Insights – TRUE NORTH NEURO

Dear souls on the sacred path,

There comes a moment in the inner journey when we must ask ourselves, What am I truly seeking? Is it enlightenment, or approval? Freedom, or perfection? Liberation, or the illusion of control? This moment, the one we are sitting in right now, asks not for accomplishment, but for courage. Not for perfection, but for presence.

I want to speak today to the part of you that is exhausted. The part that has tried to earn love through performance. The part of you that quietly measures your worth by how spiritual you appear, how pure your speech sounds, how seamlessly your meditations unfold. That part of you is not sinful. That part is not weak. That part is simply tired of not being allowed to rest.

And so, today, we name the hidden chain: perfectionism. It is a subtle tyrant that disguises itself as discipline, but secretly feeds on our fear of not being good enough, for God, for others, or even for ourselves. In Sanskrit, the word for perfection is siddhi, but in the Vedic understanding, siddhi does not mean flawlessness. It refers to alignment with the Divine. Siddhi is not about image or achievement, it is about the presence of truth. You were never asked by God to be perfect. You were asked to be present.

We often believe we are walking the path of awakening, but sometimes, we are merely walking the path of subtle self-rejection, one that wears the robes of spirituality but is rooted in the fear of being unworthy. We say, “I’m not there yet,” as though “there” is a distant mountaintop we must conquer before we are lovable. We glance sideways at others and wonder, “Why aren’t they evolving faster? Why can’t they feel what I feel?” But these questions are not born from clarity, they are mirrors reflecting our own deep longing to be seen and held without condition.

Perfectionism is a clever trick of the ego, and ironically, it blocks the very love we are striving to embody. In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna tells Arjuna, “Perform your duty with devotion, surrendering all attachment to success or failure. This equanimity is called Yoga.” That verse reminds us that our worth is not measured by our results. We are free to be both flawed and faithful. We do not need to be finished to be full of God.

Let this be a turning point in your path, not the moment you become better, but the moment you become softer. Let it be the moment you forgive yourself for all the silent ways you’ve judged your heart for not shining fast enough. Let it be the moment your practice becomes an offering, not an obligation. Let this be the moment where you stop asking your inner child to be perfect, and instead sit beside them in love that expects nothing.

In practice, this surrender may look like pausing before you speak, not to edit yourself, but to let your words be soaked in love. It may look like bowing in apology when you’ve judged another’s journey, not because you were wrong, but because your love has grown deeper. It may look like choosing silence when the voice of perfectionism wants to speak. And most of all, it may look like seeing the Divine in those who trigger your judgment, for they are showing you the places within yourself that still ask to be held.

So, let us trade the heavy crown of perfection for the open hands of compassion. Let us trade critique for curiosity. Let us become safe containers, not just for others, but for our own messy, sacred becoming. You are not your standards. You are not your spiritual résumé. You are not here to ascend. You are here to arrive, again and again, with your whole heart.

Breathe, and let the breath say, I am enough. In this breath, I am enough. Let every imperfection become an altar. Let every mistake become a mantra. And let every other soul become your teacher in the art of letting go.

Jai Sri Krishna. Jai Sri Radhe. Jai to the holy mess of becoming. May we walk together, not toward perfection, but toward presence. Let that be our sadhana. Let that be our truth.

Let’s begin with the First Noble Truth—not as an idea, but as a vibration.

A vibration that every body carries. A whisper that every soul has heard.

The Buddha called it Dukkha.

Now, many translate that as “suffering.” But I want to go deeper.

Dukkha is the feeling of instability. It is the ache that comes when the soul forgets that everything… everything is changing.

We crave joy, and it shifts.

We crave peace, and it stirs.

We crave health, and the body bruises again.

I once wrote in my journal:

“If my body is sick, I long for a time that it will be healthy—and yet stagnate in the dream of expectancy rather than receiving.”

Have you ever lived in that dream? That “someday” healing?

That longing for a moment that doesn’t hurt, doesn’t move, doesn’t change?

But here’s the dharma:

Nothing fixed can stay.

And that’s not a flaw. That’s divinity in motion.

In the Samyutta Nikaya, the Buddha said:

“Birth is Dukkha. Aging is Dukkha. Death is Dukkha… Not getting what we want is Dukkha. Getting what we want… and watching it change—also Dukkha.”

The pain, dear family, is not in the change itself.

It is in our resistance to that change.

It is in the illusion that we are the riverbank…

when we are, in truth, the river.

The wise do not grip the fleeting

Krishna speaks to this in the Bhagavad Gita:

“As the soul passes from childhood to youth to old age, so also it passes at death to another body. The wise are not bewildered by this.” (2.13)

You see, the wise one does not clench.

The wise one does not grip the fleeting.

The wise one breathes with the wave—not against it.

And you and I?

We’ve been gripping—gripping our thoughts, our bodies, our healing timelines.

Even our “spiritual progress.”

Even sadness belongs to the sacred

I confess:

I used to believe my thoughts weren’t God-thoughts unless they were peaceful.

I believed my health wasn’t holy unless it was whole.

But the deeper I sink into silence…

The more I see:

Even my sadness belongs to the sacred.

Let me ask you this:

What if healing doesn’t come from control…

But from consent?

What if your bruises don’t need fixing…

They need blessing?

The medicine of surrender

The Yoga Sutras offer a key. Patanjali says:

“Ishvara-pranidhanaad va.” “Or, by surrender to God, samadhi is attained.” (1.23)

This is the ultimate medicine: not fighting the river, but flowing with God.

Not managing impermanence, but marinating in it.

Not fixing your life, but falling in love with it.

I wrote this recently:

“The river does not crave stillness—yet I, the ripple, plead for it.” “Even longing is impermanence. Even desire for healing is a wave that forgets it is the sea.”

Float with the waves

My friends,

May we stop picking at the scabs of our soul.

May we stop pacing the shore, waiting for calm.

And instead,

Let’s float.

Float with the changing moods.

Float with the body as it breaks and renews.

Float with the people who enter and exit our lives like holy weather.

From the unreal to the Real

The Brihadaranyaka Upanishad offers this prayer:

“Asato ma sad gamaya Tamaso ma jyotir gamaya Mrityor ma amritam gamaya” “From the unreal, lead me to the Real. From darkness, lead me to Light. From death, lead me to Immortality.”

But immortality, my loves, is not a place where the body never bruises.

It is the place where the soul stops resisting the bruise.

That’s where real peace lives.

That’s the healing that doesn’t require force.

That’s the medicine of moksha, samadhi, surrender.

Closing Invocation

So I leave you with this invocation:

Speak it aloud with me if you feel moved.

Let this moment be as it is. Let my body be exactly as it is. Let my thoughts float like clouds, without needing to change them. Let the river flow—because I am the river. I am the healing. I am the motion. I am the mystery. And I am already whole.