Author: Dr. Jay Forrest

A candle flame looks steady, yet it is constantly renewed. That is the texture of reality: continuity without fixed essence. The Buddha distinguished the conditioned—“the born, become, made”—from the unconditioned. The former is impermanent, interdependent, and without essence. Heraclitus saw the same flux; Whitehead described reality as events rather than substances. The world is process, not thing.

You are not a fixed self but a stream of consciousness. Body and mind change continuously, marked by instability and dissatisfaction. Yet one feature remains undeniable: awareness. What you know directly is consciousness.

Liberation is often misunderstood. There is no external savior. Transformation depends on insight into the nature of reality and self. As long as one identifies with the conditioned, one remains within flux and its inherent dissatisfaction. The unconditioned—unborn, unmade—is not an object but a Reality beyond becoming. Freedom lies not in perfecting the process, but in seeing through identification with it.

Spiritual work, then, is not acquisition but recognition: discerning what changes from what does not, and no longer confusing the two. Only then can we merge with Ultimate Reality and leave the conditioned world behind.

J. Krishnamurti tells of the devil watching a man pick up a piece of truth. “That’s bad for you,” the servant says. “Not at all,” the devil replies. “I’ll let him organize it.”

Organization is the quiet undoing of truth. What is living becomes systematized; what is direct becomes mediated. Institutions do not liberate—they stabilize, codify, and transfer authority away from the individual. Leaders emerge, followers comply, and responsibility dissolves.

The “spiritual but not religious” intuition points to something essential: the path cannot be delegated. No church, mosque, or tradition can deliver reality on your behalf. To submit to structure is often to inherit conclusions rather than discover truth.

This does not mean all religions are useless, but that they easily become substitutes for seeing. Organization tends toward preservation, not transformation.

Spirituality is not belief, identity, or emotional comfort. It is direct experience. It is the deepening and widening of awareness. “Spirit” names nothing other than consciousness itself.

To be spiritual is to encounter reality without intermediaries—to see clearly, without the distortion of authority, system, or doctrine.

God is often imagined as male, but this reflects cultural habit more than metaphysical necessity. If the divine has no body, no biology, and no sex, then gendered language is symbolic at best. It tells us more about human projection than about ultimate reality.

Distinguishing sex from gender clarifies the issue. Sex refers to biological traits; gender refers to roles and identities shaped by culture. Many traditions already use gender fluidly—wisdom as feminine, ultimate reality as beyond all attributes—without implying literal embodiment. Gender language functions as metaphor, not ontology.

From this perspective, non-binary identities are not deviations but reminders that human identity exceeds rigid classification. They expose the limits of binary thinking and open a more accurate account of personhood.

Philosophically and contemplatively, the ultimate—whether called the One, the Good, Brahman, or emptiness—is beyond all dualities. Male and female are polarities within manifestation, not properties of the source.

To affirm the non-binary is therefore to align more closely with a non-dual understanding of reality. It recognizes that what is most fundamental cannot be confined to either/or categories, and neither, fully, can we.

Mindfulness begins with a simple insight: the mind, like muddy water, clears when left undisturbed. When we constantly stir it with worry, memory, and analysis, clarity is lost. Stillness allows settling.

At its core, mindfulness is the cultivation of awareness. As Jon Kabat-Zinn describes, it is paying attention on purpose, in the present moment, without judgment. In practice, this can be as simple as noticing the sensation of the breath or the feeling of the foot touching the ground.

Most of the time, however, we are not present. We drift into past regrets or future anxieties, living on mental autopilot. The Buddha’s instruction offers a direct remedy: “Just mindful he breathes in, mindful he breathes out.” Attend only to this breath.

Meditation is not about stopping thoughts. Thoughts arise naturally. The task is to observe them without involvement, like clouds passing through the sky. Return gently to the breath whenever attention wanders.

With practice, this becomes a way of living. Open to what is, relax your resistance, and observe without grasping or rejecting. Begin with a few breaths, extend to daily sitting, and carry this awareness into every moment. Presence does not add time to life, but it deepens it.

I agree with John Hick: there is no one religion whose adherents stand out as morally and spiritually superior to the rest of the human race. All traditions have their saints, their politicians, and their sinners.

The best of each religion or philosophy is, ultimately, the mystic—one who directly experiences Ultimate Reality. Only they access something humanity as a whole needs. They know the goal, the path, and many of the pitfalls.

Once you realize that all religions have their strengths and limitations, you begin to loosen your attachment. You can learn from all while clinging to none. There is not one path to the mountaintop, but many. You become open to truth wherever it appears.

There is great freedom in being unattached to any single religion or philosophy. You retain the capacity to remain a beginner, continually learning at the feet of truth. You begin to approach others’ beliefs with an eye toward understanding rather than a disposition to disprove. This openness expands the mind and heart, allowing you to see through illusion—not only theirs, but your own.

Most mystics are hermits, or at least semi-hermits. A hermit is an individual who intentionally withdraws from ordinary social life in order to cultivate silence, solitude, and simplicity, with the aim of deepening their spiritual life.

This withdrawal may be physical, living in remote or sparsely populated places. But it can also be social, living quietly within society while deliberately limiting interaction. This is the case for most modern hermits.

A hermit may have a spouse or partner, provided the relationship supports rather than obstructs the contemplative aspiration. What defines a hermit is not geography or marital status, but the deliberate orientation toward solitude as a primary mode of life.

Most of the world’s religions have their hermits. These hermits tend to be—or eventually become—mystics. Spend enough time alone, and you begin to encounter Ultimate Reality. You cannot spend much time with people and much time with reality; eventually, you have to choose.