Why I started following coaches again
Lately, I’ve found myself following more coaches, teachers, and voices in the field of consciousness again. Not because I’m searching for new answers. Not because I want to compare myself to them. And certainly not to mindlessly consume more content.
Something else is happening.
I notice that my attention is naturally drawn to the way people communicate their insights. Not only what they say, but more importantly, from which layer they are speaking. Which aspect of reality are they revealing? Which part of the landscape becomes visible through their words? And perhaps even more importantly: which part unintentionally remains out of view?
This is where my attention naturally wants to go right now. Not because I consciously decided it should, but because it seems to align with what life is currently asking of me.
While writing Zijn. Vanuit d’Oorsprong (Human Being. From the Origin), I increasingly discovered that multiple perspectives can all be true at the same time. Science, psychology, philosophy, religion, and spirituality often describe the same landscape from different viewpoints. The problem rarely arises because a perspective is false. It arises when we forget that every perspective illuminates only part of the whole. That’s when we begin to mistake the map for the territory.
That realization fundamentally changed the way I listen.
Listening to what isn’t being said
Today, I listen very differently than I used to.
I no longer listen only to the content of a message. I also listen for what isn’t being said. Not because I’m looking for flaws, but because I’m curious where a message might become more complete. Almost everything I come across contains truth. In fact, I often find it inspiring and deeply valuable. Yet sometimes I sense that something is missing. Not because the message is wrong, but because a layer of nuance is absent. And very often, it is precisely that nuance that determines how a message ultimately lands.
We live in a time where powerful quotes, short videos, and inspirational sound bites spread across the world within seconds. That’s beautiful. Yet every simplification carries a certain risk. A truth that loses its context can begin to live a life of its own—not because the person sharing it intended that, but because the listener unconsciously fills in the missing pieces.
Not correcting, but completing
I feel that this has become an important part of my own mission. Not to correct people. Not to point out everything that’s incomplete. And certainly not to become some kind of spiritual police officer constantly searching for imperfections.
Ironically, when I’m not feeling fully grounded myself, I can recognize that tendency within me too. In those moments, judgment speaks louder than curiosity.
But when there is relaxation something entirely different happens. Then there is space to look gently. The conversation is no longer about right or wrong. It becomes a conversation about wholeness.
When desire becomes an escape
Recently I came across a message encouraging people to focus their attention exclusively on what they wish to create. I understood exactly what was meant. And in many ways, it’s true.
Our attention has tremendous influence. Yet at the same time, I felt something was missing.
Not because the message was incorrect, but because it could unintentionally suggest something else. That whatever is arising right now might be better left unfelt. That sadness belongs to a lower vibration. That uncertainty should be overcome as quickly as possible. That we first need to raise our frequency before life can truly begin.
And that is exactly where a much more interesting inquiry begins for me.
How often are our desires actually subtle ways of moving away from what life is showing us right now?
How often do we pursue a higher state of consciousness because we have quietly rejected the one we’re already in?
How often do we use spirituality simply to feel better, while life may actually be inviting us to become fully present with how we already feel?
These are not conclusions. They are questions. Questions I’ve been asking myself with increasing honesty over the past few years.
Even spirituality can become an escape
I love meditation. I love breathwork. I love silence. All of them have an important place in my life. Yet I also discovered a subtle trap.
How often do we begin the day believing we first need to meditate, first need to raise our energy, first need to enter the right frequency?
And how rarely do we ask the opposite question:
- Why didn’t I simply wake up in that desired state?
- What might my body be trying to tell me this morning?
- What genuinely wants to be felt today?
Not every moment of restlessness is a mistake. Not every heavy emotion needs to be repaired. Sometimes life simply asks for our full presence.
Presence is not a technique
Perhaps this has been one of the most significant shifts that occurred while writing my book. For years, I believed presence meant deliberately directing my attention toward the present moment.
Until I discovered something much more subtle. Presence arises when your attention naturally aligns with what genuinely wants to unfold through you.
Sometimes that’s silence. Sometimes it’s an intense conversation. Sometimes it’s a business meeting. Sometimes it’s grief. Sometimes it’s building a company. Sometimes it’s doing absolutely nothing.
The form does not determine the quality of consciousness. Alignment does.
From that moment on, my understanding of distraction changed as well. Distraction isn’t simply when your thoughts wander elsewhere. Sometimes what we call “distraction” is precisely where life is inviting us to go. Because what life asks of you is not necessarily the same as what the world asks of you—or what expectations, obligations, or social conditioning ask of you.
Learning to distinguish between those voices requires discernment. And that distinction isn’t always obvious. Sometimes you simply don’t know. Is this an escape… or is this the movement that truly belongs?
There is another layer as well. The ego is remarkably skilled at building convincing arguments for its own preferences. It can effortlessly explain why one choice is exactly the right one and why another simply isn’t appropriate right now.
But a convincing argument does not automatically lead to the most authentic choice.
Realizing this brought me far more gentleness. Less urgency to immediately define everything. More willingness to keep listening.
Consciousness stopped being a project. It became a relationship with life itself.
The responsibility of the messenger
People often say that what someone does with information is entirely the receiver’s responsibility. There is certainly truth in that.
Every individual remains responsible for their own interpretation. But that isn’t the whole story. The messenger carries responsibility as well.
Not only for the content of the message, but also for the space in which the message is received.
Nuance invites nuance. An open question invites inquiry. An absolute statement often invites either belief or rejection.
That is why I increasingly try not only to share what is true, but also from which layer it is true—and where the boundaries of that particular perspective lie.
Not to make people doubt. But to help them remain curious.
The invitation
Perhaps this is ultimately the invitation of Zijn. Vanuit d’Oorsprong. Not to collect more truths. But to learn to see more completely.
Not everything we hear needs to be immediately believed or dismissed. Sometimes the most loving question is simply:
What is still missing?
Perhaps conscious presence has very little to do with meditating for twenty minutes each day. Perhaps it has everything to do with the quality with which we meet each moment.
What are you feeding yourself with each day? Which stories do you still believe?
Which desires genuinely bring you closer to yourself? And which desires have quietly become elegant ways of moving away from what life is asking you to see?
Where does fear still speak louder than your inner wisdom? Where does an idealized image of who you think you should become prevent you from being fully present with who you already are?
I’ve noticed that these questions help me remain present. Not on a journey toward becoming a better version of myself. But in becoming increasingly available to what life wants to express through me today.
Perhaps wisdom doesn’t begin with collecting more truths. Perhaps it begins with recognizing that not everything that’s true is complete.
