About awareness, truth, and the humility of not knowing
There is something that has been occupying my mind more and more lately. Not because I have found an answer, but precisely because I keep discovering how much I do not know. That may sound strange coming from someone who writes, speaks, coaches, and shares his insights with the world.
Because there is often an implicit assumption that the person speaking knows what he is talking about. That he sees something, understands something, and perhaps even perceives something that others have not yet seen. Yet the longer I engage with consciousness, the less certain I become of my own conclusions.
Not because I doubt everything, but because I see how limited every perception ultimately is.
The temptation of awareness
In the world of personal development, much revolves around awareness:
- Becoming conscious
- Learning to recognize patterns
- Understanding trauma
- Examining conditioning
- Doing shadow work
And all of that has tremendous value. But there is also a risk hidden within it. Because awareness can subtly create the impression that we see clearly. That we understand what is happening. That we can draw conclusions about reality. That we are awake. And perhaps that is one of the greatest pitfalls of consciousness work.
Not that we see nothing, but that we begin to believe we see.
You are always looking through a lens
The reflections that eventually became this article were first recorded as voice memos. As I am speaking them, I am sitting in my car.
I see a BMW driving in front of me. A sign indicating eighty kilometers per hour. Wind turbines on the horizon. A farmhouse. A stretch of asphalt. That is my reality in this moment. Yet at the same time, I am exploring my thoughts about this article.
- About consciousness
- About attention
- About truth
So where am I actually present? With the road? With the article? With my thoughts? With my surroundings?
The honest answer is: a little bit everywhere. And nowhere completely. Perhaps that is how consciousness actually works. Not as a perfect state of presence, but as a continuous movement of attention.
The blind spot within every insight
Every time I arrive at a new insight, the same question emerges:
How do I actually know this is true?
Not whether it feels right. Not whether it sounds logical. Not whether it gives me goosebumps. But whether it is true. Because beliefs can also give us goosebumps. Desires can feel real. Projections can resonate deeply. Which means that even our most profound insights may still be coloured by everything we do not yet see.
And that requires something that is sometimes missing in consciousness work: Humility.
Awareness is not the same as truth
I increasingly suspect that awareness does not mean getting closer to truth. Awareness simply means seeing that you are looking. Nothing more.
You become aware of the lens. But that does not mean the lens has disappeared. And perhaps it never fully will. Maybe being human means that we are always looking from a perspective. Always from a history. Always from a body. Always from a particular place in space and time.
From awareness to abidance
Perhaps freedom therefore does not lie in ever-increasing awareness, but in something else. Something my business partner Nico intuitively described as abidance.
The capacity to remain. Not in a conclusion. Not in a belief. Not in an identity. But in the living experience of not knowing. In the willingness to stay present without immediately turning every experience into a story. Not because nothing is true. But because you recognize that your view will always be limited. Abidance is not passivity. It is not indifference. It is not a lack of discernment. It is the willingness to rest in reality before interpreting it. To allow experience to be what it is before rushing to define what it means. Perhaps that is where wisdom begins. Not in certainty. But in openness.
Why I share this
Sometimes I wonder why I write at all. Why I publish articles. Why I share my perspective with the world. Because ultimately, that is all it is a perspective. An interpretation. Not absolute truth. Not a universal law. Not an endpoint.
And perhaps that is precisely why I continue to do it. Not to tell people how reality works. Not to convince anyone of my worldview. Not to become another voice claiming certainty in an increasingly noisy world. But to create space for questions. To invite people into their own inquiry. To encourage them to examine their own perceptions. Not so they become dependent on my insights, but so they develop trust in their own exploration. Their own experience. Their own direct encounter with life. Because in the end, it is not about what I see. It is about what you are willing to investigate. What assumptions you are willing to question. What beliefs you are willing to hold more lightly. And whether you are willing to stay curious when certainty would feel more comfortable.
Perhaps real wisdom begins exactly there. Not in having the answers. Not in reaching a final conclusion, but in having the courage to keep looking.
