Tag Archives: health

by | April 13, 2026 · 8:29 pm

Awareness Over Calm: Redefining Emotional Mastery

On one of my earliest pilgrimage walks, I began to recognise something I had long resisted: the very emotions I was trying hardest to suppress—pain, anger, and fear—were not obstacles, but the raw materials of transformation.

Along the spiritual path, there is a subtle temptation to numb or transcend these feelings prematurely. I knew that tendency well: the quiet disappointment of relationships that had unravelled, the lingering anger of unmet expectations, and the helplessness of facing forces beyond my control.

But what if anger and fear are not barriers to a higher life… but thresholds?

Anger is rarely mere volatility; more often, it is power without direction.

Fear is not simply weakness; it is awareness, contracted and constrained.

Both carry energy. And energy, when understood, can be redirected—into clarity, into creativity, into new beginnings.

Anger tends to arise where a boundary has been crossed, a value violated, or an expectation left unmet. Fear emerges at the intersection of uncertainty and attachment. In both cases, something within is signalling: pay attention—this matters.

To elevate consciousness, you do not bypass these signals. You learn to read them, to work with them, and ultimately, to transform them.

Consciousness Is Not Calmness—It Is Awareness

Elevated consciousness is often confused with a calm mind. But true elevation is not the absence of disturbance; it is the ability to accept and remain aware within it.

When anger flares, the unconscious mind reacts by blaming, defending or attacking. But the conscious mind takes five steps back and observes:

What exactly am I protecting? Where is this reaction coming from? Is this moment echoing an older wound?

This shift—from reaction to observation—is the first act of transmutation.

Awareness creates space. And in that space, energy begins to reorganise itself.

The Alchemy of Emotional Energy

Transmutation is not suppression but transformation through understanding and intentional redirection. And, here is how it works in practise:

  • The moment you feel anger or fear rising, resist the urge to respond immediately. Let the emotion fully surface without feeling shame or labeling it as “bad.”
  • How does the energy feel in your body physically? Do you feel their grip in your throat, gut or chest?
  • Ask yourself the question: What is this emotion trying to teach me? The anger may be totally unrelated to the incident and come from a deeper, buried space. Fear may reveal the path to go, but you are still stuck in your comfort zone and finding it safer to stay in a place you know.
  • Redirecting the energy is the inner alchemy that turns the emotion into conscious power

Abundance Begins Internally

Abundance is often misunderstood as the accumulation of things and material status. But externally driven abundance is fragile because it is often driven by the fear of scarcity.

Unprocessed anger creates conflict, and unresolved fear creates procrastination. The mind is locked in fear, flight and freeze mode preventing creative flow of ideas, relationships and opportunities that come from the prefrontal cortex of the brain in a relaxed mindset. You make decisions from clarity rather than insecurity with internal coherence naturally attacting external expansion. Abundance is not chased but comes naturally as a result of flow energy.

Happiness as a Byproduct, Not a Goal

Happiness is often pursued directly, which paradoxically keeps it out of reach. But happiness can really only be appreciated if we have experienced the pain, the loss and the disappointment. Happiness is not the absence of difficult emotions but the acceptance and integration of them. If you are no longer controlled by fear and anger, you will feel empowered.

Inner Mastery

Mastering your emotional life is not a single breakthrough—it is a discipline, forged through consistent inner work. Anger, fear, and pain do not disappear; they remain part of the human condition. What changes is their authority. They no longer govern you.

With time, you develop the capacity to recognise these signals early and to redirect their energy with intention rather than reaction.

You will still feel anger. You will still feel fear. But you are no longer ruled by them. Instead, you cultivate the ability to transmute: fear into courage, anger into clarity and grounded compassion, pain into recovery—and, ultimately, renewal.

In that space between stimulus and response lies everything: the depth of your awareness, the breadth of your capacity for abundance, and the quality of the life you create.

Reino Gevers – Host of the LivingToBe podcast

P.S: If you enjoyed this article you might be interested in reading more in “Deep Walking for Body, Mind and Soul” published by Morgan James, New York. Get it today on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and where all good books are sold.

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by | April 6, 2026 · 2:32 pm

When the Crowd Roars: Why Independent Thinking Matters

There is a single man standing with his arms crossed in defiance while surrounded by a sea of German dockworkers raising their arms in the Nazi salute. The image was taken on 13 June 1936 in the port of Hamburg and rediscovered decades later, in 1991, when it quickly spread around the world.

The man was later identified as August Landmesser.

The occasion was the launch of a naval training vessel attended by Adolf Hitler—a ceremony designed to project unity, obedience, and ideological conformity. Against this backdrop, Landmesser’s refusal to salute stands out as an act of rare moral clarity. It was a small gesture, almost understated, yet it carried immense personal risk—and ultimately, tragic consequences.

The individual who stood against the crowd

Landmesser’s story is not one of abstract heroism but of lived contradiction. He had joined the Nazi Party in 1931, reportedly to secure employment. Yet his life took a decisive turn when he fell in love with Irma Eckler, a Jewish woman.

Under the racial laws of the regime, their relationship was forbidden. He was expelled from the party. Still, they remained together and had a daughter in 1935. Their refusal to separate led to their arrest in 1938. Landmesser was imprisoned, later conscripted into a penal military unit, and is believed to have died in action. Eckler was deported and murdered in the Ravensbrück concentration camp in 1942.

Seen in this light, the photograph is no longer simply symbolic—it is deeply personal. Landmesser’s defiance was not ideological theatre. It was the visible expression of a man whose life had already been shattered by the system he refused to endorse.

The individual mind versus the herd mind

The image endures because it captures a perennial tension: the individual conscience set against the force of the collective.

Crowds possess psychological gravity. Individuals who, in isolation, might act with restraint and judgment can become unrecognizable when absorbed into a mass. We have seen modern echoes of this dynamic in events such as the January 6 United States Capitol attack, where ordinary citizens were swept into a collective surge that overrode personal responsibility.

Western societies place a high value on individual freedom and self-expression. Yet beneath this, there often lies a spiritual disconnect that makes the pull of belonging all the more powerful. Identification with political movements, brands, cultural tribes, or even sports teams can take on a “religious” intensity. The need to belong can, under certain conditions, eclipse the capacity to think.

When consciousness gives way to the collective

The Swiss psychiatrist Carl Gustav Jung, who studied the psychological undercurrents of totalitarianism, drew a sharp distinction between the individuated mind and what he termed the collective unconscious.

He warned that as groups enlarge, consciousness tends to diminish. The ethical and reflective capacities of the individual are diluted, replaced by something more primitive, more reactive. In his words, the psychology of large crowds tends to descend to a more instinctual, even “animal” level. What emerges is not an elevation of shared wisdom, but often a regression into emotional contagion.

This is not merely a historical observation. It is a recurring human pattern.

The modern amplification of the herd

We are living through a period of accelerated change where vigilance and discernment are no longer optional—they are essential.

The digital ecosystem has intensified the dynamics Jung described. Large segments of mass media and social platforms no longer function primarily as vehicles of information, but as engines of emotional activation. Content is optimized not for truth, but for engagement—often by triggering fear, outrage, or tribal loyalty.

Distortion, simplification, and conspiracy narratives thrive in such environments. The line between information and manipulation has become increasingly blurred.

There are early indications that major platforms are beginning to acknowledge their role in this landscape. But structural incentives remain largely unchanged.

A practical line of resistance

Landmesser’s gesture invites a question that is as relevant now as it was then: what does it take to remain inwardly independent in the face of collective pressure?

A useful starting point is deceptively simple:

When you encounter a piece of information that provokes an immediate emotional reaction—pause.

Ask yourself:

  • What is the source of this reaction?
  • What intention might the communicator be pursuing?
  • Does this information serve clarity—or does it seek to agitate?

These questions create a small but decisive space between stimulus and response. In that space, the individual mind can reassert itself.
Sometimes it simply takes courage to refuse to roar like the crowd, to stand still, and refuse to follow.

Reino Gevers – Host of the LivingToBe podcast

P.S: If you enjoyed this article you might be interested in reading more in “Deep Walking for Body, Mind and Soul” published by Morgan James, New York. Get it today on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and where all good books are sold.

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by | March 22, 2026 · 10:36 am

Karma and Grace: How Your Actions Shape Reality Beyond Fate

Karma, much like forgiveness, is one of the most misunderstood concepts in the spiritual world. It is often reduced to a simplistic notion of fate, something predetermined, inevitable, and beyond your control. But this interpretation strips it of its real power and your divine purpose.

In a recent conversation on my LivingToBe podcast with Buddhist teacher and author Ann Tashi Slater, we explored a deeper and far more empowering understanding. In the Buddhist tradition, karma is not destiny. It is taking intentional action, and the ripple effects those actions create over time.

This shifts everything.

Rather than seeing life as something that “happens to you,” karma invites you to recognize that we are constantly participating in the shaping of our own reality. Every thought, every word, every action plants a seed. And those seeds, given time and conditions, bear fruit.

This is where agency enters.

If karma were fixed, we would be trapped in a script already written. But karma is dynamic. It unfolds in the present moment. And that means the present moment is always a point of power.

You are not just living out past causes; you are inevitably generating new ones.

A Christian Mystical Parallel

Interestingly, this understanding is not foreign to the Christian mystical tradition. While the word karma is not used, the principle of cause and effect appears in several profound ways.

Meister Eckhart spoke about the inner orientation of the soul as the determining factor of one’s experience of God and reality. It is not external circumstances, but your state of being that shapes what unfolds.

Similarly, St. John of the Cross emphasized that choices do matter. Purification and transformation come through conscious participation—through surrender but also through intentional alignment with divine love, kindness, and compassion.

In the New Testament, the principle is stated with striking clarity: “As you sow, so shall you reap” (Galatians 6:7). This is, in essence, a karmic law, not to be seen as punishment, but as a reflection of the deep coherence of creation.

From this perspective, karma or what is often misunderstood in Christian terms as sin, is not a cosmic bookkeeping system of reward and punishment. It is a spiritual practise and the evolving of consciousness.

From Victimhood to Participation

The misunderstanding of karma as fate often leads to passivity, shame, or even quiet despair:


“This is just my karma.”
“This is how things are meant to be.”

But a more accurate understanding empowers, restores responsibility, and possibility.

If your present circumstances are influenced by past causes, then your present actions are shaping your future experience.

This does not mean everything is controllable. Life is inevitably unpredictable, with waymarkers of loss, sadness, happiness, bliss, and mystery. But it does mean that how you respond is never predetermined.

And that response is itself karmically potent.

This is where karma and forgiveness meet.

Forgiveness interrupts cycles. It dissolves patterns that would otherwise continue repeating. In karmic terms, it is the conscious decision not to perpetuate a particular chain of cause and effect.

It is an act of profound spiritual authorship.

The Transformative Shift

To understand karma in this way is to move from a passive to an active relationship with life.

You are no longer merely the result of what has been.
You are a participant in what is becoming.

Each moment becomes an invitation:
What am I creating now?
What seeds am I planting?

Even the smallest shift in awareness can spark a new choice.
And a single new choice can begin to reshape your entire life.

You are not here to be carried by circumstance and fate. You are here to participate, to create, to transform.

Pause. Notice. Choose consciously.

The life you are living tomorrow begins with the action you take today.

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 | March 9, 2026 · 5:45 am

Understanding Forgiveness and Why it Matters

The Christian concept of forgiveness, especially the teaching of Jesus to “love your enemy as yourself”, is often deeply misunderstood. For many people, the idea sounds almost impossible. Is it truly possible to forgive someone who has committed a grave injustice against you? What about perpetrators of horrific crimes such as abuse or violence?

These questions strike at the heart of one of the most difficult teachings in the spiritual tradition.

The art of forgiveness, practiced in its deepest sense, may be one of the hardest challenges. Yet there is a profound truth behind it: holding onto resentment, anger, or hatred toward someone who has harmed you can gradually bind you to the very negativity you are trying to resist. When your thoughts become consumed by the wrong committed against you, you are running the real risk of becoming emotionally entangled with the same destructive energy.

Forgiveness is not primarily about the other person. It is about the soul’s inner liberation and what Jesus really meant in his Sermon of the Mount.

What Jesus Actually Meant

When Jesus spoke about loving one’s enemies, he was not advocating passive submission to injustice or asking victims to excuse evil. His teachings were aimed at something deeper: the transformation of the human heart.

Jesus challenges humanity to step out of the cycle of retaliation and hatred that defines so many conflicts. Violence and revenge create an endless chain reaction in which each generation inherits the anger of the previous one.

The teaching to “love your enemies” is essentially an invitation to break that chain.

Forgiveness does not deny that a crime or injustice occurred. Rather, it prevents the injury from defining your life or the collective life of a nation.

The Wisdom of the Mystics

Christian mystics and sages throughout history have interpreted forgiveness in this deeper psychological and spiritual sense.

Mystics understood that resentment is not only a moral issue but also a spiritual and emotional burden carried within the human psyche. When you cling to hatred, you imprison yourself in a narrative that continually reopens old wounds.

For the mystics, forgiveness was therefore a form of inner freedom.

It meant releasing the emotional poison associated with the memory of an injustice. It meant refusing to allow the actions of another person to dictate the state of your soul.

The great medieval mystic Meister Eckhart spoke often about the necessity of inner detachment as the path to spiritual freedom. In one of his teachings, he wrote:

“All that God asks you most pressingly is to go out of yourself… and let God be God in you.”

Eckhart’s insight points to something profound. As long as you cling to resentment, anger, and the stories of your injuries, you remain trapped within the narrow confines of the wounded ego. Forgiveness, in the mystical sense, is a form of letting go of that inner prison.

This does not mean denying pain or pretending that something terrible did not happen. Rather, it is the conscious decision not to let bitterness shape your identity.

The Cycle of Revenge

History offers countless examples of how easily the oppressed can become the next oppressors when resentment, hate, or retribution goes unchecked.

The Iranian revolutionaries who overthrew the Shah in 1979 executed thousands. Revolutionary movements in France, Russia, and China promised liberation, yet often unleashed new waves of brutality under figures such as Lenin and Mao Zedong. The white Afrikaners in South Africa, who once suffered under British colonial rule, became oppressors themselves during the apartheid regime.

The same pattern can occur on a deeply personal level. The abused child may grow into an abusive adult. The daughter of an alcoholic parent may later struggle with addiction herself.

These tragic cycles demonstrate how unprocessed trauma and resentment can replicate the very behavior that once caused suffering.

Breaking this cycle requires more than justice alone. It requires inner transformation.

Forgiveness Is Not Reconciliation

One of the greatest misconceptions about forgiveness is the belief that it means excusing wrongdoing or restoring a relationship with the offender.

It does not.

Forgiveness does not require you to trust someone who has proven untrustworthy. It does not mean returning to a harmful relationship. Nor does it mean denying the need for justice or accountability.

Forgiveness simply means releasing the toxic emotional hold that the past may still have over you.

You may never see the person who harmed you again. They may even be long deceased. Yet the anger, shame, or pain connected to that experience can remain alive within you.

Forgiveness allows you to reclaim your inner space.

The Health of the Body and Mind

Modern research increasingly confirms what spiritual teachers have long suggested. Studies indicate that forgiveness can reduce chronic stress, lower blood pressure, and improve heart health.

The body and mind are deeply interconnected. Long-term resentment keeps the nervous system in a state of tension and vigilance, while forgiveness can help restore emotional balance and calm.

In this sense, forgiveness is not only a spiritual act—it is also an act of self-care.

A Journey, Not a Moment

Forgiveness is rarely a single decision made once and for all. It is often a gradual process that unfolds over time.

Sometimes you may believe you have forgiven someone, only to discover years later that a certain remark from a colleague or a supervisor unexpectedly triggers a disproportionate emotional reaction. In that moment, you realize that part of the original wound is still alive.

Such moments are not failures. They are invitations to continue the process of healing.

Forgiveness requires courage because it forces you to confront your own inner shadows—the pain, anger, and vulnerability you would often prefer to avoid.

Three Practical Steps Toward Forgiveness

Forgiveness is rarely a single moment of decision. More often, it is a gradual inner practice that unfolds over time. These three simple steps can help begin that process.

  • Acknowledge the Wound
    Forgiveness begins with honesty. Recognize the pain, anger, or betrayal you experienced without minimizing it. Suppressed emotions inevitably resurface later in unexpected ways. Naming the wound through reflection, prayer, or journaling helps bring it into the light.
  • Release the Grip of Resentment
    Forgiveness means choosing not to let the offense and grievance control your inner life. It does not excuse the wrongdoing or remove the need for justice. Rather, it is the decision to stop feeding the resentment and to free yourself from the emotional hold of the past. Meditation and breathing exercises that help focus the mind on the beauty and abundance of the present moment are useful tools.
  • Turn Pain Into Insight
    Over time, difficult experiences can deepen wisdom and compassion. Forgiveness allows the wound to become a source of understanding rather than a lifelong burden. The event remains part of your story, but it no longer defines your life or identity.

Reino Gevers – Host of the LivingToBe podcast

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

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by | February 9, 2026 · 9:24 am

Embracing Change: Pain and Growth

“Be willing to let go of who you are, for who you are becoming.” – Meister Eckhart (13th-Century Mystic)

There are moments in life when moving forward feels impossible. The way ahead seems blocked, not by one clear obstacle, but by a quiet accumulation of losses, disappointments, and unanswered questions. Something has ended. Something hurts in a way that cannot be easily fixed. And in those moments, it can feel as though nothing is happening at all.

Yet beneath the surface, something is quietly stirring. What looks like stillness is often a deep, unseen movement and a reordering that cannot be rushed or explained. This is not stagnation, but a subtle turning of the soul.

We are quick to judge these seasons as failures or weaknesses. We tell ourselves we should be coping better, moving faster, knowing more. But what if pain and failure are not signs that we have lost our way? What if they are threshold moments—gentle, demanding invitations into a new beginning, or into a deeper way of seeing and being?

Henry James, often regarded as a founding voice in American philosophy, spoke to this hidden depth when he wrote that life is “always more divine than it seems, and hence we can survive degradations and despairs which otherwise must engulf us.”

The Threshold Moment

A threshold is not a destination. It is not even a clear path. It is a space between: between what has been and what is becoming. It is coming out of a dark, cold winter with the seeds of spring waiting to sprout.

In threshold moments, the old story—the one that once made sense, gave structure, identity, or safety—begins to loosen its grip. It no longer fits. Yet the new story has not arrived fully formed. There are no clear instructions, and there is primarily uncertainty.

This in-between space can feel deeply uncomfortable. It often comes with grief, fatigue, confusion, or a quiet panic that whispers, “I should be further along by now.”

But thresholds are not failures of progress.
They are pauses of transformation.

When Pain Is Asking for Attention, Not Erasure

Pain has a bad reputation. There is a tendency to push it away, a rush to numb it with distractions, and explain it away. Yet pain often carries a message that can’t be accessed in any other way. It forces you to dig deep into your inner resources. It is asking you to slow down and pay attention to what is happening.

Failure, too, has a voice. It may be saying: This path has run its course. Or: This version of you has served its purpose.

Letting the Old Story End

Endings rarely announce themselves cleanly. More often, they fray at the edges. Motivation fades. Joy drains away. What once felt purposeful now feels heavy or hollow. It could be anything from a job, a location, a home, or even a long-term relationship. This should not be seen as betrayal or weakness, but something new unfolding slowly.

The courage of a threshold moment lies not in forcing clarity, but in allowing uncertainty to do its work in trusting that not knowing is sometimes the most honest spiritual posture.

You don’t need to rush to define the next chapter. You only need to be present enough to notice what is loosening—and what is quietly insisting on staying alive.

A Gentle Practice for the Threshold

Rather than trying to solve or transcend this moment, you might sit with it. Breathe with it. Let it speak. Found more moments of solitude so that the voice within can be perceived.

Ask yourself, without urgency or judgment:

  • What am I being asked to release?
    A role? An expectation? A belief or particular self-sabotaging talk?
  • What feels unfinished, yet still alive?
    A longing? A truth you haven’t yet honored? A call that has been whispering rather than shouting?

Staying with the Becoming

Thresholds are sacred precisely because they are uncomfortable. They strip away certainty and invite you into a deeper honesty. They teach you that meaning is not only found in arrival, but in the courage to stay present while becoming. They force you to look more closely in the darkness.

If you find yourself here—tired, unsure, grieving something you can’t quite name—know this:
You are not broken. You are not behind. You are standing at a doorway.

And sometimes, the most honest thing you can do is wait with open hands until the new story is ready to unfold.

If you find yourself standing in such 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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by | January 25, 2026 · 4:53 pm

From Struggle to Awe: A Pilgrimage of Transformation

“Be willing to be a beginner every single morning.” — Meister Eckhart

There was a time in my life when I believed I had to hold everything together by sheer work and effort. If I paused, I feared I would disappear. Only later did I begin to understand that disappearing was not the danger I imagined. It was, in fact, the return.

Life is something like a ripple on the ocean, momentarily appearing, briefly defined, then gently dissolving back into the vastness from which it came. The ripple feels separate while it lasts, yet it has never been anything other than the ocean. This simple image has accompanied me through many seasons of exhaustion, loss, and quiet awakening.

The mystics gave language to what I was slowly learning through experience. The 13th-century Mystic Meister Eckhart puts it into words: “The eye with which I see God is the same eye with which God sees me.” If this is true, then separation is not the final truth of a lifetime.

When Separation Feels Real

For many years, separation felt very real to me. I lived on the surface—busy, capable, outwardly functional—while something deeper waited patiently. I now recognize how easily we mistake movement and activity for meaning. Eckhart’s warning feels almost tender in hindsight: “As long as you are seeking God, you are not yet aware that you have found Him.” I was always seeking, rarely resting.

The poet-mystic Rumi names this restlessness with compassion: “Why are you so busy with this or that or good or bad; pay attention to how things blend.” When you allow things to blend, you surrender to strength, vulnerability, certainty, and doubt, faith and the unknowing.

The Descent That Saved Me

My own turning point came not through achievement, but through fatigue. I had reached a place where distraction no longer worked. What emerged instead was a quiet invitation to walk—both literally and inwardly. An annual pilgrimage became my way of consenting to descent.

One day, on the Camino Primitivo in northwestern Spain, I found myself struggling up a steep mountain path amid darkness and driving rain. Each step felt heavy. The trail seemed endless, and my inner landscape matched the weather—tight, effortful, and discouraged.

Then, without warning, the heavens opened. The rain softened, the clouds lifted, and beneath me appeared a vast sea of clouds stretching all the way to the horizon. The shift was almost instantaneous. Within seconds, my mood changed completely. Where there had been struggle, there was awe. Where there had been resistance, there was gratitude.

I stood there, soaked and breathless, perceiving not only the incredible beauty of that moment, but the beauty of life itself. I felt truly blessed—not because anything had been solved, but because something had been revealed. I had crossed a threshold without even realizing it.

The Christian mystics speak of this movement without sentimentality. John of the Cross calls it “the dark night,” a phrase that once frightened me. Now I hear it differently: as a stripping away of the onion layers of what no longer carries life. What felt like loss was actually a clearing.

Living Lightly on the Surface

It is so easy to confuse your ripple with your worth. There is a deep need to be seen, to be heard, and to be validated. But it can create much pressure. Accept who you are with loving kindness, and the old burden of control is no longer that important. Meister Eckhart’s invitation is simply: “Let go of yourself and you will find yourself.” This letting go is a daily practice rather than a single event.

To live as a ripple is to accept impermanence without fear. To rest as the ocean is to trust belonging without proof. Somewhere between the two, a quieter wisdom emerges.

A Gentle Invitation

A Pilgrimage to New Beginnings grew out of this lived knowing. It is not about fixing what is broken, but about remembering what has never been lost. If these reflections echo something in your own life, you are warmly welcome to join.

The reservation window remains open for ten more days—not as an urgency, but as an invitation to step across a threshold.

The ripple does not need to earn its place in the ocean.

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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by | January 18, 2026 · 5:05 pm

Beneath the Fire of Anger: Pain and Shame

Anger is loud. It dominates the public discourse, expressed through rigid political opinions, moral outrage, online conflict, and the tendency to assign blame. Yet anger is rarely the true starting point of these dynamics. More often, it signals quieter, more uncomfortable truths.

Emotions such as pain, shame, grief, and fear are harder to face, so they are frequently displaced outward into accusation, defensiveness, or righteous certainty.

Anger as a Protective Emotion

Psychologically, anger is a secondary emotion. It arises to protect from feelings that threaten the sense of self or safety. When something has hurt deeply, anger steps in as the defensive armour.

It says:

  • “I won’t feel this.”
  • “I won’t be small again.”
  • “I won’t be vulnerable.”

Anger gives energy, clarity, and a sense of control. Pain does not, and the vulnerability of accepting that pain is often seen as weakness.

The Quiet Tyranny of Shame

Shame whispers a devastating message: “Something is wrong with me.”
Not “I did something wrong,” but “I am wrong.”

When shame is unexamined, it often turns inward as harsh self-criticism or outward as blame. The inner voice becomes cruel:

  • “You’re weak.”
  • “You always fail.”
  • “You’re not enough.”

Over time, this negative self-talk becomes so familiar that it is mistaken for the truth. And because living under constant inner attack is unbearable, the psyche looks for relief—often by projecting the pain outward.

From Inner Critic to Outer Enemy

What you cannot tolerate within yourself is often seen in others.

This is where the blame game begins.

If the discomfort can be pinned on:

  • a partner,
  • a parent,
  • a political group or ideology

Then momentarily, the inner pressure eases. I am not the problem; they are.

On a societal level, this dynamic fuels grievance culture. Groups form around shared wounds and unresolved pain. Identity becomes fused with injury. Moral outrage offers belonging, clarity, and a sense of righteousness—but rarely healing.

Grievance gives meaning to suffering without requiring transformation.

The Cost of Living in Blame

While anger and blame may feel empowering in the short term, they come at a cost.

They:

  • keep you locked in reactivity,
  • harden the heart,
  • narrow perception,
  • and prevent genuine vulnerability

When life is organised around grievance, there is little room for growth, curiosity, compassion, or change. The nervous system remains in a constant state of threat, scanning for further injustice. The past is endlessly rehearsed. The future feels foreclosed.

And perhaps most painfully, the original wound—the pain or shame that started it all—remains untouched.

Turning Toward What Hurts

Healing begins not with suppressing anger, but with listening to it.

Anger often asks:

  • Where did I feel powerless?
  • What loss have I not grieved?
  • What part of me learned it was unsafe to feel?

Turning inward requires courage. It means slowing down enough to feel what was once overwhelming. It means replacing self-judgment with honest attention. It means learning to sit with discomfort without immediately assigning fault.

This is not passivity. It is a deeper form of responsibility.

From Reaction to Inner Authority

When pain and shame are acknowledged rather than exiled, something shifts. The inner critic softens. Anger loses its grip. Blame no longer feels necessary.

What emerges instead is inner authority—a grounded sense of self that does not need constant opposition to exist.

From this place:

  • Boundaries become clearer
  • Compassion becomes possible
  • Action becomes wiser.

A Different Kind of Strength

In a culture that rewards outrage and certainty, choosing self-examination can feel countercultural. Yet it is precisely this inner work that allows real resilience to grow during the storms of uncertainty.

Strength is not the absence of anger.
It is the willingness to meet what lies beneath it.

And in doing so, you begin to loosen the grip of pain, shame, and grievance—not just in yourself, but in the world you help shape through your presence.

When you dare to stay present to your wound and surrender to vulnerability, anger softens into grief, shame loosens into compassion, and blame gives way to responsibility. This is not a weakness. It is an elevation of consciousness—a movement of resurrection at the heart of human experience, revealed in the image of Jesus dying on the cross and rising into new life.

In a world fuelled by outrage and certainty, the cross stands as a quiet contradiction: pain can be faced, borne, and transformed without being passed on.

And in that transformation, something new becomes possible—not only for the soul, but for the world it touches.

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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by | January 12, 2026 · 3:52 am

A world in transition: The in-between season

Times of transition, like those we are living through now, are often marked by chaos, uncertainty, and the unraveling of certainties that no longer hold. These in-between seasons can be deeply unsettling, yet they are also profoundly formative. More than ever, such times call for clarity of purpose and a conscious alignment with our core values and guiding principles.

During such seasons, the new has not yet taken shape. The ancient Chinese I Ching, or the Book of Change, offers timeless guidance for such moments. It does not promise quick solutions or firm ground. Instead, it teaches us how to live wisely while the ground is moving beneath our feet.

The new struggling to be born

At the heart of the I Ching is a simple truth: change is not an interruption of life. Chaos is not a mistake. It is often the sign that something new is struggling to be born.

In times of transition, the I Ching counsels restraint rather than force. The outer world feels increasingly unstable, with the individual feeling helpless amid external circumstances that cannot be controlled. Yet the I Ching invites us to turn toward inner alignment. Before you act, you are asked to listen. Before you decide, you are asked to become still enough to discern what truly matters.

Waiting is not passive resignation

These in-between seasons call for patience. The I Ching reminds us that timing is sacred. Action taken too soon can distort what is forming; action taken too late can miss the moment entirely. As the book puts it:

“Waiting. If you are sincere,
You have light and success.”
— I Ching, Hexagram 5

This waiting is not passive resignation. It is an active, attentive presence—a way of staying faithful to the process even when the outcome is not yet visible.

Discovering what genuinely sustains you

Integrity becomes the anchor in such times. When familiar supports fall away, you discover what genuinely sustains you. The I Ching repeatedly emphasizes that inner truth—not certainty, control, or speed—is what carries us through periods of upheaval. To remain faithful to what is essential within you is, in itself, a spiritual practice.

The book also teaches adaptability without self-betrayal. Like water, we are encouraged to yield without losing our depth, to respond without hardening, to move with change rather than against it. True transformation, it suggests, begins quietly, often invisibly, long before it takes form in the outer world.

Perhaps most importantly, the I Ching directs our attention away from grand solutions and back toward the small and the near:

  • The words we choose to speak
  • Listening with mindfulness
  • Caring for one another
  • Paying attention to the inner life and consciousness.

In times of uncertainty, it is these humble acts that carry the future.

The in-between is not a void. It is a threshold.

When we stop trying to escape it, fix it, or rush through it, we begin to sense its hidden gift. Something is loosening. Something is aligning. Something is quietly taking shape.

And the invitation is simple, though not easy: to become still enough to hear what this season of change is asking of you.

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 February 4th.

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by | December 8, 2025 · 10:51 am

Redefining Masculinity: Traits Young Men Need Today

It has become a common story: a mother quietly confesses that her 30-something son is still living at home, unemployed, spending most of his days in the basement playing PC games—while his sister is thriving on every level and living the life of her dreams.

Figures from the United States, the United Kingdom, and the European Union reflect a rising trend: an estimated one in five men over 30 still lives in the parental home. Meanwhile, 63 per cent of men aged 18–29 are single, while women are surpassing their male counterparts in both education and income.

My recent Blog post on “Young Men: Angry, Isolated and Armed” touched a nerve because it captured something unfolding quietly but urgently: amid a growing mental-health crisis, young men are withdrawing into isolation or channelling their shame and frustration into outdated, hyper-aggressive role models, many of them fueled by right-wing extremist groups.

Technological and cultural shifts have opened unprecedented opportunities for young women—changes that their mothers and grandmothers could only dream of. Equal opportunity and equal pay were long overdue. But the traditional image of masculinity as the stoic provider, unflinching warrior, emotional brick wall, no longer fits into a modern world in which connection, communication, and adaptability matter more than ever.

So what are young women seeking in a partner today? And how do we define healthy masculinity in this new landscape?

Across many studies, three traits consistently appear as the most desired qualities in a long-term partner: kindness, intelligence, and confidence. They are foundational to stable relationships, but they are also widely misunderstood.

Kindness is not passivity or people-pleasing. It is emotional steadiness, especially in times of struggle or pain. It shows up in how a man treats others, especially family members, friends, and strangers. Men high in kindness respond to stress with calm problem-solving rather than withdrawal or aggression. Kindness begins with self-respect; young men must learn to accept and care for themselves before that inner stability can radiate outward.

Intelligence is not about high IQ scores or academic pedigree. It is the ability to navigate life with self-awareness, adaptability, and emotional understanding. Intelligent partners can manage their emotions, communicate clearly, listen actively, and reflect honestly on their own behaviour. They do not hide behind logic to avoid vulnerability or connection.

Confidence is perhaps the most misinterpreted trait of all. True confidence is quiet, grounded self-assurance—not the loud, performative “alpha” posturing that dominates so much online discourse. Confident men know who they are and do not need to brag, dominate, or seek constant validation. They can have difficult conversations without collapsing into defensiveness. They avoid unnecessary conflict—not from fear, but from maturity. This is where healthy masculine strength shows its true form: protective, steady, and principled.

These three traits aren’t random. Together, they form the bedrock of a healthy long-term relationship: a partner who is emotionally safe, self-aware, capable of repair, and stable during conflict.

To make this more tangible, here are some widely recognised men in entertainment who are publicly perceived as embodying kindness, intelligence, or confidence, while acknowledging we cannot know their private lives:

Keanu Reeves is often cited as the gold standard of humble, grounded kindness, giving generously without seeking credit. Tom Hanks represents steadiness and emotional warmth and is seen as approachable and gracious.

Ethan Hawke, symbolises intelligence as a deeply reflective and thoughtful artist. He writes books, directs films and speaks creatively with nuance. John Krasinski balances his humour with intelligent storytelling.

Men who symbolize grounded confidence are Idris Elba with a calm, steady presence and Mahershala Ali (Green Book) who embodies a quiet power and self-assurance.

The crisis facing young men today is not simply about a lack of economic opportunity; it is a crisis of identity. As society rapidly evolves, many young men are left without a clear model of what it means to be strong, successful, and valued in today’s world. But the path forward is not found in nostalgia for outdated roles or in reactionary anger. It lies in cultivating traits that make relationships—and communities—thrive: kindness, intelligence, and confidence grounded in self-awareness rather than ego.

If young men can embrace these qualities, they won’t just meet the expectations of a fast-changing world—they will exceed them. And in doing so, they will rediscover a masculinity that is not lost, but evolving: resilient, emotionally present, relationally strong, and profoundly needed.

Reino Gevers – Host of the LivingToBe podcast

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

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