Tag Archives: spirituality

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 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 | January 4, 2026 · 10:52 am

Many languages. One human story.

In an age when narratives of division, exclusion, and separation grow louder, a quiet truth comes into view when we examine the origins of language and culture.

Diversity is not accidental. It is a divine principle of growth, evolution, and color. From the earliest words to the languages we speak today, we have always been—and will always be— one humanity, expressing ourselves in many voices and song. 

Languages and cultures did not arise in isolation. 

They grew as people moved, met, traded, worshipped, struggled, and learned from one another. English carries Germanic bones, Latin learning, French refinement, Norse pragmatism, and words from every corner of the globe. 

German shares ancient roots with English, shaped by regional sound shifts and centuries of cultural exchange with Slavic and Norse peoples.

Spanish is Latin at heart, enriched by Celtic echoes, Visigothic rule, and nearly eight centuries of Arabic wisdom. 

Chinese developed along a different path, yet with the same human impulse—to name the world, preserve meaning, and pass wisdom across generations—using a writing system that unites many voices into one shared tradition.

At their deepest level, all languages serve the same purpose: to connect human beings.

Whether through inflected verbs or tones, alphabets or characters, each language reflects the same universal needs—belonging, memory, meaning, and hope. 

Even where linguistic families differ, the patterns repeat: shared ancestors, adaptation through contact, and continuity through storytelling and faith.

No language is “pure.” Each is a living record of encounter. Every word carries footprints of those who came before—migrants, traders, teachers, farmers, poets, seekers. What appears as difference is, in truth, relationship written into sound. 

 Language reminds us that humanity has always been interwoven. Our histories overlap, our words borrow freely, and our voices echo one another across time and geography.

We are formed in relationship and sustained by exchange. When we build walls, and retreat into tribalism, we harden ourselves behind artificial boundaries. We diminish and extinguish divine purpose. What refuses connection withers; what remains open continues the work of creation. 

As the 13th century Mystic Meister Eckart reminds us: „The eye with which I see God is the same eye with which God sees me.”

English: Germanic (Angles, Saxons, Jutes), Latin, Old Norse (Viking), Norman French, Greek 

German: Latin, French, Latin, Greek, Sanskrit, Slavic 

Spanish: Iberian, Celtic, Basque, Latin, Germanic 

Chinese: Mandarin, Cantonese, Wu, Min, Hakka, etc.

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 | December 31, 2025 · 9:53 am

2026: Finding Meaning in Uncertain Times

At the start of a New Year, we find ourselves living in a time of heightened global tension. Multiple conflicts, political instability, and rapid social change have left many people feeling uncertain, anxious, and unmoored.

The quote: „We are living in interesting times,“ often attributed to the British statesman Sir Austin Chamberlain in the 1920s, encapsulates what many feel today.

The Changing World Order

I recently delved into the book by Ray Dalio „The Changing World Order – Why Nations Succeed and Fail.“

He analyzed why nations appear to follow recurring long-term cycles of growth and decline driven by economics, politics, and human nature.

Seen through a spiritual and moral lens, Ray Dalio’s message is less about markets and the decline of empires but more about the inner condition of a society.

Why nations rise and fall

Nations rise when they cultivate humility, discipline, fairness, and responsibility. Education and science is one of the keys to successful economies. But along with technical skill comes the moral formation; productivity flows from a shared sense of purpose, common values and trust.

Money is a reflection of values: when wealth is earned through contribution, innovation, and stewardship, it strengthens the whole.

Decline begins when a nation forgets its limits and loses its moral compass. Excessive debt mirrors spiritual debt—living off tomorrow rather than honoring today. Inequality widens when the common good is replaced by self-interest. Arrogance replaces gratitude; entitlement replaces service.

The decline begins when institutions are hollowed out not only because of bad policy, but because of character and moral erosion.

Internal conflict grows when people lose a sense of shared belonging. The “other” becomes an enemy rather than a neighbor. From a moral standpoint, this is the deepest danger: separation from one another and from transcendent meaning.

History shows that societies disintegrate when power is pursued without wisdom, and freedom without responsibility.

External conflict revealing a deeper crisis

External conflict, in Dalio’s cycle, reflects a deeper spiritual struggle: fear versus trust. Rising powers test declining ones not only materially, but morally. Violence and domination appear when dialogue, humility, and restraint have already failed.

But cycles also imply renewal. Collapse is not punishment but karmic consequence. Societies can realign when they recover timeless virtues such as truthfulness, stewardship, compassion, and reverence for what is larger than the self.

In spiritual terms, Dalio’s insight echoes an ancient teaching:

What a nation gains by losing its soul is never truly wealth and what it saves by recovering its soul can outlast empires.

In this liminal season of transition, we are called to clear the waters clouded by deception, obfuscation, and endless distraction. The longing for truth is no longer abstract; it has become a spiritual and human necessity—quite literally, a matter of survival.

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 | December 21, 2025 · 11:17 am

The Spiritual Meaning of Christmas: Hope Is Born in the In-Between Time

Just because you have walked through a dark past does not mean your story ends there. Christmas carries a deep and enduring message of hope.

The ancient mystics understood that time is an illusion, teaching full presence as eternity touching the present moment.

The days between Christmas and the New Year were honoured as the in-between time where endings soften and new beginnings quietly form.

Christmas is an invitation into this holy simplicity. The birth of Christ did not take place in a palace but in an unremarkable shelter, rough with straw and shadow. Yet kings traveled great distances to kneel there and pay homage.

This is the great paradox of Christmas: divinity arrives hidden in the ordinary. Love reveals itself not in grandeur, but in humility. The sacred is often found exactly where you least expect it.

In this season, you are gently reminded of your own worth. You are worthy of love. You can learn to love yourself, even the parts shaped by fear and survival. When you dare to face your fears with compassion, you begin to gather the tools for healing and growth. Peace is uncovered from within.

The Christmas story is also a story of clearing space. The stable had to be emptied and prepared to receive new life. In the same way, this season invites you  to release old entanglements, to lay down burdens that are no longer of service, and to allow the soul to breathe.

As you learn to care for yourself with gentleness, you become more capable of caring for others in the wider human family. 

This is the quiet miracle of Christmas: when love is born within, it radiates outward, warming a broken world in need of hope.

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 | December 1, 2025 · 9:45 am

Transforming Pain: Cultivating True Gratitude

You may find yourself in the midst of one of life’s more challenging chapters marked by grief, uncertainty, or loss. Then, as if on cue, a well-meaning friend offers the familiar advice: “Just be grateful.” In that moment, you might feel an angry urge to say: “You don’t understand.” And the weight grows heavier when you begin comparing your life to those who seem happier, wealthier, healthier, or younger, as if their brightness somehow dims your own.

But here’s the deeper truth: you cannot silence authentic emotions such as sadness, despair, or fear by layering them with forced gratitude. Emotional honesty is not weakness; it’s the foundation of healing. Gratitude only becomes meaningful when it arises from a place of full acceptance and when you allow yourself to feel everything that is part of you without self-judgment.

“I am feeling sad. I am disappointed. I am angry. And still, there are things I can be grateful for.”

This is where healing begins. When you make a habit of connecting the dots between past experiences and present growth, you start to see a deeper pattern.

There comes that quiet reassurance that the universe has always had your back. Even the darkest moments often conceal unexpected blessings, pushing you to tap into inner reserves of strength and begin anew.

I’ve lived through many moments of profound despair, and I suspect you have too. Relationship breakdowns, the untimely loss of loved ones, financial setbacks, and health scares. Yet in hindsight, these painful milestones have often marked the beginning of something transformative.

Technologically, humanity has made extraordinary progress in recent decades. But this advancement has come at a steep personal and environmental cost. Our lives today are faster, more connected, and paradoxically more stressed. We have more time than any generation before us, and yet time has become our most precious, elusive commodity.

This revolution forces us to confront an ancient question:

What truly makes you content and fulfilled?

The thrill of a shiny new object fades quickly. What endures is meaning and purpose.

Every extreme carries within it the seed of renewal. The technological age has amplified our left-brain — analytical, data-driven, “spreadsheet” thinking — while the right-brain, our intuitive, creative, and spiritual side, remains undernourished. Yet it is this neglected dimension that holds the key to balance.

We are not just rational beings. We are playful, imaginative, soulful creatures. Reclaiming that part of the self — and integrating both hemispheres of the mind — is the challenge of our time. Just because you are going through a dark chapter, doesn’t mean you cannot have a beautiful life. Peace comes from going all in on accepting yourself and building on the habits and tools that elevate healing and growth.

How can I do a reset?

Begin with small, intentional rituals that reconnect you to gratitude — not as a forced emotion, but as a recognition and acceptance of life’s complexity and beauty. Here are three daily practices to help you cultivate authentic gratitude:

Morning Reflection

Before reaching for your phone, take three minutes to sit quietly and ask: What is one thing I’m grateful for today — even if it’s small? It could be the warmth of a comfortable bed, the sound of birds, or simply waking up and still being alive, perhaps thanking God, or the universe for a new day.

Gratitude Journal

Each evening, write down three things that brought you comfort, joy, or insight — even if the day was difficult. Over time, this builds a reservoir of perspective and emotional resilience.

Sharing Gratitude

Make it a daily practice to express appreciation — whether through a heartfelt compliment, a sincere thank-you, or a simple kind word. When you share in someone else’s joy or gratitude, you amplify it. Gratitude shared is gratitude multiplied, and it deepens the bonds that connect us.

These rituals aren’t about denying pain or pretending everything is fine. They’re about honouring the full spectrum of your experience while gently creating space for light to return. Gratitude, when rooted in truth, becomes a quiet but potent force for healing, resilience, and renewal.

“If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is ‘thank you,’ it will be enough.”
— Meister Eckhart

This simple yet profound reminder by the great 13th-century Mystic invites you to see gratitude as a way of being and a sacred thread that weaves through joy and sorrow alike, anchoring you in the beauty of presence and opening to grace.

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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