Mistaking “I Can’t Do Great Things” for “I Can’t Do Anything”

We often realize that there are many things we cannot do. However, by worrying about what we cannot do, we forget what we can do.

The fact that we cannot accomplish “great things” leads us to convince ourselves of the “story” that we, therefore, cannot even manage the small, simple things that are within our reach.

Since we can’t do “great things,” we convince ourselves that we also cannot do small, simple things, either – so we end up doing nothing at all.

Unable, for example, to fulfill the “story” of saving the world, we tell ourselves the “story” that we cannot even carry out simple everyday actions in support of small causes close to us.

When we measure what we could do against what we could never do – end war, cure cancer, bring peace to the world, end disease – we may end up convincing ourselves that we cannot do anything at all. We then stop trying to do even the small things.

Because of the “story” that we cannot do “great things,” we end up not even doing the small things that are actually within our reach.

However, being unable to do “great things” does not mean we cannot do small things.

In reality, there are many small things we can do, even sharing a piece of bread with a pigeon. Whoever you are, even if you are a homeless person, there is always something small that you can do. Many years ago, I saw a homeless person in Milan digging through the trash for food. I thought he was looking for something to eat for himself, but he was looking for scraps to give to hungry pigeons. It was a small thing – but to the pigeon, it made a huge difference.

No matter how little you have, and no matter how low you feel you have fallen – even if you are homeless and have nothing – you can always do something small for others.

Regret and the Failure to Do What We Could Have Done

In the future, however, we will regret the small things we did not do and could have done, whereas we will not regret the “big things” we were unable to do.

Regret comes from failing to do what we could have done.

We cannot do most “big things” like cure diseases or stop crime because they require more resources, time, and power than we have. But we can do a lot of small things, like bringing a meal to a neighbor who is hungry, or mowing the yard of an elderly person. All we have to do is choose to do it.

Regret comes from failing to do what we could have done, therefore:

We will not regret not doing the big things, because we could never have done them in the first place.

We will regret not doing the small things, because we could actually have done them.

When we become aware of this dynamic, we no longer fall into the trap of neglecting small things simply because we cannot accomplish the “big things.”

What can we do to improve the world?

The answer is almost nothing – but it’s not nothing, it’s almost nothing. This “almost” makes all the difference, because there is an immense difference between doing almost nothing and doing nothing.

So, yes, we can do almost nothing, but that’s completely different than doing nothing. We can do this “almost.”

For example, imagine a beach covered with starfish stranded there by a big wave. Unless they get back in the water, they will die. A boy picks up one starfish after another and throws them back in the water. Another person approaches and says, “You’re wasting your time. It won’t make a difference because you’ll never save all of them.”

The boy holds up a starfish and says, “It makes a difference to this one.”

Every “small” act makes a difference. It may not affect everyone, but it will affect the one who is being helped – the receiver – and that’s what matters to the person who is being helped.

From the perspective of the ego who wants to “save the world,” one small act does not make any difference. But from the perspective of the individual who benefits from that one small act, it means everything.

The Perspective of the Giver Versus the Perspective of the Receiver

The perspective of the giver is very different from the perspective of the receiver.

The giver may consider doing something “good” for someone else and then ask, “Is it big enough for me?” This question is asked from a perspective of selfishness: “Is it big enough to satisfy my ego?” or “Is this thing so small that doing it will not inflate my ego in any way?” The giver is asking if the act satisfies his ego enough in order to do the effort required.

But if the giver was seeing the act from the perspective of the recipient instead of from the perspective of his own ego, the giver would instead ask, “How much of a difference will this make for the recipient?” There would be no ego involved, just a question of how much “good” the giver can do for the recipient.

Paradoxically, the giver may only do “big things” because he needs to do a “big thing” in order to satisfy his ego. If the giver does not do “small things” because he believes he should focus only on “big things,” he is clearly doing it only for his own ego, not for the recipient.

When the giver perceives some action as “small” the giver may question whether it is worth doing it at all. This is the “lazy path”: The giver feels the act has too little impact on his own ego, so it’s not worth the small effort, but this is because the giver views the action only from the perspective of his own ego. The giver feels that “If I cannot make a big difference, then why bother to do anything?”

From the perspective of the giver, an action may seem very “small.” But from the perspective of the receiver, it can be very “big.” It may be “small” to the giver from the perspective of his ego, but it could make a huge difference for the receiver.

For example, giving a sandwich to a hungry person seems like a very “small thing” to the giver. But to the receiver, it could have a great impact.

You probably cannot change the whole world, but you can change someone’s world – because, from the perspective of the recipient, you actually are changing the world: their world. If someone is hungry and you are feeding them, you are effectively changing the world. Every time you help with “small” things you see every day, that may make a huge difference for the recipients of each “small” thing.

A few years ago, I was in Argentina. I saw a man standing outside a pharmacy. He wasn’t a beggar, just a person on the street. He stopped me and explained that he needed medicine but was a few hundred pesos (two or three dollars) short. He showed me his empty bottle of medicine. So I gave him what he needed, and this made him very happy and very relieved. I assume it made a big difference for him, because it was important enough that he was stopping a stranger to ask for help.

Did I change the world? No. Did I end poverty in Argentina? Of course not. But this small act was very significant for this man.

From the perspective of the ego of the giver, small things mean next to nothing. But from the perspective of the individual who receives the kindness of the giver, it means the world.

1. Awakening as Removal, Not Acquisition

In this framework, enlightenment is defined strictly as a process of subtraction rather than addition. It is not the attainment of new qualities, knowledge, or special states, but the systematic removal of unfounded beliefs.

• No New Qualities: Enlightenment does not make an individual “better,” “kinder,” or more “evolved” in a moral sense. It is not about personal or mental improvement.

• No New Knowledge: It does not provide “master secrets” or final answers about the ultimate nature of reality. Instead, it is the realization that fixed positions and final knowledge are unnecessary.

• No Special States: It is not a permanent state of bliss, unity, or emotional neutrality. It is a series of realizations that remove the belief that one’s current experience should be different than it is.

• The Object of Removal: The process specifically targets “ego” beliefs and “shoulds”—the primary unfounded stories that keep the individual trapped in a constructed reality.

2. The Nature of Realizations vs. Beliefs and ‘Transformation’

A critical distinction is made between “adding knowledge” and “structural realization.”

• Knowledge (Additive): This introduces new information without changing the underlying framework.

  • The Restaurant Metaphor: Discovering a new restaurant on a street is merely adding a data point to an existing mental map that already allowed for the existence of restaurants.

• Realization (Structural): This disrupts and restructures the entire framework through which reality is interpreted.

  • The Santa Claus Metaphor: Realizing Santa does not exist is not just losing one piece of information. It collapses the entire conceptual structure of an omniscient gift-giver, altering how the individual perceives the world.

• Realization vs. Belief: Beliefs are adopted for reasons—motivation, preference, or external influence. Realization is unmotivated and inevitable; it arises from recognizing an internal contradiction. It is the collapse of a position that can no longer be sustained.

• Realization vs. Transformation: Traditional “transformation” often involves moving from Point A to Point B within a stable worldview (ego-inflation). Realization is “change without change”—the individual remains in the same “place,” but the system through which they perceive it is transformed.

3. The Anatomy of Mental Maps and Unfounded Stories

Humans navigate Reality (Capital R) using simplified “mental maps.” While necessary for survival, these maps are prone to errors that cause pain and suffering.

• The Concept of Truth: Truth with a capital T represents Reality in its totality (the position of every particle in the universe), which is knowable only in theory. In practice, humans rely on personal “truths” or simplifications.

• The Party Metaphor: At a complex party, different guests experience different segments. Each guest extrapolates their partial experience (the part they saw) to the whole event, assuming the party was simpler and more homogenous than it actually was.

• Two Problems with Maps:

  1. Ignorance: A lack of information (blank spots).

  2. Distortion (Unfounded Stories): Information that does not correspond to Reality due to flawed inferences.

• Practical Consequences: Bad mental maps reduce discernment. Reduced discernment leads to poor decisions, which ultimately produce pain.

4. The Four Categories of Stories

Mental maps are encoded through four types of stories:

Predictive Stories

Based on patterns and accumulated experience.

Allows anticipation of outcomes (e.g., a cake left in a fridge will likely remain there).

“Should” Stories

The belief that reality could have or ought to have gone differently.

Implies an impossible fork in reality and the existence of “freedom” from causality.

Meaning Stories

Cosmologies built to interpret “micro” events.

Religious, spiritual, or cultural narratives used to make sense of mortality and fragility.

Ego/Identity Stories

Attachments to who we believe we are.

Driven by the need to feel “special”; recognized by the effort put into defending them.

5. The Impossibility of Alternative Realities

The guide asserts that “should” stories are logically impossible because there are no alternative versions of reality.

• The “Best Decision” Logic: Every decision-maker (even one with hypothetical “free will”) always chooses what they believe is the single best move based on their available knowledge and perceptions at that moment. Because there is only ever one move perceived as the “best,” there is only ever one possible outcome.

• Ex Ante vs. Ex Post (The Roulette Metaphor):

  • Ex Ante (Before the spin): A player bets on red because they believe it is the best decision based on a hunch.

  • Ex Post (After the spin): The ball lands on black. While the player is unhappy with the outcome, the decision to bet red remains the only decision they could have made given their belief at the time.

• Eliminating Regret: Once it is understood that we always make the perceived best decision with the information available, the basis for regret—the belief that we could have done otherwise—vanishes.

6. The Practice of Authenticity

Authenticity is defined as the prerequisite for introspection: not lying to oneself. The practice consists of three daily steps:

1. Never Lie to Yourself: Accept current feelings (e.g., “I am angry”) without trying to convince yourself otherwise.

2. Observe Only, Without Judgment: When judgment occurs (e.g., “I shouldn’t be angry”), switch to observing the judgment itself. Ask what story or assumption supports that judgment.

3. Avoid Forced Effort or Pretending: Forcing change (trying to be calm when you are angry) is just “pretending” to be enlightened. This prevents the introspection necessary to find the underlying story. Real change only happens through realization, which is effortless once the story drops.

7. The ‘Shell’ vs. the ‘Kernel’

This concept distinguishes between the attributes of a person and their essential nature.

• The Shell: Consists of all qualities, such as intellect, memory, personality, appearance, wealth, and social status. These can be stripped away (e.g., through amnesia or aging) without ending the sense of existence.

• The Kernel: The “something that ultimately feels.” It is the invisible essence that experiences reality.

• The Clone Experiment: If an exact atomic copy of a person (a clone) is made and the clone is hit with a hammer, the original person does not feel the pain. This implies that the “kernel” (the feeler) was not copied, proving that identity is not found in the material “shell.”

8. The Indivisibility of Ultimate Reality and Single Sentience

The book provides a logical proof for the unity of existence:

• Existence from Non-Existence: Existence cannot materialize from nothing. Therefore, Reality is a continuous temporal sequence where every moment is determined by the previous one.

• Indivisibility: Ultimate Reality is a single, indivisible whole. Any perceived separation (you vs. me) is a matter of perception, not an objective domain of reality.

• Single Sentience: Sentience is not a “behavior” that emerges from matter (like a computer program) but a pre-existing “property” of Reality. Because Ultimate Reality is indivisible, Sentience must also be a single, indivisible property. We are the “dreamer” dreaming the various parts of the dream.

9. ‘Doing the Right Thing’ vs. Rules and Justice

“Doing the right thing” is an immediate, subjective sense of the present, independent of external moral codes or “reward stories.”

• The Spectrum of Effort:

  • Fatalism: Zero effort, leaving everything to chance.

  • Maximum Effort: Doing everything humanly possible to influence an outcome.

  • The “At All Costs” Trap: An irrational level of effort fueled by stories that ignore side effects and reality (e.g., threatening a doctor during surgery).

• The Heart Condition Metaphor: A parent deciding on surgery for a child. They might choose “maximum effort” (the surgery) but reject “at all costs” (killing another child for a heart) because they no longer believe their child’s life is objectively “more special” than another’s.

• Selfishness vs. Need: It is acceptable to be “selfish” when you are the one who needs something the most. Giving to another who needs it less is allowing yourself to be exploited.

10. Authentic Love as Benevolence and Unconditional Love

• Love as Benevolence: Authentic love is altruistic benevolence directed toward those who “need it the most,” regardless of personal connection.

• Unconditional and Non-Discriminatory: Because the “kernels” of all sentient beings are indistinguishable and of similar nature, authentic love cannot be discriminatory. If you love one kernel, you must love them all.

• Inauthentic Love: Driven by ego or “reward stories” (e.g., wanting to feel like a “good person” or expecting reciprocation).

11. Authentic vs. Inauthentic Emotions (and Pain vs. Suffering)

The guide distinguishes emotions based on whether they are driven by preferences or by stories.

• Authentic Emotions: Derived from preferences and boundaries.

  • Healthy Anger: Arises when a boundary is violated; leads to setting a limit (”Don’t speak to me that way”).

  • Sadness: The natural response to an unmet expectation or loss.

• Inauthentic Emotions: Driven by “should” stories.

  • Unhealthy Anger: Arises from the belief that the universe “should” be different (e.g., being angry at the rain).

• Pain vs. Suffering:

  • Pain: Sadness over a preference (e.g., losing money). It is an unavoidable part of life.

  • Suffering: Mental stress/anger caused by the story that the pain “should not” have happened. Removing the “should” story eliminates the suffering, though the pain (sadness) may remain.

12. Continuous Questioning and the Spiritual Ego Trap

One of the most dangerous traps for a seeker is the “Spiritual Ego.”

• The Trap of Arrival: Believing one is already “enlightened” stops the process of questioning. This is just “renaming the ego”—calling it “soul” or “spirit” to feel superior to others.

• The Matrix/Neo Metaphor: In the movie The Matrix, Neo believes he has escaped to reality. However, if he stops questioning whether his new world is also a simulation, he becomes more trapped than before because he has lost his doubt.

• Fluent Questioning: Enlightenment is not a destination but the absence of fixed assumptions. The only valid answer to “What am I?” is “I don’t know.”

• Motivation Shift: The motivation for the path transitions from Ambition (the ego-driven desire to “become” enlightened) to Curiosity (the pure desire to see reality without distortions).

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Good Deeds as “Credit”

When someone has performed many actions or deeds toward others that are regarded as “good,” they may be tempted to believe those actions constitute a kind of intangible capital.

Some people see doing good as building up “credit” – an intangible right that counter-balances the “bad” things you may do in the future.

This intangible capital can be seen as a form of credit – an “asset” – that legitimizes a certain number of selfish actions with negative repercussions for others.

The idea is that you can basically spend this “credit” by actually hurting others – and that hurting others would be okay, because you earned it by doing “good” actions or deeds to make up for it.

These selfish actions, which have negative repercussions for others, are considered “legitimate” in light of the many “good” actions previously performed. We feel entitled to act selfishly, causing harm to others, on the basis of past “good” deeds, as if this were a legitimate form of “moral compensation.”

It’s like a scale with “good” deeds on one side and “bad” deeds on the other. You believe that you are entitled to add things to the “bad” side – hurting people – because you believe you accumulated enough deeds on the “good” side to make up for it.

Treating People as Fungible

Within this framework, people are treated as fungible – interchangeable – so if I have helped ten people, I may think I can safely harm one, making a simple arithmetic calculation as if dealing with banknotes or other interchangeable objects.

If I hurt one person, I can make up for it by doing a good deed for any other person. From this perspective, people are treated as objects, not as individuals. This is fungibility applied to human beings – treating people as if one can be replaced by any other.

Seeing people as fungible – an inevitable consequence of “moral compensation” – or interchangeable means treating them as mere objects rather than individuals.

But people are not objects. Every person has his own subjective feelings. If you hurt one person and do a good deed for another, the first person doesn’t benefit. He is still hurt. Saving one person does not make up for killing a different person.

“Moral compensation” is a direct consequence of treating people as objects instead of individuals.

If you see people as interchangeable, then you must necessarily see them as objects, not as individuals. You can rationalize harm. You can separate the experience of suffering from the person who is suffering. Suffering and people become fungible. Individuals with their own subjectivity are reduced to “entries in a ledger” that can be balanced elsewhere.

The only way to do “moral compensation” is to see people as objects.

In “moral compensation,” each individual – rather than being seen as the bearer of individual subjectivity – is seen only as a fungible material object, to be added to or subtracted from other objects, interchangeable and indistinguishable at the individual and subjective level.

They are treated as quantities rather than as individuals.

If people were seen as individuals rather than objects, “moral compensation” would not happen.

It would be impossible to do “moral compensation” if people treated people as individuals, each of whom has his own subjectivity. When they are treated as interchangeable commodities, no more unique than one cup of sugar exchanged for another, “moral compensation” occurs.

Every time we treat people merely as quantities, engaging in “moral compensation,” we relegate them to the status of simple, fungible objects rather than seeing them as human beings.

Anyone who engages in “moral compensation” is always a selfish person, thinking only of themselves. “Good” deeds are performed solely for the sake of the “credit” accumulated in doing so and the possibility of using this “credit” in the future. This future “credit” may include both material benefits and the idea of securing a place in “heaven” after death. “Buying” a place in “heaven” is also an action motivated entirely by self-interest. Within this dynamic, others are seen merely as “objects” to be used for our own selfish ends, with no regard for their individuality.

If you engage in “moral compensation,” it is a symptom that you believe that everybody else is an object – which is the same as believing that you are the only person who exists: There is just you, no one else.

Other people become nothing more than interchangeable “units” in your personal “moral” accounting. They do not exist as individuals with their own subjectivity. They exist only for your justifications.

To What End? / What’s the Point?

When deciding whether or not to take an initiative or perform an action, we are faced with two possible questions.

The first question is summed up in the expression “to what end? / what’s the point?” and the second in the expression “why not?

With the expression “to what end? / what’s the point?,” what we are really asking is whether or not it is worth taking the initiative.

How do you figure out if something is worth the effort?

The question “to what end? / what’s the point?” is related to an assessment of the effort, compromises, and sacrifices required of ourselves or others in relation to what we want to achieve. It is a valid way to ask, at the outset, whether we perform a given action for the sake of the process (the path) or for the result (the destination). If we act because we enjoy the process itself, the problem does not arise because there is no question of effort. If, on the other hand, we act for the result, then the process of inquiry must continue.

Are you doing something because you enjoy the process, or are you doing it because you get something out of it?

If you enjoy the process, there is no effort. It’s pleasurable. But if you do it exclusively for the result, we must look more deeply into it.

If the result is the primary focus, we must ask whether the effort is worth it. To understand whether the expected result is worth the effort, we can try to reframe the result as an experience only, rather than as a “thing” or as something related to “identity,” which would reduce the distortion produced by the stories.

In the case where it’s about the result, you need to find out if the result is worth the effort.

The problem is that there may be stories that produce distortion, and that distortion increases your motivation to get the result.

For example, let’s say I try to sell you a “diamond” but in reality it is not a diamond. It is just glass. I am lying to you – the lie is a distortion of reality. You may be willing to buy the “diamond” at a certain price, but that’s only because of the distortion/lie. Distortion makes it more difficult to assess if something is worth the effort.

To understand if a result is worth the effort, we must remove the distortions. We do that by removing the story-component of the motivation. Stories influence our willingness to make an effort. So if I, as the seller, remove the lie that this is a real diamond, this reveals that it is just glass and your willingness to buy it for a high price disappears. The glass may still be worth something, but not the price of a diamond.

Removing the distortion is done through “reframing.”

We define “reframing” as removing the story-component of the “why” and this removes the distortions. This allows you to analyze the worth of something without distortion. You see it only from the perspective of experience, and you are then removing the story-component of the motivation.

When we remove the stories and any identity-story component, we reframe the result exclusively as experience. Then we can evaluate the outcome as experience only and not as something that defines our identity.

Experience Versus Results

For example, if I decided to climb Mount Everest, I might first ask myself whether I am willing to take this initiative exclusively for the experience of the climb itself, or because, once I reach the summit, I want to show the photos to my friends, expecting admiration and recognition.

There are three cases:

1. I climb the mountain because I enjoy the act of climbing.

I do it because I enjoy the experience of climbing. This takes no effort, because what is enjoyable does not take effort.

2. I hate to climb but I do it for the result-experience: the experience of being at the top.

I enjoy being at the top, but I do not enjoy the climb to get there. It doesn’t matter how I get to the top. If I’m rich, I’ll rent a helicopter so I can be at the top and not have to make the unpleasant effort of climbing. Otherwise, I’ll make the effort even though it is unpleasant – and I will make the effort exclusively because I enjoy the experience of being at the top. Either way, the only thing I care about is the experience of being at the top – seeing the view from there, enjoying the silence, feeling the air in my lungs.

3. I hate to climb but I do it for the result-story: being able to tell myself that I’m a great climber.

In case #3, the urge to tell myself, “I am a great climber who has reached the summit of Everest!” is the only reason I am doing the climb.

In case #3, climbing for the result-story, I climb because I am chasing an identity-story that will come from having reached the top through my own strength. This way, I can brag and say that I’m a great climber – I want the identity-story component of the experience. I can’t take a helicopter to the top. I have to have the unpleasant experience of climbing in order to claim the identity-story component of the result. It’s about ego and getting to say “I am a great climber.”

In order to distinguish between #2 and #3 – between doing it for the experience of the result itself versus the identity-story component of the result, we have to reframe the result as an experience.

Suppose I describe the event by telling myself, “I am a great climber because I reached the summit of Everest, and my friends therefore see me as cool.” Then, I could instead try to reframe the event as an experience only, saying to myself, for example, “I had the experience of reaching the summit of Everest. I then had the experience of feeling cool in my friends’ eyes because of it.” This shift in perspective helps us understand whether the effort of climbing Everest is worth the experience it brings without the distortion of stories.

We reframe the result, being at the summit, as a pure experience: “I had the experience of being at the summit, then I had the experience of sharing it with my friends.” By considering the experience itself – without the distortion caused by stories – we can now ask: Is the result worth the effort, or does it appear worthwhile only because of the distortions?

Sometimes people do things they don’t enjoy even without stories and distortions, such as working in a coal mine. But if they don’t enjoy a given experience, why would they do it? Because they value the result – like the paycheck – more than they dislike the discomfort of the work.

So we ask, do we value the result because it is an experience we want, or do we value the result because of the distortions caused by a story?

If we start out saying, “If I climb Everest, I will be a great climber and all my friends will see me as cool,” we recognize that as a story of identity. We must reframe it as an experience only: “I had the experience of reaching the summit” and “I had the experience of my friends saying nice things about me.” It may be a nice experience to hear it, but not because you believe it. That second experience (the experience of my friends saying nice things to me) may still have a lingering amount of identity-story component attached to it, so you reframe it again: “I had the experience of reaching the summit, and I had the experience of sharing a nice experience with my friends.”

Now you are dealing with the experiences themselves, not the story and, at this point, you can examine the situation free from distortions: “Is it worth this effort to have these experiences – the climb, the summit, and sharing it with your friends?” Maybe yes, maybe no. But now you’re deciding based on the experience itself, not on an identity story or any other story.

When you reframe what happens as experience, your perspective changes. You strip away the story-components and the distortions they produce, and you can finally ask, “Is the effort worth the experience it brings?”

If, when you strip away the story components and the distortions they produce, the motivation disappears, then it indicates that the motivation was based exclusively on a story: once you remove the story, the experience alone isn’t enough motivation to sustain the effort.

With the question “to what end? / what’s the point?” we therefore seek to weaken motivation and reduce the impact of stories in cases where an action is undertaken solely for the result, rather than for the process. This weakening occurs by reframing the event in terms of pure experience, stripping away any story component.

When we are motivated by result only, that motivation may be caused by a story. When that happens, dismantling the story weakens the identity-story part of motivation.

Let’s say you climb Everest not exclusively because you like sitting at the top, looking at the view, and enjoying the fresh air.

In that case, we have to reframe the result as experience only. By looking at the result as experience only, you can reveal the presence of a story. In this case, it may be a story of identity: “If I succeed in climbing Everest, then I’m a great climber.” By dismantling that story, you strip away the story-component of the motivation. Now you can ask yourself, “Do I like sitting at the top and enjoying the view, or do I just want to tell myself that I am a great climber?”

When you eradicate the identity-related motivation that comes from the story-component, you reduce distortion. You can then decide, with less distortion, if you are really willing to do something, or if you would be doing it only for the story.

“Why Not?”

When we decide to do something, we usually consider the reasons that might drive us to take that action. If we don’t find valid reasons, we usually choose not to take the action.

In general there is a bias toward inaction, and usually we don’t do something unless there is a reason for action. For example, you don’t stand up from your chair unless there is a reason to do so. That tendency to stay seated is a bias toward “not doing.”

However, we could look at things from the opposite perspective, by asking “why not?” This can be seen as a method for investigating the presence of “I shouldn’t” stories as a cause of inaction, rather than “I don’t want to” stories. Actions driven by “I shouldn’t,” unlike those driven by “I don’t want to,” are fueled by stories, since they impose limitations that do not reflect a person’s real desires.

When you don’t do something, there may be two reasons:

Option 1, You don’t want to do it.

Option 2, You think you shouldn’t do it, and the “shouldn’t” is based on a story.

For example, if I decided to make becoming number one in a sport my top priority, I might choose to give misleading advice to friends competing against me, to push them down the rankings. So, there could be a conflict between the desire to be number one and the belief that we should not give misleading advice to friends.

Here, I must rank my preferences.

I have to ask myself, “Is it worth lying to my friends in order to become number one?” If my preference is being number one, and I prefer being number one to having friends, then, yes, it is worth lying to my friends in order to become number one.

However, stories can create distortion, and in this case there may be a story – not a preference – that says, “I shouldn’t lie to my friends.” So then I ask “why not?” which can reveal a story of “shouldn’t” that was hidden and causing distortions.

At this point, by asking myself, “Why not?” regarding giving misleading advice to friends, I could discard the “I shouldn’t” story and consider whether what matters more to me is the desire to be number one or the desire to be friends with my competitors.

After removing the “I shouldn’t” story, I can now look at the preferences without distortion and rank them. I am now considering my preference – what I actually want – and nothing else. This shift is important: it doesn’t mean I automatically decide to lie, but that I now clearly understand my motivations, free of distortions so that I can make a decision based purely on preference.

In other words, we may discover that behind the decision to become number one in a given sport lies an “I want” that justifies the effort/sacrifice/compromise to lie to our friends. In contrast, behind the refusal to give misleading advice to competitor-friends there may be only an “I shouldn’t” story, rather than a genuine “I don’t want.”

After we remove the stories, there are only two possibilities.

The first is that I prioritize being number one.

Behind this preference, there is an “I want.” “I want to be first,” is how I feel, and that’s all there is to it.

The second is that I prioritize having friends.

It may be that not lying to my friends is what I actually want because my preference is I want to have friends. But it could also be that this is not my real preference – it is just a story that “I shouldn’t” lie to my friends. By removing stories, I will be able to see my preferences clearly, rank them, and decide exclusively based on my preference, without any distortions from stories.

This question (“why not?”) therefore assesses whether what blocks the action is a story of “I shouldn’t” or “I don’t want.” If it is an “I don’t want,” the matter is settled. If, on the other hand, we are dealing with an “I shouldn’t,” then we need to assess whether behind this story lies an “I want,” which could lead to action, or an “I don’t want,” which would not lead to action.

The fact that there is a story of “shouldn’t” doesn’t guarantee that you actually “do want” something. When you remove the story of “shouldn’t,” then you discover if you actually wanted to do something or not. For example, there may be a story that you “shouldn’t” lie to your friends. After you remove the story, you may then discover that you still don’t want to lie to your friends – that this actually had been your preference all along, it was just hidden by the story. Or you could discover that you are willing to lie.

Removing the story does not mean you are definitely going to lie. Removing the story just allows you to recognize the preference that was hiding behind the story so that now you can act on the preference and freely decide whether or not to lie.

Two Questions to Examine What Motivates Our Decisions

In conclusion, both the question “to what end? / what’s the point?” and the question “why not?” can serve as valid methods for examining the reasons and stories underlying our decisions, and for choosing, in light of these two approaches, whether or not to take a given initiative.

Together, these questions help me reduce the distortion to see my motives more clearly:

• “To what end?” allows you to assess if the experience without the story is worth the effort.

• “Why not?” allows you to uncover if it’s a preference or a story.

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Defining “Reward”

Identity is that “thing” that ultimately feels.

We do not know the nature of ultimate Reality. So, for lack of a better alternative, we have to define identity based on its function and not on its nature.

Experience is what identity, or “that thing that ultimately feels,” feels.

A reward is what we think will happen as a consequence of our actions.

Direct Rewards Versus “Reward Stories”

A reward can be of the story type (“reward-stories”) when it is based on a story. It stems from the belief that our “good” or “bad” actions will result in a direct payoff for us personally. For example, if I have given a lot to charity, the reward-story says that there will be positive consequences for me in the future.

This is when we believe that a specific action we do, especially a “good” one, will result in a payoff for us personally. For instance, if a beggar asks you for money and you give it to him, he gets a reward (the money) and you may also get a reward, such as if he says “thank you.”

But you may believe that you will also receive an indirect reward such as “karma” or some “gift” from “God.” If you have given a lot to charity and you believe in “reward-stories,” there are positive consequences for the charity, of course. But you may believe that someone or something is “watching you,” and “keeping score,” and maybe there will also be positive consequences for you in the future.

In the reward-story dynamic, actions are motivated by the expectation of a future reward rather than by the experience of the action itself (what I ultimately experience). In other words, the person would not have acted at all without the motivation of the expected reward (reward-story). If I am acting from what I sense the “right thing” is, then I might spontaneously help a single individual in difficulty who happens to cross my path. By contrast, I might give to charity to help a million people, not out of a sense of “doing the right thing,” but in a calculated way, solely to obtain positive consequences for me in the future. Without the reward-story, I would no longer help those million people, but perhaps only that single individual, solely guided by what I feel in my heart.

When you act on a belief in “reward-stories,” you’re not doing something exclusively for the experience itself. You’re doing it because you expect a future reward for you personally. The experience is not enough. You need the motivation of the expected future reward, which is the dynamic of “reward-stories.”

However, if someone in need spontaneously crosses your path and you help them because of what you feel in your heart, you are doing it because you sense it is the “right thing to do.” You did not consider a possible reward for yourself, you did not factor in any possible benefit, and you did not do it for any potential outcome.

What if you gave to a charity to help a million people? You might be doing it in a calculated way with the belief that you will receive benefits to you personally in the future. In that case, you are acting on the belief in “reward-stories,” not acting by following your sense of “doing the right thing.” You are calculating how to get the most reward, driven by a belief in “reward-stories.”

“Moral Compensation”

At times, a person who has performed “good” actions may then also feel entitled to act against what they sense is “doing the right thing,” merely as a form of “moral compensation.”

“Moral compensation” is the idea that doing “good” actions entitles you to make “bad” actions against someone else for your own benefit, and against what you sense is “doing the right thing.”

For instance, I may say that since I have done a lot of things I feel are “good,” such as giving millions to charity, this allows me to do something that I know is not “right” at the expense of someone else. It’s like measuring what we do on a scale with “good works” on one side and “bad works” on the other. I did a lot of “good,” I say, so if I do a little “bad” it will be outweighed – morally compensated – by all the good I’ve done.

Thinking in terms of “moral compensation,” I may say that because of all the times I did “good,” that entitles me to scam a business partner (to do “bad”). I might say, “I’ve helped millions of people. Compared to all that ‘good’ I’ve done, what is the big deal if I scam only this one person? And he’s a real jerk, anyway! He doesn’t donate to charity like I do, so it’s okay if I scam him.” I am aware of what the “right thing to do” is but I don’t do it. I say that all the “good” I’ve done makes up for that.

Tangible Rewards Versus Story-Based Rewards

A reward, on the other hand, can be tangible (not story-based) when it is based on practical experience. If I work, I get paid (tangible reward) and with that money I can pay the rent. In other words, I may accept a job I dislike because the reward I receive (money) is tangible and essential for my survival. I might also work hard and make risky investments because I know that I will then be able to buy that private jet (tangible reward) I want.

Sometimes the reward is not based on a story. Sometimes the reward is “direct,” meaning it is tangible and real, like money. It is not imagined, merely hoped for, or based on “reward-stories” like “I hope I go to heaven.”

Sometimes you might do a job you don’t like. Why do you do that? Because it provides something for you, like money. The reward may be essential for your survival or for something other than survival, such as something you want that is expensive and luxurious.

But either way, the reward is real, not based on “reward-stories.” It is direct. “Indirect” rewards are speculative and come from stories, such as the belief that “If I do this particular thing, I will win the lottery,” or “If I do this, I will go to heaven.”

The fundamental difference between a story-based reward and a tangible reward lies in the nature of the bargain: in the case of the story-based reward, the bargain isn’t real – I simply imagine that “the universe” or “people” will reward me for my actions. It is an illusory expectation. In the case of a tangible reward, I perform an action in return for a reward that someone else has promised me. For example, you work for me for eight hours, and I will pay you 800 dollars.

A reflection: If I give to charity because I expect to gain admiration from my friends, I am not operating under the model of “doing the right thing” – I am just giving to the charity in exchange for the reward of the admiration of my friends, just like someone who works for money.

The Illusion of Proportionality Between Action and Reward

Many of us tend to associate “reward-stories” with certain actions, expecting a return for the actions we take. The greater the amount of action, the greater the “reward” we imagine receiving. If I believe in “reward-stories” and, within my means, I give “100” to charity, I may expect the same amount in return. Then I will assume that giving “1000” will bring a reward of “1000,” and so on, with the imagined return always increasing. However, there is no reason to believe that this linear relationship between quantity and rewards exists, since we do not know the nature of ultimate reality.

We usually believe that whatever effort we put in, we will get a reward in proportion to that effort. This is how it works for direct rewards, such as working a day to get a day’s wage.

But when we make an effort and assume we may receive an indirect reward, we have no idea what the outcome will be. We cannot assume linearity or even proportionality – in fact, we cannot assume we will receive anything at all. That is because we do not know the nature of ultimate Reality. If we believe in “reward-stories,” we might assume that there is a relationship between effort and indirect reward. But we do not know if that relationship exists since we do not understand the nature of ultimate Reality.

What we credit to our “merits” is, in reality, driven by processes and causes we do not understand. Indeed, since we do not know the dynamics of ultimate reality, we cannot be certain that the reward-story we imagine as the consequence of our actions corresponds to the true dynamics of reality. This is because we do not know the dynamics of ultimate reality that led to a given result.

We don’t know how ultimate Reality works, therefore, in terms of indirect rewards, we cannot know if there is a relationship at all between what we do and what we get. Maybe the relationship is cause-and-effect. Maybe it is cause-and-effect plus “something else.” Or maybe there is only “something else.” “Reward-stories” tell us that what we get is based on “merit” but we have no way of knowing if “reward-stories” are anything more than an idea since the nature of ultimate Reality is unknown to us.

Describing Present Experience Without Reward Stories

Since we cannot know the dynamics of ultimate reality, it would make more sense to analyze the facts solely from the perspective of experience itself, rather than from the perspective of the reward-story.

Since we don’t know how ultimate Reality works, it’s better to focus on experience instead of “reward-stories” because at least we know experience exists. If we consider only experience itself and analyze the facts, then the natural conclusion is this: If you like to do something, do it. If you like to help, help. And if you don’t like to do something, don’t do it unless you have to, like earning money to pay your bills – but not because of a story.

When you consider experience – what you do and how it feels – you are examining the facts of experience, only without “reward-stories.” You are making a switch in perspective from dubious “reward-stories” to experience itself.

Reward-stories operate towards both the future and the past: looking to the past, they create the idea that there is some kind of “merit” in what we “are,” and that this merit derives from a past action. It is far more objective to say “I am experiencing wealth” than “I am rich,” or “I am experiencing youth” rather than “I am young.” This exercise helps remind us that we are not our attributes – and that certain attributes are liable to change.

Consider an individual who is rich.

Step One is that he says, “I cannot be rich because of chance. Since I’m rich, I must deserve it.” So he believes that he is rich because of merit.

In Step Two, he says, “Since I deserve to be rich, what does that imply? What have I done to deserve it? I must have done great things in the past.”

Step Three is when he says, “If I did great things in the past, then I’m a great person.”

Step Four is that conclusion: “I am a great person.”

But an alternative way for this person to view his situation is to consider only the experience itself without “reward-stories.” In that case he would simply say, “I am experiencing being rich,” in the same way we experience being sick or hungry or happy.

Rewards and Hoarding

Usually, the focus is on the reward-story rather than the experience. Once we understand that we cannot know the dynamics of ultimate reality, it becomes easier to focus on experience and not reward-stories. When we focus on “reward-stories” instead of present experience, they tend to generate “excesses.”

Most people do not focus on experience itself. Instead, their view is from a “reward-stories” perspective. They assign meaning to experience, which affects their ego, defined as what they believe they are.

When we focus on “reward-stories” we often create “excesses,” but what are “excesses”?

“Excesses” can be seen as a form of “hoarding” of reward-stories – the reward we expect to receive when we believe the reward lies beyond the experience itself, and that we can somehow control whether we get it or not. If I believe that my charitable donations will yield positive consequences for myself, I may think that increasing my donations will lead to ever greater rewards for me. Thus, I slip into “excess” and adopt a “hoarding” attitude toward reward-stories.

I may still be able to get some reward by helping lots of people, but this depends on the way I help.

For example, if I give to a charity, the people that the charity helps do not know I am the giver. If I need help in the future, they will not know I did anything for them in the past. They cannot reciprocate because I am anonymous. But if I help my billionaire friend get out of jail, he may help me one day in return. That’s because he knows who I am and what I did for him. But I don’t expect reciprocation when I give to millions of people who do not know me.

For someone who believes in “reward-stories,” “hoarding” is the idea that the more “good” I do, the more “good” things will happen to me and the more of a “good person” I will be. It is like being a collector of stamps or coins, only in this case the person is collecting “karma,” and he collects as much as he can. In other words, he doesn’t focus on the experience itself but on the reward. Such a person believes the things they do are part of a “transaction”: The more “good” they do, the more positive consequences will come their way and the more rewards they believe they build up for themselves in the future.

They don’t do things for the experience itself. They do things to grow their “collection” of future rewards. Therefore the “excesses” they do are a kind of “hoarding.” To do “excesses” is to do more “good” than you feel like just because you believe you are going to get something for it – it’s transactional.

This person may feel like doing some amount of “good,” but they will push themselves to do more than they feel like doing. They see “doing good” like a “savings account:” The more they put in now, the more they can take out in the future. They don’t necessarily enjoy what they’re doing now, but they believe that someday they will get a benefit from it, an indirect reward.

Direct rewards, like working for a salary, make sense as a transaction, but for indirect rewards, we cannot be sure because we do not know how ultimate Reality works.

Quantity Versus Intensity

When speaking of reward-stories, the language is one of big versus small. When speaking of experience, we can only refer to the greater intensity versus the lesser intensity of the experience. Given that we cannot know the dynamics of ultimate reality, it is therefore much more reasonable to shift from the quantity/value perspective related to the reward-story, to the perspective of more intense/less intense related to the experience.

When we believe in “reward-stories,” we think in terms of big rewards versus small rewards – we think in terms of quantity and value. But when we think in terms of experience, big versus small is not the point. The point is intensity – more intense versus less intense. And since we do not know the dynamics of ultimate Reality, it is better to shift to something we can know and do know, experience and its intensity, instead of something we imagine, like “reward-stories.”

In the experience framework, we do not have to understand the dynamics of anything. The only thing we need is experience, and that’s all we need because our focus is on experience itself and its intensity. When we shift from quality and value in terms of “reward-stories” to intensity of experience, what matters is what we feel in the experience and not projections about future rewards.

In the experience framework, if a poor person gives one dollar to a beggar, or a billionaire gives a million dollars to a beggar, the amount of what is given – the quantity – is no longer our focus. What matters is the experience – how that person feels when they give the money. It may be that the poor person giving a dollar and the billionaire giving a million feel the same when they give.

By refocusing on experience, the “hoarding” of reward-stories falls away, along with the urge to act on the belief that the meaning we attribute to our actions must necessarily carry some “objective” value beyond the experience itself.

Experience happens and then it is gone. Then there is another experience and another, and they pass as well. Experiences do not have to “add up” to something “more” and we cannot “hoard” the “rewards” we believe will come later. There may not be anything to “hoard.”

But when we live in the present, with its intensity of experience, we realize that we do not know how ultimate Reality works. When that occurs, we realize that we cannot guess what exists and does not exist outside of experience, including “reward-stories.” If you want to give to a beggar, give to a beggar. It does not have to be an action that carries meaning or that has some “objective” value. If you want to do something, that alone is reason enough to do it.

Considering Consequences Versus “The Right Thing to Do”

The choice to follow joy and “do the right thing” always comes in the moment; it is never something we can plan. That is why there is no such thing as “it would have been better.”

When you want to do what you sense is “the right thing to do” you focus exclusively on what you sense is the “right thing to do” without considering the consequences. Not considering the consequences is the only way possible to “do the right thing.”

Why?

As soon as you consider the consequences, your choice is no longer based exclusively on doing the “right thing.” It now includes logic and consequences. Therefore there are only two options:

Option #1: Make your decision based exclusively on what you sense “the right thing to do” is without considering the consequences.

Option #2: Make your decision while considering the consequences, meaning your decision will no longer be based exclusively on “doing the right thing.” As soon as you consider anything other than “doing the right thing,” your decision is, by definition, no longer based exclusively on “doing the right thing.”

You either decide to do the “right thing” or you decide to maximize the benefit of the outcome. There are no other choices. It’s like choosing to turn left or right. If you turn left, you cannot turn right.

When you do what you sense “the right thing” is, you will not regret it. That’s because your focus is not on consequences in the future but on doing the “right thing” in the present.

When would you feel regret? When you don’t do what you sense is the “right thing” – and that usually happens when you lack the courage to do what you sense is the “right thing.”

Let’s say you commit a crime – you kill someone – and you don’t get caught. Years pass, then the authorities arrest someone else for your crime. You sense the “right thing to do” is to come forward and confess, take your punishment, and spare the innocent man. In this case, “doing the right thing” requires courage, because by doing the “right thing” you end up in jail.

When you decide, based on what you sense is the “right thing to do,” you will not regret it. It is when you don’t have the courage to do the “right thing” that you will regret it.

“It would have been better” is always a matter of “reward-stories.”

When you act with the belief of “reward-stories,” you may be disappointed because you may not get the reward you expect.

However, when you act from the perspective of “doing the right thing,” you cannot be disappointed because disappointment is about a future outcome – and in this case, you don’t care about the future outcome because your focus is on “doing the right thing” in the present.

If you believe in “reward-stories,” you may be disappointed when you don’t get the reward you expected. However, when your focus is on doing the “right thing,” you cannot be disappointed because there is no expectation of any kind. You only care about doing the “right thing.” You don’t expect anything, so the possibility of disappointment does not exist.

The Impossibility of Knowing the Final Outcome of Our Actions

“Reward-stories” work in both directions: toward the future, and toward the past. Regarding the past, it creates the idea that what we are is the result of “merit,” and that this “merit” derives from past reward-stories. It is much more objective to say “I am experiencing wealth” than to say, “I am rich.”

Sometimes a person believes that if something had gone differently, it would carry a meaning today, that is, it would change who the person is.

If you are playing checkers, you focus on the outcome. But for most things in life, it is impossible to predict the outcome.

Suppose a man owns a horse, and the horse escapes. “That’s bad,” he says.

The next day, the horse returns with two more horses. “That’s great!” he says.

Then he tries to tame the two new horses and breaks his leg. “That’s a terrible outcome!” he says.

While he is recuperating, a war breaks out, but since he broke his leg he cannot fight. “This is good news!” he says.

But after the war, the fighters who return are hailed as heroes, while he gets no glory at all. “That’s bad for me!” he says.

The point is that we cannot know what the final outcome of our actions will be. All we can do is do our best.

Perhaps this is because we are convinced that we are, or have, what we deserve. If we had had more, it would mean that we deserved more. There is a tendency to think that we are what we “deserve.” Yet this is not compatible with the fact that, since we do not know how ultimate reality works, we cannot understand how the mechanism of “merit” works – assuming it exists at all.

This is from belief of “reward-stories.” When you think in terms of “reward-stories” and you give meaning to actions, then you believe in the concept of “merit” – but we have no idea how “merit” might work (if it exists at all) because we do not understand the dynamics of ultimate Reality.

However, if you focus just on experience and doing the right thing, you do not have to believe that you understand how ultimate Reality works. Then you can focus on experience itself and “doing the right thing.”

Identity ⇒ Merit ⇒ Reward

There is a tendency to believe that reward depends on “merit,” and that “merit” is somehow related to identity. This can lead to absurd “hoarding” behaviors, such as accumulating money instead of employing it for useful purposes. We do this to feel superior – telling ourselves that if we have received that reward (money), it means we deserved it, and if we deserved it, it means we are better, and by spending it, even for very useful purposes, we may then be less special.

Let’s consider how reward, merit, and identity are related.

Step One: You know that you are rich.

Step Two: You believe you are rich because you deserve it.

Step Three: You believe that since you deserve it, you must have done “good things” in the past.

Step Four: You believe that these “good things” you did make you a “good person.”

Step Five: You conclude you are a “good person.”

If you believe those five steps are correct, you will conclude that you are a “good person.”

You interpret being rich in the present as a signal that you did “good things” in the past.

Therefore, being less rich could cause you to reinterpret that signal. You might start to ask yourself whether you really did those “good things” in the past.

This can lead to “hoarding.” You may hoard all your money instead of doing useful things with it, because you perceive that having more money is a signal that you did “good things” in the past, and that will confirm to you that you are a “good” person.

A better alternative could be to look at reality through the perspective of “experiencing” instead of “reward-stories” and say, for example, “I am experiencing being rich,” in the same way we experience being sick or hungry or happy. You could decide based on what you sense “the right thing to do” is, such as, “Right now, I sense the right thing to do is give some money to people who need it.”

The word “happiness” comes from “hap” (Old English/Norse), meaning chance or luck.

The experience of good luck is followed by a positive feeling of surprise, which produces the feeling of what we often call happiness.

Happiness is an emotion that arises when something unexpected happens, producing a feeling that ranges from good humor to euphoria.

Happiness is a non-scientific term. It is ambiguous. The meaning is not clear. It’s not easy to define.

The closest thing to happiness is euphoria. However, when we say euphoria we are usually talking about a brief, pleasurable feeling.

When we say happiness, we are usually talking about a long-lasting state of euphoria. But a “long-lasting state of euphoria”–happiness–cannot exist.

Why?

Because euphoria is short-lived.

Happiness/euphoria cannot be a permanent state, because without the element of surprise, euphoria inevitably fades.

People use the word “happy” to refer not to a moment or two of euphoria but a feeling they want all the time:

I want to be happy.

I deserve to be happy.

You’re not making me happy.

They mean “happy” as long-term euphoria, which is by definition impossible. Euphoria is always short-lived and is the closest thing to happiness that exists.

When we replace “happy” with “euphoric” it sounds absurd:

I want to be euphoric.

I deserve to be euphoric.

You’re not making me euphoric.

If you say, “I want to be euphoric,” it sounds silly. What does it even mean? You might be euphoric if you took a mind-altering drug or won the lottery.

If you say, “I deserve to be euphoric,” it doesn’t make sense.

If you say, “You’re not making me euphoric,” you’re making an absurd complaint.

The closest thing to happiness that exists is euphoria, which is always short-lived. Long-lasting euphoria cannot exist. Speaking of “long-lasting euphoria” is like speaking of a long-lasting bubble in a glass of champagne. There cannot be such a thing.

Euphoria comes from surprise. Since you cannot surprise yourself, you cannot create your own euphoria. It is like fear. If you wanted to make yourself feel fear, you could not. No one could.

For example, if I won the lottery, I would feel happy/euphoric. But if, for some reason, I won every time I played, that happiness/euphoria would become habitual and soon give way to boredom.

If you won the lottery every time, it would become predictable and repetitive. The element of surprise would go away. You would not feel euphoria.

Nor would it be desirable to remain in a constant state of euphoria, as it could lead to harmful actions. If I drove in such a state, I might cause an accident. If I had to make an investment decision, I might make mistakes and lose my money.

It would be as unwise to drive while euphoric as it would be to drive drunk. Doing anything that requires serious thought while euphoric is almost always a bad idea.

If someone believes that happiness means being constantly euphoric, they may create the story that they should always be euphoric. Such a story may lead them to impose an impossible standard on themselves, continually comparing their real emotions with the expectation of permanent euphoria.

Such a story will generate suffering because of the story that we must always be euphoric, which is impossible. Let’s say that you are somewhat content right now. You’re not euphoric, just somewhat content. But if you believe that you should be happy, meaning in a constant state of euphoria, and you’re not in a state of euphoria, then you will have a problem: You will feel worse than feeling merely content.

Why?

Because before, you were content, but now you say you should be euphoric all the time and you cannot be. You are judging and comparing the current state with the imagined state and that makes you feel worse than merely content. This is the result of a “should” story.

This story generates suffering because of the judgment that we must always be euphoric—a condition impossible to achieve.

Mindfulness exercises and meditation practices are ineffective paths to enlightenment because they rely on forced, external effort rather than genuine, worldview-shifting realizations.

Mindfulness Forces Presence Instead of Allowing It Effortlessly

Many seekers practice mindfulness to compel themselves to “live in the present,” which demands continuous and exhausting mental strain. In contrast, practical enlightenment finds that living in the present requires absolutely no effort; it happens automatically once you experience the realization that the present moment contains far more intensity and potential for exploration than any weakly imagined future or remembered past.

It Confuses the Effect for the Cause

The “peaceful” feeling achieved through mindfulness or meditation is merely a temporary symptom of isolation or mental exercise. Attempting to use this peaceful feeling to achieve enlightenment is a logical error that confuses the effect for the cause. While retreats and exercises can manufacture a temporary state of calm, this “peace” has no substance; it disappears the moment your circumstances change or you step back into the chaotic triggers of ordinary, everyday life.

It Is a “Ritual” That Fails to Dismantle Stories

Enlightenment is strictly a process of removing the unfounded “should” and “identity” stories that distort your perception and cause suffering. Mindfulness and meditation are classified as “rituals”—acting in a specific, prescribed way rather than undergoing a structural shift in worldview. Because rituals cannot dismantle these underlying stories, they leave your mental maps and worldview completely unchanged.

It Tends to Inflate the “Spiritual Ego”

Far from dissolving your self-image, forced spiritual practices and retreats often serve only to inflate the ego. Because these practices can make a person feel good, they easily adopt a “spiritual ego”, measuring their progress by the sheer number of “spiritual practices” they “hoard”. This creates a dangerous trap: because the seeker is convinced they are on the “right path,” they stop questioning their own actions and state, forcing themselves to pretend to be enlightened rather than actually doing the honest work of introspection.

Ultimately, true enlightenment cannot be emulated through mindfulness exercises. It can only be approached by engaging in authentic introspection, using the raw triggers of everyday life to identify, confront, and permanently dismantle your unfounded stories.

Caring about enlightenment is fundamentally a matter of improving your everyday quality of life by systematically removing the mental distortions that cause you to suffer. In this practical, “computer manual” approach, enlightenment is not a mystical retreat from the world, but a way to function optimally within ordinary human experience.

It completely eliminates unnecessary mental suffering

While physical and emotional pain are unavoidable parts of being a fragile human, mental suffering is entirely self-generated. Suffering occurs when you tell yourself a “should story,” comparing actual reality to an imagined, “better” alternative that you believe *should* have happened. Once you realize that alternative realities are logically impossible, “should stories” collapse. Your life becomes entirely free of regret and unhealthy, lingering anger, leaving you at peace with things exactly as they are.

It drastically improves your daily decision-making

Believing in unfounded stories is like wearing glasses covered in mud. These distortions impair your discernment, leading to poor choices that inevitably result in pain. By dismantling these stories, you clear your perception and significantly increase your level of discernment. This expands the set of options you are aware of, allowing you to consistently make much better decisions in your everyday life.

It shifts your motivation from exhaustion to curiosity and joy

Ego stories—such as trying to defend an identity of being smart, generous, or brave—require a massive, exhausting amount of effort to maintain and defend. When these identity stories fall away, you stop trying to prove you are special or chasing speculative future “rewards” like merit or karma. Instead, your primary motivation is replaced by pure, unburdened curiosity—the simple drive to explore new experiences because they are interesting. This allows you to act on the natural impulse of “doing the right thing” in the moment, which produces a profound sense of genuine joy.

It naturally anchors you in the present moment

Many people spend immense energy trying to force themselves to “live in the moment” through mindfulness exercises. However, once you realize that the present is the only place that holds intensity—whereas the future can only be weakly imagined—you find yourself living in the present naturally and without any effort.

It frees you from the burden of judging others

By understanding that harmful actions are simply the result of a lack of understanding rather than absolute “moral evil,” you stop wasting energy on moral condemnation. You no longer view people “vertically” as being above or below you, freeing you from both feelings of inferiority and the exhausting trap of defending a sense of superiority.

The past could act on us either by conditioning us or instead, if it acts as experience, by improving our discernment in the choices we make in the present.

There are two options for how the past could act on us:

Option 1: The past is conditioning.

Option 2: The past is incorporated as experience.

A conditioning is a specific reference to a single past moment, where that moment has a direct and immediate effect on the present.

Consider Option 1. A conditioning is direct and immediate. It is reactive in its nature. It is like a reflex, like when a doctor taps your knee with a little hammer and you immediately kick. You don’t have to think about it at all. It just happens.

Experience, on the other hand, means incorporating a past moment into a broader decision-making matrix, instead of treating it as an isolated event that directly shapes our choices.

Consider Option 2, the opposite of a “knee-jerk” reaction. In this case, we incorporate an experience as another parameter into the matrix that determines our decisions. For example, you are considering a house to buy. Based on past experience, you consider many parameters such as location, price, and the way the house is built. Unlike the reflex of Option 1, you do not simply react without thinking, based on a single parameter about the house. Your action is a decision made through a matrix that includes the integrated experience of many past moments. It is not the reflexive result of a single past moment.

A very clear way to think of Option 1 and Option 2 is the distinction between action and reaction:

Action is when we use our decision-making matrix. We consider all the information available to us, we look at all the options, then we decide what we think the best move will be.

Reaction is the result of conditioning, and it is very different from action. A reaction considers only a single thing while ignoring everything else. It considers only that single parameter and is a response to that thing.

Consider this extreme example. You are sitting on a chair. In front of you is a bomb that will explode if it is disturbed. If a doctor hits your knee with a hammer, you will kick the bomb and it will explode. This is reaction: You are doing something based on one factor, excluding all others, and without thinking. You kick the bomb even though it makes no sense to do so.

On the other hand, action is making a decision based on a decision-making matrix, which includes all the information available to us, not just one factor.

A past moment becomes conditioning when, in making choices in the present, we refer directly to the past moment, almost like a conditioned reflex.

Consider the extreme example of trauma. Maybe you had an experience in the past with a snake that terrified you. Now when you see a snake you have a reflexive reaction such as screaming and running away. This is conditioning, Option 1. It is not incorporating the past experience into your broader decision-making matrix. Based on a single moment of past experience, you do not consider other parameters in the present or the past. For instance, maybe it’s not a real snake but a toy snake. Maybe it’s in a cage. Maybe it’s dead. Your conditioning is a direct and immediate reaction to one parameter.

So conditioning means you miss out on the extra parameters. It’s just “Snake = Run.”

Another example is knee-jerk reaction in political discourse. Instead of seeing the full picture, you react in a certain way to a single word like “justice” or “abortion.” You ignore the other parameters because you have been conditioned into a reflex by a single parameter.

By contrast, a past moment acts as experience when it is incorporated into a broader decision-making matrix, so that it no longer functions simply as a conditioned reflex.

For example, when someone says, “You never listen to my advice,” they assume their words should condition us, expecting us to do what they tell us directly and automatically.

While not ignoring their advice, we can instead choose to treat the advice as one extra parameter among many in a complex system—considering their opinion, but not in a direct, exclusive or automatic way.

If someone gives me advice and I don’t follow it, it doesn’t mean that I didn’t value it or that I ignored it. Instead, I put it into my decision-making matrix with all the other parameters.

For example, if someone tells me to be very careful of spiders because some of them can bite me and I will die, I can put that into the matrix with other parameters.

But the next time I see a spider, I do not scream and run away. Why?

I see that the spider is a toy made of plastic.

It’s not that the advice about spiders isn’t valuable. But there are other parameters in my matrix, and I figure out that in this specific context, the advice was not relevant. But if it’s a real spider, I would be careful.

Here, “the advice” serves as an analogy for a past moment.

This leads to an important point.

The present already incorporates all past moments, so any direct and automatic reference to a single past moment produces unnecessary conditioning, as it overestimates that specific past moment and gives it excessive weight.

However, the past is not a collection of events but a sequence of continuous transformations that lead to the present, moment by moment, from the first event to the current one.

The past is not a collection of moments that we have to remember individually. Ideally, the past has transformed us–it has made us what we are. We don’t need to refer to the specific past events to make a decision because, ideally, it has transformed us in the present.

Our minds are not just collections of information. The mind makes connections and this allows us to make decisions. We no longer need to refer to specific events individually in the past because they are already part of our decision-making matrix, ready to be used to make decisions. All the past events have already been incorporated into our decision-making matrix so we can use them to make decisions.

The present is the outcome of a long sequence of transformations that have made us what we are today.

The past has served its purpose by transforming us–the change is already made. We don’t really need to refer to specific events in the past anymore.

To incorporate past moments as experience rather than conditioning, we need to accept the present for what it is and for what we have become through these transformations.

Ideally, we accept the present for what it is and we do not judge the present or believe it could have been different. The past is already in us through the transformation.

If we are able to integrate past experiences and they transform us, they will exert only the right degree of influence and will not weigh excessively on the present. If, however, we are unable to integrate them and they do not transform us, they will exist independently as a burden and exert a disproportionate influence on the present, as in the case of unintegrated trauma.

For example, consider the problem of trauma over snakes we just described. If the experience is integrated into our decision-making matrix, we will give it the proper weight. But if it remains unintegrated, it will have its own independent existence with outsized influence on the present.

This acceptance removes any connection that produces a direct mental conditioning between the past moment and the present, improving our discernment and the quality of our choices in the present.

Especially the quality of our choices in the present–because we no longer have strict conditioning that leads to a knee-jerk reaction. Instead we have a lot of good parameters, integrated by our transformation, to make a good decision.

We do not know reality directly. We observe it through perceptions.

Think of perceptions as photos taken on a trip: they are images of what we experience. By examining those images, we notice patterns, and from those patterns we build mental maps.

In our daily lives, we must make decisions.

In order to make decisions, we must be able to make predictions.

In order to make predictions, we need to find patterns in what we perceive.

Perceptions reveal patterns. Patterns enable prediction. Prediction guides decisions.

Perceptions and maps are different.

A map is about patterns – this is key. For instance, if you take a photo of the Eiffel Tower, the weather matters greatly. If it is sunny the photo will look completely different from how it would look if it were raining. But when you look at or draw a map, the weather doesn’t matter. The pattern is what is important – unlike the weather, the pattern is what is permanent. If you are making a map, the weather does not matter over time, but the patterns that the roads make matters greatly.

If I take a photo of the Eiffel Tower, it will look different according to whether it is sunny or rainy.

If I draw a map of the Eiffel Tower and its neighborhood, the map will look the same whether it is rainy or sunny when I make the map, because the weather is irrelevant to the pattern of the roads. The pattern is what matters – it is what is going to last for a long time, not the weather.

Let’s say a child has some chocolate. He cannot read. He is going to experiment with his chocolate and some boxes. When he places it in a box people call “trash,” the next day it disappears. When he places it in a box called “fridge” it is still there the next day. He does this several days in a row. From this, he infers a pattern: one location preserves chocolate, the other makes chocolate disappear.

From the repeated experiment of putting the chocolate in the two boxes, he forms a mental map of how reality appears to work without needing to understand the underlying mechanism – it is a heuristic approach, meaning he created this map by experimentation and observation.

This is how predictive stories are created: from the recognition of patterns in repeated actions, and with those we build our mental maps.

We form beliefs by observing patterns, and beliefs are then encoded in mental maps through stories.

Predictive stories are practical and convenient. They help us navigate reality. But since they are built from limited observations, what appears to be an absolute truth may just be a temporary pattern. This creates a useful heuristic for making decisions in daily life but it doesn’t tell us anything about the ultimate nature of reality.

If ultimate reality is not based in space-time but in something else, then justice is the way in which that “something else” acts outside of mechanical causality—that is, through “extra causes” or the idea of a final purpose.

(If, on the other hand, ultimate reality were based in space-time, the idea of justice would not exist.)

Merit is the way justice has an impact on us.

Gravity is a principle. Things falling on us is the way it impacts us.

In the same way, justice is a general principle and merit is the way it impacts us.

Judgment about the idea of merit is based on the hypothetical fact that we understand justice, which presumes knowledge of the ultimate nature of reality.

Since we cannot know the ultimate nature of reality, any judgment about merit is pointless.

An airplane does not fly because it deserves to fly, but because it is built so that it can fly, and the same applies to us.

The concept of deserving doesn’t make sense. Things either happen or do not happen. If a plane is well built it will fly. If it is poorly built it will not.

If it has the right design it will fly. With the wrong design it will not fly.

It’s the same for us: If we do a certain action, we will get a certain result. If we do another action we will get another result.

There is always a perfect match between what happens and what someone “deserved.” To believe otherwise would mean confusing our simplified map of reality with reality itself, composed of an infinite number of variables.

If we think there is a disconnect between what happens and what our simplified map of Reality tells us “should” happen, it’s because our map is wrong and not because Reality is wrong. Reality is never wrong. It’s always the map that is wrong.

If a thief enters your house and uses a saw to cut the safe in two and steal its contents, do they deserve what they stole? It depends on the perspective we take. From the perspective of the laws of physics, the answer would be yes: if they were able to use the right saw, successfully cut through it, and thus remove the contents of the safe without violating the laws of physics, then they “deserve” to keep what they took.

Justice can be understood in two ways: “universal” justice or “sociological” justice. Merit is therefore twofold as well, because, as we have said, merit is the manifestation of justice. In its sociological sense, justice is tied to agreements between individuals or to the “social contract.” In this case, I “deserve” what we agreed upon. “Universal” justice, on the other hand, would be the idea that there is a pact with the Universe (God, karma, and so on) and that, as a result, I believe the Universe should give me what I am owed—for example: “I deserve to be healthy; I deserve to have loving parents.” In this chapter, we refer to “universal justice.”

Direct Desire A direct desire is a simple, genuine preference where the desire itself is the sole motivation. It requires no underlying “story” to justify or compel it. For example, if you want to eat chocolate ice cream simply because you enjoy the taste, or if you want to take a hot bath simply because it feels nice, you are experiencing a direct desire. You do these things for no other reason than the pure enjoyment of the experience itself, meaning no “story” is necessary to convince you to want them.

Indirect Desire An indirect desire, on the other hand, is driven entirely by a “story”. When you lack a direct, natural preference for something, a story acts as the necessary motivation to make you want it. In these cases, you do not desire the object or experience for its own sake, but rather for what the “story” tells you it represents or will do for your identity.

We provide two clear examples of indirect desire:

• The Ferrari: You might want to buy a Ferrari not because you genuinely like the car itself, but because you believe the story that owning one makes you “cool”.

• The Diamond: You might desire a diamond not because of a direct desire for the stone, but because of the story surrounding its prestige, its scarcity, and the idea that owning it proves you are an important person. If diamonds were common and easily found everywhere, you wouldn’t care if you had one or not; it is the story of prestige that creates the desire.

In short, if you strip away all external meanings and you still want the thing (like a hot bath), it is a direct desire. If you only want the thing because of the status, identity, or “coolness” it gives you, it is an indirect desire, meaning you are being motivated purely by a story.

We argue that because human perceptions are inherently partial and distorted, we can never truly know or understand the ultimate inner workings of Reality. Because achieving absolute certainty is impossible, the approach shifts entirely away from philosophical theorizing and instead functions as a highly practical system of removal—specifically, the removal of unfounded mental “stories” that distort our perception and cause suffering.

Here are the specific ways this approach diverges from classical philosophy:

• Rejection of Debates over Ultimate Truth: Classical philosophy often debates theoretical concepts like free will versus determinism, universal justice, absolute meaning, or cosmic purpose. This framework considers these debates futile; because we cannot know how ultimate Reality operates, we cannot draw final conclusions about it, making judgments about concepts like “universal justice” meaningless.

• Experience Over Meaning and Merit: Classical philosophies frequently attempt to assign overarching meaning or “merit” to human actions, often establishing systems where actions lead to objective moral rewards. Because this approach accepts that the dynamics of Reality are unknowable, it abandons the search for objective meaning. Instead, it advocates analyzing life solely through the lens of direct experience and its varying levels of intensity, completely dropping complex theoretical structures like “reward-stories” or “merit”.

• Moral Intuition over Universal Moral Codes: While classical ethics often seeks to establish universal moral codes or rules for society, this approach explicitly discards them. It replaces external philosophical rules with “moral intuition”—a deeply personal, subjective compass that guides an individual to “do the right thing” in the immediate present, without relying on social conventions or absolute philosophical standards.

• A “Computer Manual” Style vs. Cryptic Theory: The author actively rejects the “cryptic” or “poetic” explanations historically favored by philosophers and sages. Instead, the framework is designed to be as clear and functional as a “computer manual,” focusing exclusively on what works to eliminate mental suffering rather than engaging in purely philosophical exercises.

• Constant Skepticism over System-Building: Where classical philosophy often builds comprehensive systems of thought with fixed assumptions, this approach demands a worldview so flexible that it holds no fixed assumptions. It strongly encourages a constant attitude of skepticism toward all assertions, specifically advising readers to challenge anything asserted by “gurus, sages, or philosophers”. The ultimate goal is not to adopt a new philosophical system, but to reach a state where you are willing to call absolutely everything into question.

Forcing yourself to give up things like sex, delicious food, video games, or entertainment does not bring you closer to realization. When you use effort to abstain from pleasurable things, you are merely pretending that you do not want them, while deep down you still do.

Furthermore, this forced abstinence is a trap that creates a new, unhealthy attachment. By trying to prove that you are not attached to sensory pleasures, you become deeply attached to the idea of “non-attachment”. The only real reason to forcefully give up pleasurable activities is to boost your own ego, allowing you to tell yourself that you are more “spiritual” or “holy” than other people. In doing so, you lose real, enjoyable experiences just to acquire a fake “spiritual” identity.

Here is the step-by-step breakdown of how this concept dismantles these negative emotions:

1. The “Decision Believed Best” Eliminates Alternative Realities Whenever we make a choice, we evaluate our options based on our prior ability, knowledge, perceptions, and reasoning available at that exact moment. Even if we assume human beings possess absolute “free will” operating outside the laws of physics, a decision-maker will always select what they believe is the single best possible decision from their known options. For instance, a chess player will always evaluate their known moves and choose the single move they believe is best, even if that decision ultimately leads to them losing the game.

Because a person will always—without exception—execute the one choice they believe to be the best in that moment, only one possible choice is ever allowed. Therefore, ex post (after the fact), alternative realities are logically impossible.

2. The Absence of Alternative Realities Eliminates Regret Regret is an emotion that relies entirely on hindsight; it is the belief that we could have, or should have, chosen a different path in the past. However, the concept of the decision believed best proves that we always made the move we believed best at that specific time, meaning we could not have done anything else. Once you realize that no alternative realities could have existed, regret completely disappears because you fully understand that nothing that happened could have ever happened differently.

3. The Absence of Alternative Realities Eliminates Unhealthy Anger We distinguish between healthy boundary-setting anger and unhealthy anger. Unhealthy anger is entirely generated by “should stories”. A “should story” creates an imagined alternative reality—a scenario where things went the way you think they “should” have—and causes you to compare actual reality against this imagined, “better” outcome. This comparison between reality and an imagined alternative is what generates mental suffering and unhealthy anger, as you implicitly believe the universe was “unfair” or “wrong”.

However, because the concept of the decision believed best proves that alternative realities are logically impossible, the foundation of the “should story” completely collapses. Once you realize that the imagined alternative reality could never have existed, you stop comparing actual reality to it. As a result, the mental suffering and unhealthy anger generated by that comparison disappear completely.

Doubt is a state of “hesitation or uncertainty about specific claims”. We note that while the ultimate worldview of an enlightened person might look like “complete doubt” from the outside, using the word doubt is actually misleading. Having an enlightened worldview does not mean you are constantly hesitant, insecure, or unsure about facts. Rather, it means you have an “absence of fixed assumptions that could be overturned”. Because you do not hold rigid beliefs about how reality must be, your mental framework is completely flexible and can seamlessly accommodate any new information without being disrupted.

Skepticism, on the other hand, is an active, highly encouraged practice. It is defined as a “constant attitude” of questioning and continuously challenging assertions, especially those made by gurus, philosophers, or authority figures. We emphasize skepticism in the following ways:

• An antidote to dogma: Skepticism should be your automatic response whenever you encounter dogmatic statements or teachings where asking questions is discouraged or forbidden. When questions are not allowed, truth has become secondary to power and control.

• Independent investigation: Instead of accepting a teaching out of blind faith, a skeptical outlook invites you to always ask critical questions (such as “Does this make sense?” or “What are the practical consequences?”) and perform your own investigation so you can make up your own mind.

• A critical perspective: It involves maintaining an open but critical stance where you accept ideas you find valid and actively reject those you find unconvincing.

In short, doubt implies being stuck in uncertainty or hesitation about specific facts, whereas skepticism is a dynamic, critical tool used to dismantle unfounded stories, avoid dogmatic traps, and actively uncover the truth for yourself.

A second major difference lies in the terminology and the psychological traps that terminology creates. Classical Buddhism frequently frames its ultimate goals using words like “annihilation,” “non-existence,” “nothingness,” or “emptiness”. While both approaches agree that enlightenment is a process of removal rather than addition, this approach argues that the Buddhist terminology carries a severe risk of “reification”—the mistake of treating an abstract concept like “nothingness” as a tangible state to be achieved. “Nothingness” is not the presence of a special state; it is the absence of everything, meaning it cannot be felt or “achieved” because a person must “be something” in order to feel anything.

When seekers reify “nothingness” or “emptiness,” they mistakenly believe it is something they can “become” or attain. Consequently, these Buddhist terms often become merely a new name for the ego. Rather than dismantling their ego, the seeker simply adds a new story where they identify themselves with this “emptiness,” inflating a new “spiritual ego” while believing they are evolving.

To completely avoid this trap, this approach abandons concepts like “nothingness” and exclusively uses the term “stories”. The distinctive advantage of this approach is that a “story” is clearly an abstract mental construct that exists only in the mind and cannot possibly be reified. Because no one believes they can literally become a story, it is obvious that a story can only be removed. By focusing strictly on the removal of “stories,” this approach prevents seekers from chasing new identity states or imagining they are progressing toward an exotic destination like “emptiness”.

1. The Complete Elimination of Regret and Suffering Enlightenment involves the deep realization that alternative realities are logically impossible, meaning you completely stop arguing with reality. Because you fully understand that nothing in the past could have ever happened differently, your life becomes entirely free of regret. Furthermore, this realization completely eliminates mental suffering (the “second dart”)—the unnecessary mental stress you generate when you believe a situation is “wrong” or “unfair” compared to an imagined alternative.

2. Freedom from Unhealthy Anger Your life will be entirely free of story-based, unhealthy anger. This is the lingering, stewing anger that arises from believing the universe failed to meet your expectations. While you will absolutely retain healthy, boundary-setting anger to defend yourself when someone crosses a line, you will no longer suffer from the anger that comes from demanding reality conform to your desires.

3. Vastly Improved Discernment and Decision-Making “Stories” act as mental distortions that impair your ability to see reality clearly, which inevitably leads to poor, suboptimal decisions. By permanently removing these stories, your perception clears and your level of discernment increases. This naturally expands the number of options available to you, which greatly improves the quality of the “best decisions” you make in everyday life.

4. Being Driven by Curiosity and Joy Once your ego stories and moralistic judgments are dismantled, you are no longer motivated by the need to defend a special identity or chase future “rewards”. Instead, your primary motivation is replaced by pure curiosity—a neutral, unburdened drive to explore new experiences, ideas, and situations simply because they are interesting. Your actions become guided purely by an internal compass of “doing the right thing,” which frequently produces a profound, unconstrained sense of joy.

5. The End of Moral Condemnation and Superiority An enlightened person no longer passes absolute, “moral” condemnation on others. Because you understand the fundamental difference between a person’s outer “shell” (which can be judged purely for compatibility) and their inner “kernel” (which is of similar nature in all sentient beings), you never feel morally “above” or “below” anyone else. You begin to view differences horizontally: others are simply further “ahead” or “behind” you on a shared path toward understanding reality.

6. Effortlessly Living in the Present Many people try to force themselves to “live in the moment” through continuous effort and mindfulness exercises, but enlightenment achieves this naturally. Once you realize that the present moment is infinitely more intense and possesses vastly more potential for exploration than the future or the past, you find yourself living entirely in the present without needing to make any effort to do so.

Ultimately, the practical benefit of enlightenment is that normal, healthy emotions like sadness and fear will remain, but the heavy burdens of the ego, lingering anger, and regret vanish entirely, leaving you functioning optimally and interacting with the world exactly as it is.

According to the framework, the main realizations of enlightenment are:

1. The Impossibility of Alternative Realities You realize that alternative realities are logically impossible because, at any given moment, every person always executes what they believe to be the single best decision based on their available options and knowledge at the time. This realization completely dismantles “should” stories, permanently eliminating the regret, story-based anger, and mental suffering that arise from comparing actual reality to an imagined, “better” alternative that could never have happened.

2. The Illusion of the Ego You realize that the “identity stories” you construct to feel special, superior, or important are entirely unfounded fabrications. Once you realize these identity stories are false, the ego naturally collapses. You realize that the only truthful answer to the question “What do you think you are?” is simply “I don’t know”. This realization frees you from the immense effort and suffering required to constantly defend and protect a fragile, pretend self-image.

3. The Existence of a “Single Sentience” and Unconditional Love In the broader sense of enlightenment, you realize that consciousness cannot merely “emerge” from mechanical matter; therefore, sentience (the fundamental capacity to feel) must be a pre-existing, indivisible property of ultimate Reality. You realize that the true essence of every person (the “kernel” that feels) is of similar nature and entirely hidden by their unique, external “shell” (their body, personality, memories, and intelligence). Because these inner “kernels” are of similar nature and cannot be distinguished from one another, you realize that authentic love—which is pure benevolence—can only be unconditional and directed indiscriminately toward everyone.

4. The Absence of Absolute Reference Points You realize that because our perceptions are fundamentally limited and distorted, we can never have absolute reference points regarding reality. You accept that you can never draw final or absolute conclusions about the universe, and that possessing complete, ultimate knowledge is neither possible nor necessary. This realization instills a profound, healthy skepticism, leading you to maintain a mental framework so flexible that it can accommodate any possible new information without being disrupted. Ultimately, you recognize that you must always be willing to call everything into question—including your own enlightenment.

Beyond this dogmatic attachment, we outline several other main symptoms that indicate a person has not yet reached enlightenment:

• Having preconceived ideas about enlightenment: As long as a person believes that enlightenment “would or should be a certain way,” they have not actually reached it. When true enlightenment is reached, any rigid belief about what it is or how it should manifest is completely dropped.

• Pretending and emulating behavior: An unenlightened person who wants to protect their “spiritual ego” will often force themselves to behave in ways they assume an enlightened person “should” act. For example, they might artificially suppress their judgments or force themselves to tolerate unacceptable situations just to maintain the facade of being enlightened. We emphasize that emulating an enlightened person is simply pretending and will never actually bring someone closer to enlightenment.

• Believing in personal “transformation”: Approaching enlightenment as a journey of personal transformation, spiritual evolution, or improving one’s “soul” or “spirit” is a major trap. This belief does not dismantle the ego; it merely gives the ego a new spiritual name and inflates it. A person who claims their “spirit” has transformed into something better is simply displaying an enlarged “spiritual ego,” which is a symptom of delusion rather than genuine realization.

• Experiencing story-based suffering: The presence of suffering is a direct symptom that a person is still operating under unfounded “stories”. Suffering—which is distinct from natural physical or emotional pain—is the mental stress caused by believing something is “wrong” with actual reality and that an alternative reality “should” have happened. If a person still experiences this story-based regret and anger, they have not yet dismantled the core beliefs that enlightenment removes.

• Passing moral condemnation on others: If someone continues to pass absolute, moral condemnation on others, it shows they do not understand the fundamental distinction between a person’s outer “shell” and their inner “kernel”. A truly enlightened person understands that all “kernels” (the essence that feels) are of similar nature and possess no qualities that can be deemed “bad,” making moral condemnation an impossibility.

Ultimately, if a person feels superior because of their “spiritual practices”, rigidly defends their identity as an enlightened being out of fear of “losing” it, or actively forces themselves to change rather than relying on realizations, they are merely inflating their ego and have not reached true enlightenment.