Image from Pixabay
Like a sound too vast to be heard,
Everything around me is so full, I can no longer see.
My heart wanders, seeking an empty space,
But even in hearing and seeing, I cannot know.
Remaining in that very place,
I turn, roll, and lift my mind—
And welcome the rain of the universe.
Unavoidable streams pour down,
Flowing through my mind.
It is a blessing.
When the spring breeze stirs my heart,
Love begins to bloom, soft and ticklish.
There was joy—
And there was pain.
When the wind blows and scatters,
My heart breaks out like an allergy:
Laughing, flaring,
And tears dripping, drip by drip.
Still, I don’t understand.
Ah, I don’t know.
Not at ten,
Nor at thirty, fifty, or even seventy.
I don’t know.
Still so young.
Still so young.
Will I ever pass through that blazing summer
And taste the fruits of autumn?
Or will I simply lie down
On the cold winter ground?
Have flowers ever bloomed in my heart?
How bittersweet.
Oh, you—my life.
Image from Pixabay
In the world, my existence seemed to be the only thing that was vast. It felt like I was living in a world all of my own. But then, other women—especially those around my age—started catching my attention. Friends. I began to get to know them. As time went on, women who were older than me, those who were like older sisters, came into the picture. At first, I couldn’t understand them. But as time passed, I began to. Even those who had experienced more than I had, those with more knowledge, started to make sense. I, too, started to grow older. Time moved on, and eventually, I began to understand the existence of mothers—women who had children. This time, it wasn’t something that could be easily understood. How could a human being give birth to another, and yet remain the same? No matter how much I tried to view it through the lens of my own limited human understanding, it just didn’t make sense.
But then, when I began to think about it through the viewpoint of “Hanl(the Bigger Mind),” everything shifted. I started to see it as something human. Ah, they are humans. More than that, at that moment, I realized something crucial: in my world, there were only women. It was just me and other women, different from me, but still women. Men weren’t even part of my thoughts or my world. To me, they were completely different beings—beings I couldn’t understand, and honestly, didn’t want to understand. Men, I owe you a sincere apology. Through this realization, I came to understand that only by merging with the Bigger Mind, by seeing the world from that divine perspective, could I truly understand and coexist with others. Without that shift, understanding and coexistence would have been impossible. It’s like someone who walks around with open eyes but is blind to the things around them. It’s like trying to empty your mind without ever truly understanding how it works.
This is my personal confession and reflection. If, from the moment you were born, you’ve been a person full of understanding and love for others, then I truly respect you. But I was not like that, and this is my confession to myself. I hope that by reading this, you might find something to think about in your own life.
I have a mother who shows early signs of dementia. On her clear days, she comforts her children and engages in calm, warm conversations. But on her clouded days, perhaps feeling regret for not being able to leave more behind, she dreams up delusions—suddenly, a house or even a building appears in my name.
They are just delusions.
Through them, I find myself facing a question: When a person stands at the edge of life, with their memories fading, what becomes truly important to them?
What will I face at the end of my own life?
Will I be longing for more money?
Will I be searching for deeper spiritual understanding?
Will I hold on to attachments or love for others?
There are many questions one could ask.
Of course, it’s important to grow—both inwardly and outwardly—to the point where such questions no longer haunt us.
But at this moment in time—what is your question?
Image from Pixabay
Image from Pixabay
There are so many superhero movies out there—Superman, Batman, Ant-Man, X-Men…
I enjoy them a lot, too. They’re fun to watch. But once the movie ends, they feel far away from real life, and honestly, I forget about them pretty quickly.
Still, somewhere in the back of my mind, those scenes stay with me. And sometimes, I find myself pulling out those heroes—using them to escape reality just for a moment. Imagining: what if I had someone like that in my life?
The thing is, this is my life.
And yet, I catch myself waiting.
Waiting for someone to show up—someone to light my dark path, to comfort me, to stop me from making a bad choice, to support me when I feel alone.
Time passes while we wait. And we end up sitting inside a box made of uncertain, unrealistic expectations—waiting for someone else to come save us.
In that box, we start to forget that we can do something about our lives, too.
I’m not saying we need to wear a cape or fly through the sky.
But when we finally see the box we’re in, we can start to look for a way out.
A ladder.
A door.
Even a hammer.
We live in a time when movies and reality are blending.
The Truman Show isn’t just a movie anymore—it feels like reality has already gone beyond it.
And in that space beyond reality, I want to speak the truth.
I want to be the kind of hero I used to wait for.
Not for the world.
But for myself. A Bigger Self hero.
And maybe, one day, for someone else, too.
