

It may be showing you the way.

So let me leave you with this question:

When you look back on your own journey, did your greatest growth come from the seasons of comfort—or from the challenges you once wished would disappear?

Reino Gevers – Host of the LivingToBe podcast

P.S: If you enjoyed this article, you might be interested in reading one of my four books, available where all good books are sold.

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by | June 30, 2026 · 1:59 pm

On Abundance and the Squeeze

Over the past few months, I have been squeezed by the Spanish tax authority in a way I can only describe as grossly unjust. An anonymous bureaucracy can be exceptionally cruel and indifferent — arbitrary decisions handed down by people who will never see your face, in a process over which you have no control. Amid the anger and frustration, I found myself asking the universe what lessons this situation holds for me personally, sorely testing my own faith over fear.

The first thing I am beginning to understand is that abundance is not a reward for good behaviour. The universe does not withhold it because you have done something wrong. What I am experiencing — this feeling of being squeezed from the outside — is one of the oldest initiations on the spiritual path. The Celts would say you are standing at a thin place, that permeable boundary between what was and what is trying to be born.

Money is one of the most misunderstood subjects in spiritual teaching. The familiar saying that “money is the root of all evil” is a misquotation. What Paul actually wrote in his first letter to Timothy is that the love of money is the root of all evil — a crucial distinction. Jesus himself did not condemn wealth. He pointed, again and again, to the danger of attachment. “Where your treasure is,” he said, “there your heart will be also.” When the heart anchors itself to external resources for its sense of safety, it has already lost its freedom. The lesson, then, is rarely about money itself, which is merely an exchange commodity. It is almost always about trust.

Where does your sense of safety and trust live?

Ask honestly: where does your sense of safety live? If it lives in the balance of an account, the universe — in its ruthless compassion — will go directly to that place and shake it. Not to punish, but to show you that the house was built on sand, and that there is rock underneath if you are willing to dig.

The Celtic teacher John Philip Newell, drawing on the deep well of the Iona tradition, speaks of the soul as something that cannot be diminished by what is done to us from the outside. Peregrine monks — those early Celtic wanderers who cast themselves onto the sea without oars — understood that security was never found in possessions or permanence. Their freedom came precisely from having so little to lose. That is a radical kind of abundance.

Injustice, when it arrives, asks a question beneath all the noise: Am I willing to hold my integrity and my peace even when the external world behaves badly? That is not passivity. That is spiritual sovereignty.

Abundance, in its deepest sense, is a state of inner orientation before it is ever an outer condition. The mystics did not teach prosperity. They taught permeability — the capacity to remain open when everything in you wants to contract and defend. This does not mean surrendering the fight. What deserves to be contested should be contested, with clarity and persistence. But the fight must not become all-consuming, must not cloud the mind with bitterness or corrode the spirit with anger.

It is about returning, again and again, to that inner temple that cannot be taxed — and remembering that true abundance has always lived there.

Reino Gevers – Host of the LivingToBe podcast

P.S. In the coming days, I’ll share more about Letters from the Threshold, a Sunday letter where I explore many of these themes in greater depth. For those who find value in thoughtful reflection and deeper inquiry, there will soon be an opportunity to subscribe.

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by | June 24, 2026 · 8:53 am

The Age of Everything—and the Hunger for Meaning

We live in an age saturated with ideologies.

Whether political, cultural, religious, or social, ideology is always trying to tell you who you should be and how you should behave. It defines identity by drawing boundaries between those who belong and those who do not. In a world that feels fragmented, uncertain, and complex, ideology offers certainty—but usually at the cost of curiosity, nuance, and human connection.

Almost every ideology shares another trait: it idealises the past.

The drumbeat is that there was once a golden age when people were happier, communities were stronger, society was safer, and life was somehow better. History tells a different story.

As I write this from London on a beautiful summer day, the sky is blue, the air is fresh, and birds are singing in the park outside my window. It is easy to forget that only fifty years ago, many of Europe’s great cities were shrouded in traffic fumes and industrial smog.

Go back further, and the contrast becomes starker still. Few of us would choose to live in the Middle Ages, when life expectancy was dramatically lower, disease was widespread, famine was common, and countless women died in childbirth while men perished in wars or from illnesses that are now treatable.

By many measurable standards, humanity is living through an era of extraordinary progress. Millions have been lifted out of poverty. Freedom has expanded across much of the world. Medical science stands on the threshold of breakthroughs that may one day conquer diseases such as cancer.

And yet something seems deeply unsettled.

Why does grievance feel so widespread? Why do anxiety, loneliness, and depression continue to rise? Why do so many people feel disconnected in the most interconnected age in history?

Perhaps because meaning cannot be manufactured by prosperity alone.

A healthy life is not one without difficulty. It is the capacity to navigate life’s inevitable cycles of gain and loss, joy and sorrow, certainty and doubt. Yet the world around us constantly sends a different message—that happiness depends on external validation, social approval, achievement, possessions, or carefully curated identities.

At the same time, many of the institutions that once offered a framework for meaning have lost credibility or struggle to speak in ways that resonate with contemporary life.

Deeper questions surface as a result:

  • Where have I come from?
  • Where am I going with the years I have left?
  • Who am I beyond my career, income, gender, age, or social status?
  • What remains when the labels fall away?

These questions have come up repeatedly in my podcast conversations, workshops, and personal encounters over recent months. Beneath the noise of current events, I sense a growing hunger—not for more information, but for wisdom. Not for certainty, but for deeper understanding.

Reino Gevers – Host of the LivingToBe podcast

P.S. In the coming weeks, I’ll share more about Letters from the Threshold, a Sunday letter where I explore many of these themes in greater depth. For those who find value in thoughtful reflection and deeper inquiry, there will soon be an opportunity to subscribe.

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by | June 16, 2026 · 10:01 am

The Marketplace of Meaning

For most of human history, meaning was inherited. People were born into a family, a culture, a faith tradition, and a set of expectations. Whether one agreed with them or not, there was a framework.

Today, meaning has become a marketplace where thousands of voices compete for your attention. Coaches, influencers, therapists, spiritual teachers, political commentators, podcasters, and self-help experts all offer explanations for why you might feel lost and promises for how to find your way.

Many provide genuine value. Some are insightful guides. But the sheer volume of competing narratives creates a new problem: paralysis. When everyone claims to possess the answer, how do you know whom to trust?

The Seduction of Certainty

Human beings have always been uncomfortable with uncertainty in times of rapid social change, economic instability, political division, and technological disruption; certainty becomes a highly desirable product. But the individuals who gain the largest audiences are often not those who ask the best questions but those who provide the simplest answers.

Complexity rarely goes viral. Certainty does. Yet history repeatedly demonstrates that simplistic explanations rarely survive contact with reality. The world is too nuanced, human beings too contradictory, and life too unpredictable to fit neatly into slogans and soundbites. Discernment and depth require patience.

The Difference Between Guidance and Dependency

There is nothing wrong with seeking wisdom from teachers, mentors, therapists, or spiritual guides. The problem arises when guidance turns into dependence. A good teacher helps people think for themselves. A dangerous teacher trains people to stop thinking altogether and to blindly follow.

One of the quiet tragedies of modern life is watching intelligent, capable people gradually surrender their own judgment. Every decision must be approved by the guru. Every life choice must be interpreted through the framework of the therapist. Every uncertainty requires external validation. The result is often a dangerous form of mind captivity.

The same pattern can often be observed in dysfunctional relationships, where one partner gradually surrenders their independence and begins to define their identity entirely through the other. Decisions, values, and even self-worth become filtered through the relationship. What may initially appear as devotion can ultimately become a loss of self, replacing personal agency with emotional dependence

Outsourcing the Work of Living

Perhaps the greatest temptation of our age is to outsource the difficult work of self-examination. It is easier to follow a celebrity’s life than to confront your own. Easier to consume endless content than to sit quietly with uncomfortable questions. Easier to adopt someone else’s beliefs than to wrestle honestly with your own doubts and issues of faith.

Yet purpose is not something another person can hand to you on a silver platter. No influencer, teacher, author, or spiritual leader can ultimately answer the questions that belong uniquely to your own life. That is something you can only discover.

They can illuminate the path, but nobody can walk it for you.

Living With Questions

I suspect that wisdom is less about possessing answers and more about developing the capacity to live with important questions.

  • Who am I becoming?
  • What matters most?
  • What kind of life is worth living?

These questions can only be revisited repeatedly throughout life. Perhaps maturity begins when you stop searching for someone who will think for you and start cultivating the courage to think deeply for yourself. Not in isolation, but with humility. Not with certainty, but with curiosity. Not seeking a guru to follow, but seeking the wisdom to discern.

Reino Gevers – Host of the LivingToBe podcast

P.S. In the coming weeks, I’ll share more about Letter from the Threshold, a Sunday letter where I explore many of these themes in greater depth. For those who find value in thoughtful reflection and deeper inquiry, there will soon be an opportunity to subscribe.

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by | June 8, 2026 · 9:18 am

The Thin Line Between Character and Choice

A few days ago, I had a fascinating conversation on the LivingToBe podcast with Eric Robinson.

What makes Eric’s story remarkable is not simply that he spent twenty-four years as an FBI agent investigating terrorism, violent crime, and some of the darkest corners of human behavior. Before all of that, he was a church minister. At first glance, those two worlds seem miles apart.

One is associated with compassion, spiritual guidance, and the care of souls. The other is with criminal investigations, threats, violence, and the pursuit of justice.

Yet as Eric shared his journey, I became increasingly aware that both vocations revolve around the same essential question:

What makes people choose the paths they do?

In ministry, he encountered people struggling to become better versions of themselves. People wrestling with their weaknesses, failures, fears, and doubts. People attempting, however imperfectly, to live according to values, principles, and moral commitments larger than themselves.

In the FBI, he encountered a very different reality. Not simply people who made mistakes. But individuals who consciously and deliberately chose destructive paths.

This distinction has stayed with me.

Much of modern culture encourages us to explain away human behavior as entirely determined by circumstances. We speak of trauma, environment, social conditions, and psychological influences. These factors matter. But there is another reality we sometimes hesitate to acknowledge. Human beings have the power of choice.

Every day, most people are trying, however imperfectly, to align themselves with values that create trust, cooperation, and human flourishing. They seek to improve their relationships, contribute to their communities, and become more patient, generous, wise, and compassionate.

The majority of people, I would argue, are engaged in this work of character formation.

Yet there are others who move in the opposite direction with purpose and intent.

History repeatedly reminds us that human beings are capable of organizing themselves around hatred, violence, and destructive ideologies with the same commitment that others devote to goodness and service.

That reality is uncomfortable because it challenges simplistic narratives.

We often prefer to divide the world neatly into good people and bad people.

But reality is more complicated. The potential for both creation and destruction exists within every human heart. Character is not a destination we arrive at once and for all. It is a series of choices repeated over time.

The people Eric investigated were not a different species. They were human beings whose decisions, beliefs, resentments, ambitions, and justifications gradually shaped them into who they became.

The same process operates in all of us. The difference is direction. Some people intentionally cultivate wisdom, integrity, and responsibility. Others intentionally cultivate grievance, resentment, domination, or self-interest.

The consequences eventually become visible. One of the most important lessons I took away from my conversation with Eric is that understanding human behavior requires us to hold two truths simultaneously.

We must have compassion for the forces that shape people. But we must also recognize personal responsibility for the choices people make. Without compassion, we become judgmental. Without accountability, we become naïve. Wisdom requires both.

Perhaps this is why so many people today are hungry for deeper conversations.

We are surrounded by commentary but longing for understanding. Surrounded by information but searching for wisdom. Surrounded by certainty but yearning for perspective. The questions that matter most rarely have simple answers.

Why do some people become more compassionate after suffering, while others become more bitter? Why do some use power to serve while others use it to control? What enables a person to remain anchored in values when confronted with fear, temptation, or adversity? These are not merely social or political questions.

They are deeply personal ones. Every day, you are participating in the ongoing formation of your own character.

Every day, you are in the process of becoming who you really are by remaining curious enough to keep asking better questions and courageous enough to examine the choices that shape your life.

Ultimately, every future is built not by what happens to you, but by the values you choose to live by.

Reino Gevers – Host of the LivingToBe podcast

P.S. Over the coming weeks, I’ll share more about the online community I am creating and what membership will look like in practice, and why I believe it can become a meaningful space for deeper reflection.

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by | May 11, 2026 · 6:39 am

Finding Spiritual Connection in Modern Society

Last week, we reflected on what is lost when people leave their village, their small town, and the familiar rhythms of communal life. Across the modern world, millions have moved toward cities in search of opportunity, freedom, and economic survival. Yet in the process, something profound has often been left behind.

Life in cities can be exciting and liberating, but it is also frequently anonymous. One can live among millions and still feel unseen. Modern urban life often disconnects people from land, ancestry, ritual, and the shared memory of community. Relationships become fragmented and transactional. The old structures that once held human life together slowly weaken.

In villages and rural communities, identity was traditionally formed through belonging. A person was known not only by occupation, but by family, neighbourliness, participation, and place. There were rhythms to life: births, marriages, funerals, feast days, seasons of mourning, prayer at certain hours, bells ringing across a valley at dusk. Human beings lived within a larger story.

Research into the so-called Blue Zones — regions of the world where people consistently live longer and healthier lives — reveals something deeply important. Longevity is not simply linked to diet or exercise. It is also connected to a healthy social network, purpose, ritual, intergenerational connection, and spiritual belonging. In many of these communities, faith and communal life remain deeply intertwined.

Historically, the church stood at the center of this communal structure. Whatever its failures — and history certainly contains many — churches often provided sanctuary during times of grief, illness, uncertainty, and poverty. Sacred spaces gave language to suffering and meaning to mortality. The repetition of prayer, liturgy, candle-lighting, silence, chanting, kneeling, and ritual anchored people psychologically and spiritually.

Today, in much of the Western world, institutional religion has lost moral authority for millions of people. Financial scandals, abuse, political entanglement, shaming, and rigid dogmatism have left deep wounds. Many have walked away from organized religion altogether.

Yet the deeper human hunger has not disappeared.

People continue searching for meaning, transcendence, stillness, and connection. Even those who no longer identify as religious are often drawn toward pilgrimage routes, monasteries, ancient cathedrals, contemplative prayer, meditation, sacred music, or moments of silence in old churches. Something within the human spirit still longs for an encounter with the mystery of the divine.

The medieval Christian mystic Meister Eckhart once wrote:

“The soul grows by subtraction, not by addition.”

It is a remarkable insight for our age of endless stimulation and accumulation. Modern life constantly tells us to consume more information, more possessions, more experiences, more noise. Yet many people remain inwardly exhausted and spiritually empty.

Ritual and contemplative practice offer another path.

When prayer is repeated daily at a particular hour, in a sacred place, with intention and rhythm, it slowly becomes embedded in consciousness. Over time, the body itself begins to remember stillness. Ritual becomes less about performance and more about orientation. It provides structure when life feels chaotic and uncertain.

Modern neuroscience increasingly confirms what ancient spiritual traditions long understood intuitively: repetition calms the nervous system. Sacred ritual regulates emotional states. Silence and contemplative practice can reduce anxiety and restore psychological balance. The body responds to rhythm, breath, chant, and sacred attention.

But perhaps the deeper issue is existential rather than merely psychological.

A life disconnected from spiritual depth can begin to feel strangely hollow. Human beings do not live by productivity and consumption alone. Usually in moments of crisis or solitude, deeper questions emerge.

What happens when life ends?

What is the soul?

What gives suffering meaning?

What remains when certainty collapses?

These questions often arrive quietly — at three in the morning, during illness, after loss, while sitting beside a hospital bed, or in the strange silence that accompanies aging. Technology cannot answer them. Wealth cannot remove them. Distraction only postpones them.

Perhaps this is why sacred places, like walking ancient pilgrimage routes, still matter.

Even now, many people instinctively lower their voices when entering an ancient church or monastery. Something within us recognizes sacred space before the intellect has framed it. In the lighting of a candle, the sound of distant bells, or the quiet repetition of prayer, we remember something modern life easily forgets:

You are not just an economic creature.

You are also a spiritual being searching for meaning, belonging, and connection to something greater than yourself.

Reino Gevers – Host of the LivingToBe podcast

P.S: If you enjoyed this article you might be interested in reading: Sages, Saints and Sinners Get it today on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and where all good books are sold.

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by | February 16, 2026 · 8:27 am

Protecting Your Energy and Your Purpose

I will begin with something that I had to painfully realize: Love without boundaries is not love. It is self‑abandonment.
Healthy boundaries are self‑respect in action. They are the quiet courage to say: This is my space.
A space I need to protect my emotional and spiritual well‑being so I can care deeply, give generously, and feel fully.

But here’s the subtle truth: boundary crossings rarely begin with something dramatic. They often start softly, almost imperceptibly. An “energy vampire” is not necessarily a bad person. Most of the time, they simply haven’t learned to honor boundaries — neither yours nor their own. They often struggle with low self‑esteem and, therefore, seek constant validation, reassurance, and emotional reciprocity.

The challenge is that spending time with such people leaves you feeling heavy, drained, or strangely unsettled. Your clarity fades, your energy dips, and your inner balance becomes harder to access.

Awareness is the first boundary

Pay attention to your body. Your nervous system rarely lies, giving you the perfect feedback loop on what people suck you dry and who nurtures and energizes you. It sometimes starts with the person who enters the room. Do I relax and feel a warm energy fill my body, or am I looking at ways to escape as soon as possible?

The first step is saying “no”. It is, for most of us, the hardest thing to do because we are social beings hard-wired to get along with our fellow human beings. Subconsciously, we fear being rejected, isolated, and even betrayed when saying “no.” But here is the thing: Saying “no” is saying “yes” to something else. It is a “yes” to presence, dignity, and self-respect. You owe nobody endless access to your time, energy, and emotional availability. Boundaries do not require justification. They require conviction.

It takes practice, and all comes down to how you say it: Here are some examples

  • “That doesn’t work for me.”
  • “I’m not available.”
  • “I need time to think about that.”
  • “No, thank you.”

What Nurtures My Energy? What Depletes My Energy?

Before you can even set healthy boundaries, you must be aware of your own needs, as well as where you are the person crossing the boundaries of others. Clarity creates responsibility. Once you know what nourishes you, it becomes your sacred task to protect it. Take a time out to reflect on what nurtures and what depletes your energy:

  • Silence or prayer?
  • Nature and walking?
  • Deep conversations?
  • Creative expression?
  • Time alone?
  • Physical movement?
What depletes my energy?
  • Information overload
  • Conflict?
  • Multitasking?
  • Negative environments?
  • Being responsible for everyone’s emotions?

Protecting Your Inner Space

Your inner world is sacred ground. Not every opinion deserves entry. Not every demand deserves a response. Not every crisis deserves your involvement. To protect your inner space:

  • Pause before responding. You can say: I need time to think about that
  • When is guilt not love driving your choice?
  • Create a daily grounding ritual that anchors you

Certainty does not mean rigidity.
It means knowing who you are.

Grounding practices may include:

  • Conscious slow breathing
  • Placing your feet firmly on the floor and noticing contact
  • Naming what you feel without judging it
  • Deep Walking in nature
  • Returning to faith when uncertainty arises

A Final Reflection

Setting healthy boundaries is an act of spiritual practice. It is the decision to stop outsourcing your worth. It is choosing integrity over approval. It is trusting that the right relationships will honor your limits. Boundaries do not push love away.
They make real love possible.

And perhaps the most important question is this:

Where in my life do I need to choose self-respect over fear?

That is where your next boundary is waiting.

To quote the mystic Teresa of Ávila:

“Let nothing disturb you,
Let nothing frighten you,
All things are passing;
God never changes.
Patience obtains all things.
Whoever has God lacks nothing;
God alone suffices.”

If you are currently finding yourself at a threshold—sensing that something has ended, but not yet knowing what comes next—you don’t have to walk this terrain alone. A Pilgrimage to New Beginnings is a gentle online journey created by me for moments just like this: a spacious, reflective path for those navigating endings, listening for what wants to be born, and learning to trust the wisdom of the in-between. If this speaks to where you are, you are warmly invited to join us on March 4th and take the next few steps—slowly, honestly, and in your own time.

Reino Gevers – Host of the LivingToBe podcast

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by | February 3, 2026 · 12:44 pm

The Dark Side of Christian Nationalism

Having grown up in apartheid South Africa, I witnessed firsthand how religion can be distorted to justify some of the gravest human rights abuses. History offers chilling parallels: in Nazi Germany, the swastika found its way into church ceremonies, with clergy openly swearing allegiance to a dictator.

Today, a similar shadow—rooted in comparable theological distortions—is emerging within the Christian Nationalist movement in the United States.

Theology and religion are human constructions that often claim divine authority. Yet when they are used to sanctify power, exclusion, or domination, they stand in stark contradiction to the core teachings of early Christianity and the mystical tradition, which consistently point toward humility, compassion, and the radical dignity of every human being.

The Christian Nationalist movement operates with a social-Darwinist logic: power is taken as proof of truth, strength as legitimacy to rule, and survival as confirmation of human worth. The ideologues of apartheid followed the same reasoning. Racial domination was justified through a distorted theology that claimed the ruling white Afrikaner population had been chosen by God, much like ancient Israel, while other races were destined to serve the so-called “chosen people.”

Such an ideology devastates the very tenets of a caring, humane society. It dehumanizes not only its victims but, ultimately, also the perpetrators and those who wield power. Essential human qualities—empathy, love, and compassion—are sacrificed. Overarching foundational values and ethics are eroded. There is extreme polarization between “us” and “them,” sowing the seeds of a conflict-ridden society that can last generations.

For Christian mystics, however, God is never encountered at the top of a hierarchy. God is found in descent—into poverty of spirit, vulnerability, empathy, and the surrender of control and power.

The 13th-century mystic Meister Eckhart goes so far as to say that God can only enter the soul when it becomes nothing. This is the precise opposite of evolutionary ascent and nationalist thinking built on “us over them,” where identity precedes ethics. In early Christian ethics, election is always for the sake and service of others, never against them.

The apostle Paul shatters tribal and hierarchical thinking when he writes:

“There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female.”

The mystics radicalize this even further. God is encountered beyond all description and distinction. Ultimately, the soul is eternal and has no nationality.

Julian of Norwich’s famous vision—“All shall be well”—embraces all of creation, not a purified remnant.

Social Darwinism interprets weakness and poverty as failure. Jesus’ teachings, however, were taken literally by early Christians:

  • Blessed are the poor
  • Blessed are the meek
  • Blessed are the persecuted

These were not metaphors. Early Christians were often minorities without political power—socially marginalized and frequently persecuted. The Cross was not an abstract symbol but a mirror of their own suffering, where pain and challenge were understood as moments of revelation. To this day, many churches recognize care for the sick, the feeding of the poor, and the protection of the weak as faith made visible.

The mystics take this even further by turning inward, welcoming the soul’s own shadow. God is found where the ego loses its boundaries. Isaac of Nineveh writes:

“A heart that has learned compassion burns for the whole creation.”

This vision is anti-Darwinian and anti-predestination to its core.

The social-Darwinist logic of the state claims that violence preserves order and advances God’s evolutionary plan by eliminating the weak. Early Christians and martyrs exposed the lie of violence. They refused to cooperate with its false claims, rejected armed revolt, and resisted the sacralization of force.

Christian Nationalism imagines history moving upward through domination. Mystical Christianity understands history as being transformed from within, through the elevation of consciousness. The Kingdom of God is invisible, non-coercive, and never aligned with empire or government.

Truth does not require dominance. Love—not survival—is the measure of divine destiny.

Where social Darwinism asks, “Who deserves to live?”
Christianity asks, “Who is already loved?”

Reino Gevers – Host of the LivingToBe podcast

P.S. For those who feel drawn to explore this in-between season more intentionally, I am offering a six-week online course, Pilgrimage into New Beginnings. It is a quiet, reflective journey for times of transition, starting March 4th.

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