Select Page
That inevitable loneliness…

That inevitable loneliness…

by | Jun 9, 2025

“Perhaps you share your life with someone: a space, a bed, habits that are part of your routine, gestures that mark the passing of the days. Perhaps you live with voices that call your name, with presences that surround you, with bonds that, through repetition, seem unbreakable. Perhaps you laugh with others, respond to messages, fulfill what is expected of you. And yet—and perhaps precisely because of this—you live alone. Not because you lack relationships, but because there is a radical impossibility for someone else to inhabit your being. Your uniqueness does not allow for occupation. That internal, irreducible space cannot be transferred or shared.
No one perceives the world from your point of view. No one experiences your exhaustion with your exact weight. No one thinks your thoughts with your cadence, your way of falling silent, your way of stopping. No one feels your heart and its emotions. You can live with someone for decades without ever knowing what dreams wake them up, what silences stop them in their tracks. You can love someone intensely and yet never reach the exact core where their pain takes shape. This is not a lack of affection, but a structure. Loneliness is not a dysfunction of the human condition: it is its core. We are not what we show. Nor are we what we express. We are that which resists all translation.
And yet we insist on denying the obvious. We equate closeness with understanding. We project onto others the fantasy that they are our shelter, our reflection, our company, our protection, our guarantee. We expect those who love us to intuit our needs, decipher our absences, interpret our silences, feel our feelings. We behave as if loving meant accessing a higher form of knowledge. But no such faculty exists.
What we call love is often a dance between two solitudes that, at their best, learn not to invade each other. Sometimes they meet, and other times they simply coincide. Accepting that we are strangers is not the same as giving up.
It is a form of clarity. Abandoning the illusion of being understood means giving up a childish expectation: that of being saved. No one is coming. And that realization is not tragic… it is liberating. As long as you wait for someone else to fill your voids, you will continue to deny that those voids are yours. That the loneliness that constitutes you is not a mistake: it is your true form… your most real outline.
You have tried to silence it. You have resorted to noise, acceleration, hedonism, compulsive attachments. Not out of desire, but out of fear. Not out of openness, but out of evasion. But that loneliness you call a burden is not a condemnation, it is a certainty. It is the beginning of every search that aspires not to lie to itself. Only when you stop running away from yourself can the true encounter begin.
We are inevitably strangers. It is not a matter of suppressing that distance, nor of forcing a union that denies it. It is about inhabiting the separation, recognizing it without drama. Offering it to the other without asking them to eliminate it. It is unreasonable to expect to be rescued from our loneliness. No one can do that, not even for themselves.
When this truth is no longer resisted, its texture changes. What once seemed like a burden becomes an opening.”
Prabhuji
Comparison

Comparison

by | Jun 9, 2025

“From our very first steps—even before we become individuals—we are thrown into a structure that operates discreetly but effectively: comparison. As soon as we open our eyes, someone is already being held up as a model, a benchmark, a standard. Someone who, we are assured, “does it better.” In that seemingly innocent gesture, the first crack appears: a silent wound that, although it does not bleed, never heals. Learning becomes competition. Play becomes an effort to fit in. And the gaze of others, at first external, infiltrates with relentless precision. We end up adopting it, evaluating ourselves from a place that was never our own.
Comparing oneself does not promote growth: it erodes it. It does not open up access to being, it closes it off. It is a tacit declaration of inadequacy. It is occupying the space one inhabits with the suspicion of being superfluous. It is slowly erasing oneself with almost imperceptible but cumulative gestures.
No one draws an equivalence between a river and a mountain, between a hug and a loving glance, between a poem and a sunset. Only those who have lost their sensitivity to the unique would commit such nonsense. Comparison does not bring clarity: it degrades. It is the act of ignoring the unrepeatable. It is reducing what exceeds all measure to an imposed metric. No one would think of demanding that the waning moon be full, or asking the sea to become a forest. And yet, human beings are required to coincide with someone else. With an ideal that, by definition, is foreign.
Comparison acts like a slow-acting poison. It does not cancel out immediately, but it weakens without pause. While one projects oneself outward, one forgets the only thing that could legitimately inhabit oneself: one’s own uniqueness. And it is precisely there, in what cannot be replicated, that value resides. No one has lived from your body. No one has felt with your senses. No one has looked at the world through your eyes. There is no second version. There will be no copy. There is no possible substitute. This understanding implies abandoning the race toward foreign forms. It means beginning to walk, perhaps for the first time, in tune with oneself. It means recognizing that one’s own journey has no equivalent. That one is not a replaceable piece. That beauty is not begged for: it is embodied.
And when this understanding takes root, the accessory is deactivated. It no longer matters who runs faster, who accumulates knowledge, who gets the most applause. Because you are you… unrepeatable… non-transferable… unique… and that is enough.”
Prabhuji
Solitary thinking

Solitary thinking

by | May 22, 2025

“When the aspiration is to reach a wide audience, it is necessary to recognize that truth, in its entirety, does not lend itself easily to that end. Its structure demands to be stripped down, reduced, reformulated in terms that prioritize immediacy, emotion, or familiarity, to the point of diluting its original density. Where discourse abandons nuance, critical rigor, or reflective complexity, it tends to find a wider audience, albeit at the cost of a substantial loss of fidelity to its content.
Language aimed at the masses does not only demand expressive clarity; it often imposes a partial renunciation of meaning. Not because listeners lack intellectual capacity, but because the functioning of the masses does not replicate that of an individual consciousness.
Martin Heidegger says in “Time and Being, lecture 1962:
”Thinking that questions is solitary thinking. It cannot shout to be heard by everyone.”
The crowd does not ponder: it reacts. It does not examine fundamentals: it reproduces slogans. Against this backdrop, those who wish to please end up replacing thought with formulas that, under the guise of accessibility, conceal the trivialization of the essential. The wider the circle of recipients, the more the conceptual rigor of the message is compromised.
In contrast, those who choose to preserve the truth in its unmediated form—demanding, unstable, uncomfortable—must accept the conditions of selective discourse.
Truth offers no immediate comfort, flatters no inclinations, and does not accommodate pre-established expectations. It requires a disposition that cannot be improvised: time, sustained attention, and asceticism of judgment. For this reason, any discourse that aspires to be faithful to reality is offered only to those who have cultivated the patience and effort necessary to receive it without distortion.
Thomas Aquinas, in his Summa contra Gentiles I, chapter 4, says:
“Pauci sunt qui veritatem inquirunt.”
“Few are those who seek the truth.”
The dilemma is structural. One can choose the path of easy consensus, saying what many want to hear, or one can insist on the demands of thought, even knowing that few will persevere in listening. But if among those few there are those who have arrived without having been flattered or seduced, then there is a possibility that they are truly willing to understand. And that understanding, though rare, has no equivalent in immediate acclaim, because it is based on the authenticity of the message, not on its rhetorical usefulness.”
Prabhuji
Ideologies and “ism”s

Ideologies and “ism”s

by | May 21, 2025

“I do not accept ideologies, whatever ‘ism’ they may be and whatever they may be called, because any thought that is confined to a doctrinal system abdicates its most demanding task: to understand without distorting and to judge without resorting to automatic patterns. All ideology operates through a conceptual reductionism that impoverishes the complexity of reality. In its quest for coherence, it simplifies the multiple and eliminates what does not fit into its pre-existing categories. Isaiah Berlin observed that closed systems of ideas sacrifice the plurality of human values for the sake of artificial consistency, which limits the capacity for discernment and restricts open-mindedness.
This impoverishment is accompanied by a normative dogmatism that presents its principles as self-evident truths, thus closing off any possibility of critical review. Karl Popper argued that falsifiability is the criterion that distinguishes rational knowledge from dogma. Similarly, thought that renounces the possibility of being refuted ceases to be thought and becomes doctrine.
Ideology does not describe the world: it shapes it discursively to generate adherence. Its use of language responds to a strategic rather than a cognitive function. Confucius already warned in the Lún Yǔ:
“If names are not correct, language is not adequate; if language is not adequate, actions are not carried out.”
Semantic manipulation not only corrupts discourse, it also distorts the action that derives from it.
All ideology eliminates singularity in favor of categories that are functional to the collective narrative. No individual can be reduced to an identity assigned by their position in a narrative system. Emmanuel Levinas asserted that the other cannot be understood as part of a whole, since their otherness transcends any conceptual structure. A similar insight is found in the Dhammapada:
“No being is identical to another; each must walk their own path.”
By subordinating the individual to an abstraction, ideology erases their concrete uniqueness. Added to this is the inhibition of self-criticism. Every ideological “ism” contains mechanisms that neutralize internal examination and exclude dissent. Michel Foucault showed how regimes of truth are intertwined with structures of power that legitimize certain discourses and silence others. In such an environment, thought is not questioned: it is reproduced. Ideology is not born of the desire to understand, but of the will to influence. Its purpose is not knowledge, but effectiveness. This subordination of thought to extra-theatrical ends betrays its original vocation. Nagarjuna, from the Madhyamaka philosophy, warned that “wisdom is not directed at an object or a utility; its nature is the emptiness of clinging.” Thinking implies stripping oneself of all self-interested uses of knowledge.
I do not reject ideologies out of moral neutrality, but out of fidelity to a more demanding form of rationality. Philosophy begins where dogma ends, not because it offers greater certainties, but because it keeps questions open. Therefore, instead of adhering to closed systems, I cultivate a questioning attitude, conscious, as Socrates pointed out, that “I only know that I know nothing,” and convinced, with Zhuangzi, that “the wise man is not attached to any form, for all forms are transitory.”
Prabhuji