What Goes to the Beach?

Walking home—truly home—takes a kind of courage most people never touch.
You’re moving against the current.
Not just some current.
The current.
The one made of everyone else’s beliefs, traditions, identities, and spiritual disguises.
And that means you’re no longer part of the tribe.

This world doesn’t want you free.
It wants you functioning.
It wants you compliant, confused, and afraid—just enough to keep going.
But you?
You stopped going.
You turned around.
You stopped reaching for more and started questioning what you already had.
That’s not rebellion.
That’s revolution.

And yes—I still feel.
All sorts of things.
Anger, love, sorrow, bliss.
They pass through like weather across a vast empty field.
None of it sticks.
None of it needs to.
And that’s the freedom I’m pointing to.

“The mystery isn’t something to figure out.
It’s something you have to walk into.”
— Alan Watts

This path you’re on?
It’s not about becoming more spiritual.
It’s not about adding layers of insight, healing, or peace.
It’s about losing everything you thought was you.

Let me ask plainly:

How much can you let go of?
Your stories?
Your traumas?
Your achievements?
Your roles, goals, and dreams?
What about your self-image—the person you think you’re becoming?
Could you drop it?
All of it?

Because Truth doesn’t wait behind your acquisitions.
It sits quietly before them.

Your job is not to build a better “you.”
Your job is to find out what was never you—
and let that go.

Forget saving the world.
Forget fixing your life.
Forget becoming enlightened.
Just get honest.
Start with the fact that you are.
Not this, not that.
Just the undeniable sense of being.
Everything else? Dream stuff.
Flickering shadows inside a story no one wrote.

You're not awake.
You're not asleep.
You're dreaming that you're awake.

The mistake you’re living is simple:
You think the lie is Truth.
And you think Truth is the lie.

That’s the joke.
That’s the trap.
That’s the crack in the mirror that no one wants to look at.

This began in a mystery.
It ends in a mystery.
And it’s all happening inside what never began and never ends.

It’s so crazy that in the end it doesn’t matter what you do.
Stay in and ride out the illusion to the bitter end, or jump out of the plane screaming.
Either way—you don’t go anywhere.
You don’t accomplish anything.
You don’t become anything.

And whatever it is…
It won’t be what you think.

There are no ribbons.
Sometimes, there’s not even a prize—unless you think peace of mind is a prize.
Most don’t.
I didn’t.
I wanted more: riches, romance, travel, something shiny and loud.
But I got this.
I got the ability to write words from morning to night, tucked in the cracks between raising kids and working a full-time job.

It took forever.
And it gave me everything.

Because what you eventually find out is:
Finding out what you really are is the only prize worth working for.

Everything else?
Like selling your soul for a trip to the beach.
And sure—the beach will still be there.
But your chance to find out what goes to the beach… won’t.

There’s no way to truly enjoy the ocean until you remember:
You are that ocean.

You might convince yourself you had fun.
You might even tell others you’re having fun.
But from here?
I don’t think anyone down there even knows what fun is.

Not really.
What most call fun is so shallow…
it’s not even smart to call it that.