After writing about returning to the flame within, I asked myself:
What does it take to keep it alive?
Remembering who we are is one thing—but living from that place every day is something else entirely. It takes practice. Because even when we know better, we tend to fall back into familiar patterns. Thought loops, old pain, outdated beliefs—they all pull us like gravity.
This morning, I awoke with anxiety. And although I’ve learned how to meet those moments with awareness, today felt like a real struggle. The kind of inner resistance that whispers: Why bother? Nothing’s changing. But I’ve walked this path long enough now to recognize the voice for what it is—just another wave to pass through.
In the past, I would have given up. Accepted that heaviness as truth and called it my way. Today, I’ve come to see these feelings like ghosts in a tunnel: strange and looming at first, but when I face them, they fade into mist. They aren’t dangerous. They’re just visitors. And the fear of fear itself—that’s the only thing that can keep me stuck.
I read a quote from the Tao Te Ching that stayed with me:
“Go with the flow. Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes.
Don’t resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality.
Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.”
Those words have comforted me more than once—especially when life felt messy and nothing made sense.
One of those times was when my long-term partner suddenly left me. We had just bought an apartment together. I had plans. I wanted to start a new education. He used to say I was the most important person in his life. Then one day, he walked out—and went traveling instead.
At first, I felt a strange relief. Because the truth is, our relationship had been draining for both of us. But I also felt shattered. I clung to him. I begged him to stay. I thought that if he would just love me enough, everything inside me would finally feel whole.
But as Osho so wisely said:
“Two people, both begging for love, become like two beggars
holding their bowls before each other—and both bowls are empty.”
That’s what we were: two people hungry for something we hadn’t found within ourselves. He believed freedom lay in escape. I believed fulfillment lay in his approval. And so we both remained empty.
When he finally moved to Thailand with someone new, my entire world darkened. The pain was unbearable. But for the first time, I could see that it wasn’t only about him. The grief reached deeper. I wasn’t just mourning the loss of a man—I was mourning every time in my life I’d been left behind. The child in me that had once stayed quiet, stayed strong, stayed unnoticed—she finally rose to the surface.
And that’s when the healing began.
That was the turning point—when I stopped looking outward for love and began turning inward to find myself again. To find that little girl. That flame. That joy.
Today, I don’t wait for others to tell me I’m enough. I don’t need anyone to name my worth. I don’t stand waiting anymore—because I know who I am. And I’ve made peace with the girl who once thought she had to be strong to be loved.
Neville Goddard says:
“Those who go searching for love only make manifest their own lovelessness.
And the loveless never find love.”
I understand that now.
To keep the flame alive, we must stop waiting for someone else to tend to it.
We must build the fire. Breathe into it. Nourish it.
And know—deeply—that we are already enough.