 Two people stand beneath the same tree.
One looks up and says, “That’s a tree.” The other looks up and says, “What I’m seeing is light bending, photons reflecting off matter, interpreted by the brain as form.” Both are right. And yet, if you listen closely, you’ll notice something subtle but important: neither person is actually describing the tree itself. They are describing their relationship to what they are experiencing. This is where perception begins—and where division so often follows. We live in a world where people argue endlessly over who is “right,” not realizing that most disagreements are not about reality at all. They are about definitions. And definitions are not truth. They are lenses. A tree is not a word. It is not a concept. It is not a scientific explanation. It is not a spiritual symbol. It is not a memory from childhood or a metaphor for growth. A tree simply is. Everything else we add to it is perception. The Many True Definitions of One Thing Ask a botanist what a tree is, and you’ll get a precise biological definition involving vascular tissue, lignin, photosynthesis, and reproduction. Ask a physicist, and you may hear about atoms, molecules, energy fields, and the bending of light that creates the appearance of solidity. Ask a poet, and the tree becomes a symbol of endurance, shelter, or time. Ask a child, and the tree is something to climb. Ask a carpenter, and it is future lumber. Ask a mystic, and the tree is life expressing itself upward from the earth toward the sky. None of these definitions cancel the others out. They coexist. The problem does not arise from having different definitions. The problem arises when we judge one definition as more real than another, or worse, when we attach our identity to a particular way of seeing and then defend it as if our worth depends on it. At that point, perception hardens into belief. Belief hardens into identity. Identity hardens into conflict. Perception Is Not Reality—But It Is Our Interface With It Perception is not something we do intentionally. It is something that happens automatically. Light hits the eye. Sound hits the ear. Sensation travels through the nervous system. The brain assembles meaning. What we call “the world” is actually an interpretation rendered inside consciousness. This does not mean the world is imaginary. It means our access to it is filtered. Every human being lives inside a perceptual bubble shaped by biology, language, culture, trauma, education, and personal history. Even the idea that “there is only one correct way to see things” is itself a perception. When we forget this, we begin mistaking our perspective for objective truth. That’s when phrases like “It’s just common sense” or “Anyone can see this is obvious” start appearing in conversations. Those phrases are rarely about clarity. They are about unconscious certainty. And unconscious certainty is one of the most divisive forces in human history. The Illusion of Opposition Most human conflict is not a clash of realities. It is a clash of interpretations. One person says, “This is how things are.” Another says, “No, this is how things are.” They assume they are describing the same thing, when in fact they are describing different layers of experience. One is talking about the tree as a physical object. The other is talking about the tree as an energetic phenomenon. A third is talking about what the tree means. A fourth is reacting emotionally based on a memory associated with trees. And instead of recognizing that these are different levels of description, we collapse them into a single battlefield and fight over which one is “correct.” This is how perception becomes polarization. The tragedy is that most of these arguments could dissolve instantly if we replaced the word “is” with “appears to me as.” The tree appears to me as solid. The tree appears to me as energy. The tree appears to me as sacred. The tree appears to me as lumber. Suddenly, there is room for everyone. Language: The Double-Edged Sword Language is a powerful tool. It allows us to communicate, teach, and share meaning. But it also creates the illusion that naming something captures its essence. It doesn’t. The word “tree” is not the tree. It is a sound and a symbol pointing toward an experience. Yet we often forget this and begin defending words as if they were reality itself. This happens constantly in religion, science, politics, and even personal relationships. People don’t just disagree about ideas. They disagree about the definitions of the ideas. And then they judge each other based on those definitions. One person’s “faith” is another person’s “delusion.” One person’s “logic” is another person’s “coldness.” One person’s “freedom” is another person’s “irresponsibility.” The conflict doesn’t come from perception. It comes from judging perception. Judgment: The True Divider Differences in perception are natural. Judgment is optional. The moment we decide that one way of seeing is superior, enlightened, or morally better than another, we create hierarchy. Hierarchy creates defensiveness. Defensiveness creates separation. This is true whether the judgment comes from intellect or spirituality. A scientist who mocks spiritual language is no less trapped than a spiritual seeker who dismisses science as “lower consciousness.” Both are clinging to identity rather than resting in curiosity. The tree does not care how it is defined. Only humans do. And the reason we care is because definitions feel like control. They give us a sense of certainty in an uncertain world. They anchor our sense of self. But certainty comes at a cost. It narrows perception. Expanding Perception Without Losing Ground Expanding perception does not mean abandoning clarity or truth. It means recognizing that truth is often layered. A thing can be both symbolic and physical. An experience can be both emotional and neurological. A disagreement can be both real and rooted in misunderstanding. When perception expands, rigidity softens. Curiosity replaces defensiveness. Listening becomes possible again. You don’t lose your perspective by acknowledging another. You gain depth. A person who can see the tree as both matter and mystery is not confused. They are integrated. The Quiet Freedom of “Both/And” Much of human suffering comes from living in a “either/or” world. Either I’m right or you are. Either this explanation is true or that one is. Either I belong or I’m excluded. Perception offers a way out. Reality is far more “both/and” than we were taught to believe. The tree is both an object and an experience. Light is both wave and particle. A person is both conditioned and capable of change. You are both a story and the awareness watching the story unfold. When we allow multiple perspectives to coexist without judgment, something remarkable happens: division loses its fuel. Not because everyone suddenly agrees—but because agreement is no longer required for respect. Seeing Clearly Without Needing to Win The deepest shift in perception is not seeing more. It is needing less validation. When you no longer need your definition to be the definition, you become free to explore rather than defend. Conversations become exchanges instead of battles. You can listen without preparing a rebuttal. You can disagree without withdrawing love. You can be grounded without being rigid. And in that space, something quietly transformative occurs: people feel seen, even when they see differently. Returning to the Tree If we return to the tree and simply stand with it—without naming, analyzing, symbolizing, or judging—there is a moment of direct experience. Leaves moving in the wind. Light filtering through branches. Roots unseen but holding everything steady. In that moment, perception softens into presence. And presence does not divide. It includes. Perhaps the task is not to convince others how to see the tree, but to recognize that every way of seeing reveals something true—and something incomplete. When we release judgment, perception becomes a bridge instead of a wall. And maybe that’s the deeper invitation of awareness: not to see correctly, but to see kindly, knowing that every way of seeing is just one window looking out onto the same living world.
1 Comment
 Religion has many claims: timeless truths, unchanging doctrines, and eternal decrees carved into stone by the Almighty Himself. But if you watch closely, theology behaves less like a rock and more like a circus tent—pulled, stretched, patched, and relocated whenever the crowd starts asking too many questions. In other words, theology is the eternal art of moving the goalpost.
Let’s take a stroll through history’s theological funhouse, shall we? Along the way, we’ll look at some famous goalpost shifts—original sin, the Trinity, purgatory, limbo, and the Friday meat ban. And we’ll ask the real questions: why did these things change, and who benefitted (spoiler: the answer often rhymes with “ka-ching”)? The Original Sin That Wasn’t Originally There Let’s begin with original sin—arguably the most profitable invention since the wheel. In the Hebrew Scriptures, Adam and Eve eat fruit, God says “bad idea,” and they get kicked out of Eden. Nowhere in the story does it say that every human being from now until the death of the universe is guilty because of it. That theological masterpiece didn’t arrive until St. Augustine in the 4th century, who, bless his heart, really needed a way to explain why he couldn’t stop lusting after women. His solution? “Well, obviously, we’re all broken because of Adam. Not my fault. Blame Eve’s produce shopping.” And the Church ran with it—because if everyone is guilty by birth, everyone needs saving. And who controls the keys to salvation? You guessed it. Suddenly, baptism isn’t just a nice ritual; it’s an urgent baby-saving emergency. Sprinkle that infant before it croaks, or else it’s doomed! Cue centuries of frantic parents paying priests for ceremonies. Original sin became the theological version of an eternal subscription fee—auto-renewal included. The Trinity: Three’s Company (and a Business Model) Next stop: the Trinity. Jesus never once said, “By the way, guys, I’m part of a three-in-one cosmic God package.” In fact, early Christians argued fiercely about whether he was divine at all. Some said he was God’s messenger, some said a prophet, others said a divine being but not equal to God. It wasn’t until the Council of Nicaea in 325 AD (sponsored by Emperor Constantine, who needed everyone on the same religious page for political stability) that the Trinity was hammered together. God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit. One essence, three persons. Perfectly clear, right? Wrong. Even the bishops admitted nobody could fully explain it. But that was the genius: if it’s too confusing for normal folks to understand, then you need trained theologians (and, by extension, the Church hierarchy) to explain it to you. Instant job security. And of course, the Trinity justified more icons, more liturgy, more feast days, more offerings, and more theological treatises to sell in monasteries. When in doubt, confuse the masses and bill them for clarification. Purgatory: The Church’s Extended Warranty Program Now let’s talk about purgatory—the waiting room for Heaven. The idea didn’t exist in the early Church. Jesus never preached about a cosmic laundromat where souls get scrubbed before entering paradise. But by the Middle Ages, theologians realized something: if sin leaves a “stain” on the soul, how can people with unpaid “stains” enter Heaven? Enter purgatory, the divine car wash. At first, it sounded merciful: “Don’t worry, you won’t burn forever. Just…a while.” But then the Church saw the profit potential. You could pay for masses, indulgences, or donations to “shorten” your loved one’s stay. Entire cathedrals (like St. Peter’s Basilica) were funded by frightened peasants dropping coins into the salvation jar. Martin Luther didn’t nail his 95 Theses to the church door in Wittenberg because he was having a bad day. He was fed up with indulgences—priests literally selling “Get Out of Purgatory Faster” cards like a divine Monopoly game. Purgatory was less theology and more subscription model: the heavenly version of buying extended coverage you didn’t really need. Limbo: Theology’s Shrug Emoji If purgatory was the extended warranty, limbo was the divine “we don’t really know.” For centuries, theologians were tormented by a pressing question: what happens to unbaptized babies? Are they damned because of original sin? That seemed harsh, even for the medieval Church. Heaven? That undermines the urgency of baptism. So, they invented limbo—a no-man’s-land where innocent babies float in eternal neutrality. Picture a cosmic DMV waiting room where babies sit forever, denied Heaven but spared Hell. Comforting, right? But here’s the kicker: limbo was never official doctrine—it was a theological placeholder. The Church dangled it like a sword: “Baptize your baby now, or risk eternity in baby purgatory!” For centuries, it motivated parents to rush their newborns to the font (and, of course, pay the priest). As more parents began to question this ideology. The church came out with a new concept. Limbo was a "place of natural happiness." This idea, had its own problems though. When the church said this and missed the fact that they were literally saying if you weren't baptized, you were naturally happy. Then, in 2007, Pope Benedict quietly declared that limbo wasn’t real and only a theory after all. Centuries of fear and grief--oops, our bad. Theology had simply…moved the goalpost again. Meat on Fridays: The Holiest Hamburger Ban Let’s not forget the Friday meat ban. George Carlin did a great comedy bit on this. For centuries, Catholics were forbidden to eat meat on Fridays. Why? Supposedly to honor Christ’s sacrifice. Fish, however, was acceptable. And what a coincidence—the fishing industry thrived under this divine dietary restriction. In fact, some historians argue that the Church’s partnership with the fishing economy was one of the biggest motivators. God’s will, it turns out, was very good for fishmongers. But here’s the punchline: in 1966, the Church relaxed the rule. Suddenly, eating a hamburger on Friday wouldn’t send you to Hell. Instead, you could choose another “penance” if you wished. Translation: “We don’t want to enforce it anymore, but hey, do something holy if you feel like it.” Millions of Catholics who had lived in fear of cheeseburgers were left scratching their heads. If God was so offended by bacon on Friday, when did He change His mind? Did Heaven send a memo? Or was the Church simply updating its rulebook because modern believers weren’t buying it anymore? Why Theology Keeps Changing So why all these shifting doctrines? Why does theology keep moving the goalpost? A few reasons stand out:
The Profound Punchline Here’s the truth: love doesn’t move the goalpost. Presence doesn’t shift. Your own direct connection to the divine is not subject to revision by council vote. Theology is a constantly updated user manual, full of addendums, edits, and “oops, scratch that” clauses. Meanwhile, the essence of spirituality—the lived experience of love, kindness, and presence—remains timeless. The Church’s business model has always been about selling certainty in the face of mystery. But real spirituality doesn’t need certainty. It thrives in mystery. It thrives in freedom. And it doesn’t charge admission. So the next time someone tells you theology is eternal truth, just smile and say: “Which edition?”  Religion has many claims: timeless truths, unchanging doctrines, and eternal decrees carved into stone by the Almighty Himself. But if you watch closely, theology behaves less like a rock and more like a circus tent—pulled, stretched, patched, and relocated whenever the crowd starts asking too many questions. In other words, theology is the eternal art of moving the goalpost.
Let’s take a stroll through history’s theological funhouse, shall we? Along the way, we’ll look at some famous goalpost shifts—original sin, the Trinity, purgatory, limbo, and the Friday meat ban. And we’ll ask the real questions: why did these things change, and who benefitted (spoiler: the answer often rhymes with “ka-ching”)? The Original Sin That Wasn’t Originally There Let’s begin with original sin—arguably the most profitable invention since the wheel. In the Hebrew Scriptures, Adam and Eve eat fruit, God says “bad idea,” and they get kicked out of Eden. Nowhere in the story does it say that every human being from now until the death of the universe is guilty because of it. That theological masterpiece didn’t arrive until St. Augustine in the 4th century, who, bless his heart, really needed a way to explain why he couldn’t stop lusting after women. His solution? “Well, obviously, we’re all broken because of Adam. Not my fault. Blame Eve’s produce shopping.” And the Church ran with it—because if everyone is guilty by birth, everyone needs saving. And who controls the keys to salvation? You guessed it. Suddenly, baptism isn’t just a nice ritual; it’s an urgent baby-saving emergency. Sprinkle that infant before it croaks, or else it’s doomed! Cue centuries of frantic parents paying priests for ceremonies. Original sin became the theological version of an eternal subscription fee—auto-renewal included. The Trinity: Three’s Company (and a Business Model) Next stop: the Trinity. Jesus never once said, “By the way, guys, I’m part of a three-in-one cosmic God package.” In fact, early Christians argued fiercely about whether he was divine at all. Some said he was God’s messenger, some said a prophet, others said a divine being but not equal to God. It wasn’t until the Council of Nicaea in 325 AD (sponsored by Emperor Constantine, who needed everyone on the same religious page for political stability) that the Trinity was hammered together. God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit. One essence, three persons. Perfectly clear, right? Wrong. Even the bishops admitted nobody could fully explain it. But that was the genius: if it’s too confusing for normal folks to understand, then you need trained theologians (and, by extension, the Church hierarchy) to explain it to you. Instant job security. And of course, the Trinity justified more icons, more liturgy, more feast days, more offerings, and more theological treatises to sell in monasteries. When in doubt, confuse the masses and bill them for clarification. Purgatory: The Church’s Extended Warranty Program Now let’s talk about purgatory—the waiting room for Heaven. The idea didn’t exist in the early Church. Jesus never preached about a cosmic laundromat where souls get scrubbed before entering paradise. But by the Middle Ages, theologians realized something: if sin leaves a “stain” on the soul, how can people with unpaid “stains” enter Heaven? Enter purgatory, the divine car wash. At first, it sounded merciful: “Don’t worry, you won’t burn forever. Just…a while.” But then the Church saw the profit potential. You could pay for masses, indulgences, or donations to “shorten” your loved one’s stay. Entire cathedrals (like St. Peter’s Basilica) were funded by frightened peasants dropping coins into the salvation jar. Martin Luther didn’t nail his 95 Theses to the church door in Wittenberg because he was having a bad day. He was fed up with indulgences—priests literally selling “Get Out of Purgatory Faster” cards like a divine Monopoly game. Purgatory was less theology and more subscription model: the heavenly version of buying extended coverage you didn’t really need. Limbo: Theology’s Shrug Emoji If purgatory was the extended warranty, limbo was the divine “we don’t really know.” For centuries, theologians were tormented by a pressing question: what happens to unbaptized babies? Are they damned because of original sin? That seemed harsh, even for the medieval Church. Heaven? That undermines the urgency of baptism. So, they invented limbo—a no-man’s-land where innocent babies float in eternal neutrality. Picture a cosmic DMV waiting room where babies sit forever, denied Heaven but spared Hell. Comforting, right? But here’s the kicker: limbo was never official doctrine—it was a theological placeholder. The Church dangled it like a sword: “Baptize your baby now, or risk eternity in baby purgatory!” For centuries, it motivated parents to rush their newborns to the font (and, of course, pay the priest). As more parents began to question this ideology. The church came out with a new concept. Limbo was a "place of natural happiness." This idea, had its own problems though. When the church said this and missed the fact that they were literally saying if you weren't baptized, you were naturally happy. Then, in 2007, Pope Benedict quietly declared that limbo wasn’t real and only a theory after all. Centuries of fear and grief--oops, our bad. Theology had simply…moved the goalpost again. Meat on Fridays: The Holiest Hamburger Ban Let’s not forget the Friday meat ban. George Carlin did a great comedy bit on this. For centuries, Catholics were forbidden to eat meat on Fridays. Why? Supposedly to honor Christ’s sacrifice. Fish, however, was acceptable. And what a coincidence—the fishing industry thrived under this divine dietary restriction. In fact, some historians argue that the Church’s partnership with the fishing economy was one of the biggest motivators. God’s will, it turns out, was very good for fishmongers. But here’s the punchline: in 1966, the Church relaxed the rule. Suddenly, eating a hamburger on Friday wouldn’t send you to Hell. Instead, you could choose another “penance” if you wished. Translation: “We don’t want to enforce it anymore, but hey, do something holy if you feel like it.” Millions of Catholics who had lived in fear of cheeseburgers were left scratching their heads. If God was so offended by bacon on Friday, when did He change His mind? Did Heaven send a memo? Or was the Church simply updating its rulebook because modern believers weren’t buying it anymore? Why Theology Keeps Changing So why all these shifting doctrines? Why does theology keep moving the goalpost? A few reasons stand out:
The Profound Punchline Here’s the truth: love doesn’t move the goalpost. Presence doesn’t shift. Your own direct connection to the divine is not subject to revision by council vote. Theology is a constantly updated user manual, full of addendums, edits, and “oops, scratch that” clauses. Meanwhile, the essence of spirituality—the lived experience of love, kindness, and presence—remains timeless. The Church’s business model has always been about selling certainty in the face of mystery. But real spirituality doesn’t need certainty. It thrives in mystery. It thrives in freedom. And it doesn’t charge admission. So the next time someone tells you theology is eternal truth, just smile and say: “Which edition?” Let’s talk about “truth.” That slippery little devil everyone’s trying to nail to a wall. Every religion claims to have it. Every politician swears they know it. And don’t even get me started on your Aunt Carol after two glasses of boxed wine—she knows exactly what’s true and she’ll shout it at Thanksgiving until the turkey begs for mercy.
But here’s the thing… From where I sit—in my comfy little corner of the spiritual sandbox labeled John of New--truth isn’t some universal rulebook chiseled by God on a mountaintop (spoiler: it wasn’t). It’s not a one-size-fits-all hat you’re forced to wear whether it fits or not. Truth is subjective. And I can hear the traditionalists clutching their rosaries already. But hear me out. We All See Through a Personal Lens (Even You, Bob) Look, we’ve all got filters. You don’t see the world as it is—you see the world as you are. Your experiences, your beliefs, your childhood, your wounds, your wins… it all shapes how truth lands for you. Give 10 people the same moment, and you’ll get 10 completely different truths. Ask 100 people what God is, and you’ll get 99 different answers—and one guy named Gary who says he is God. (He might be. Who am I to judge?) You don’t meet truth through someone else’s eyes. You meet it in your own stillness, in your own awareness, in your own direct experience. “Truth isn’t taught. It’s realized. And usually right after a breakdown, a breakthrough, or running out of excuses.” The Church Tried to Concrete It Let’s be honest—the institutional church tried its best to make truth “objective.” You know, the truth. The one-size-fits-all, eternal, unquestionable, infallible variety. Just add incense and chant. But here’s the problem: the moment you call something the absolute truth for everyone, you start building walls instead of bridges. You create insiders and outsiders. Saved and damned. Holy and heathen. (Side note: I’ve met more loving heathens than some card-carrying Christians.) And before you know it, we’re arguing over who gets to sit next to God on the eternal bus ride. “If your truth needs to be defended with fear, it’s probably not truth—it’s a sales pitch.” Truth in My World: Present, Loving, and Internal In the John of New world, truth isn’t something I pull off a dusty scroll or get secondhand from a guy in a robe with authority issues. It shows up when I sit in love. When I drop the fear. When I become still enough to hear that quiet whisper that says: “This is who you are. And it’s more beautiful than you’ve been told.” It’s not a voice booming from the clouds. It’s not some angry deity throwing commandments like lightning bolts. It’s a knowing that arises when you’re fully present. You don’t need someone else’s permission to know your truth. You just need presence. That’s it. No incense required (though it does help cover up the smell of burning ego). Truth Is a Moving Target—And That’s Okay I know. The idea that “truth changes” gives some people hives. But think about it: Your truth five years ago is probably different from your truth today, right? You used to believe in Santa Claus. Then you believed in guilt. Now maybe you’re starting to believe in yourself. Look at you evolving. That’s not failure. That’s growth. Truth is like a spiritual GPS—it updates when you do. And if you miss a turn? It just reroutes. ("Recalculating… stop being a martyr and go left at Love.") “The only thing absolute about truth is that it absolutely won’t stay still while you try to frame it.” The Comedy of “Universal Truth” Let’s laugh for a second. Imagine God sitting up there watching us argue about who’s got the right truth: BAPTIST: “It’s faith alone!” CATHOLIC: “No! It’s works and faith and don’t forget the sacraments!” NEW AGER: “Actually, it’s crystals, kale, and chanting under a full moon while mercury is retrograde.” GOD: (Facepalm) What if God’s real message was simply: “Just love each other, you weirdos.” But we got distracted and turned love into doctrine, then into bureaucracy, then into a tithing schedule. There Is a Compass—But It Ain’t a Rulebook Okay, I’m not saying anything goes. I’m saying this:
Present-moment awareness is your map. And personal divinity? That’s your vehicle. “You’re not here to memorize truth. You’re here to remember it.” But What About the Big Stuff? Is Nothing Objective? Great question. You could argue there are some universal principles—like love creates, fear restricts, and the present moment is all that’s real. Sure. But even those are useless until they’re experienced personally. Telling someone “love is the answer” while they’re deep in trauma isn’t helpful unless you can sit with them in silence until they feel it. Truth isn’t about being “right.” It’s about being real. For the Skeptics: “But If Truth Is Subjective, Isn’t That Dangerous?” Only if you believe subjective means chaotic. It doesn’t. Subjective means honest. It means authentic. It means not outsourcing your soul to someone else’s rulebook. “If you need everyone to believe what you believe to feel safe… your truth isn’t truth. It’s fear in a fancy hat.” Final Thought: Find Yours. Live It Loud. If you take nothing else from this ramble through metaphysical mayhem, take this: Your truth is yours to find, not inherit. Don’t let churches, gurus, YouTubers (even this one), or Aunt Carol tell you what’s real. Sit. Be still. Love a little deeper. And then ask yourself: “What feels true to me—right now—in love?” And if the answer changes tomorrow? Congratulations. You’re evolving. Want more truths that don’t fit in a box? Subscribe to the John of New YouTube channel, where truth is simple, love is the doctrine, and laughter is highly encouraged. And remember… You are not here to conform. You are here to step into your awareness of your divinity. 12/16/2025 When It Feels the Worst, You're Closer Than Ever (Seriously... You're Almost There. Don’t Turn Around Now!)Read Now Let me paint you a picture.
You’ve been trudging up a spiritual mountain for what feels like eternity. You’re sweaty, out of breath, one shoelace broke back at base camp, and you've been followed for three miles by what might be a vulture... or a life coach in disguise. Either way, you're pretty sure this mountain is going to kill you. But then — just as you're about to quit, throw your hiking boots into a burning bush, and scream into the sky like a melodramatic soap opera character — you turn the corner and... BOOM ....The summit. The clouds part. Light shines down like a scene from a biblical action movie. And you realize: “Ohhhh. I was this close.” That’s how life — especially the spiritual life — tends to work. Just when you feel like giving up, like the wheels have fallen off your divine chariot, like the Universe left you for dead… that’s often the precise moment when you're standing one step away from everything changing. The Final Boss Before the Breakthrough Now, I’m not saying life is a video game (though if it were, I want to see my XP points, and somebody better explain why I keep respawning in the same job). But there’s a pattern I’ve noticed, and maybe you’ve noticed it too: The biggest challenges — the ones that make you question your sanity, your purpose, and your ability to resist yelling at inanimate objects — often come right before the transformation. It’s like Spirit is saying: “Let’s see what you’re really made of before we hand you this next level.” Or maybe it’s more like a cosmic trainer yelling through the divine gym mirror: “Just one more rep! Don’t you dare drop that manifestation barbell!” And you? You’re grunting, sweating, and muttering, “I didn’t sign up for this cardio-heavy enlightenment…” But you’re still moving. And that’s the key. The Universe Loves a Dramatic Plot Twist Look, if your life were a movie and everything came easy, nobody would watch it. You’d get reviews like, “2 out of 5 stars. Main character achieved spiritual peace by lunch. Boring.” We’re here to grow. To rise. To stretch beyond what we think we can handle. And unfortunately, the growth spurt part of the spiritual journey always comes with awkward phases, some hair in weird places, and a voice that occasionally cracks when you try to speak your truth. But oh — what’s on the other side of that growth? Clarity. Strength. Peace. Confidence. That “I’m walking out of the storm in slow motion while wind blows my robes back” kind of energy. That’s worth the chaos. That’s worth the tears. That’s even worth the time you ugly-cried in the car while yelling, “I trust you, God, but also — what the actual heck!?” Every Spiritual Great Had a Breakdown MomentMoses wandered the desert for 40 years. Jeshua spent 40 days being tempted by the spiritual equivalent of a telemarketer. Even Yoda had to exile himself and eat nothing but swamp soup. There’s not a single spiritual teacher, master, or metaphysical misfit that didn’t go through a dark night of the soul. You know what that tells me? It’s not a punishment. It’s a rite of passage. It's your soul doing pushups while you wonder why the floor feels like it's punching you back. So if you’re going through it — like really going through it — maybe you’re not falling apart. Maybe you’re breaking through. Maybe the pressure you feel is just the universe juuuust about to pop open the champagne bottle of your next chapter. And here’s the wild part… What If You’re Already Winning? When everything’s falling apart, the last thing your ego wants to hear is: “You’re doing great.” But I’ll say it anyway. You’re doing great. You’re facing stuff most people run from. You’re walking through storms others avoid. You’re choosing faith over fear, hope over hopelessness, and jokes over judgment. (Which, by the way, is a divine strategy I fully endorse.) You don’t have to have it all figured out. You just have to keep going. When it feels like the Universe ghosted you, or like your guides are on a coffee break, just remember: Silence isn’t abandonment. It’s often recalibration. Like when you click “next episode” and the screen goes black for a second — you’re not lost. The next thing is loading. Keep Walking. The Door’s Closer Than You Think. There’s a fantastic old saying: “The darkest hour is just before the dawn.” (Whoever coined that must have pulled at least one all-nighter on the path to enlightenment.) So here’s what I want you to know, deeply and completely: If you’re in your darkest hour… If the road ahead feels like it was designed by an especially cranky labyrinth-maker… If you’re wondering whether the light at the end of the tunnel is divine guidance or an oncoming train… KEEP. GOING. You’re closer than you think. Miracles don’t always knock. Sometimes they break down the door like a spiritual SWAT team yelling, “Surprise upgrade!” But they only show up when you’re still there to receive them. So don’t quit five minutes before the miracle. Don’t stop climbing when the summit is one turn away. Don’t give up just because you’re tired — rest if you must, make a cup of coffee, scream into a pillow named “Mt Snuggles,” (don't judge me) but then get back up. You didn’t come this far to only come this far. Final Thoughts (a.k.a., The Pep Talk Before the Credits Roll) Look, I get it. Life gets messy. Faith gets wobbly. Enlightenment feels like a moving target being held by a cosmic prankster sometimes. But just because the road is hard doesn’t mean it’s wrong. And just because you can’t see the finish line doesn’t mean it isn’t right there around the bend, putting on its party hat and cueing up your theme song. So here's your permission slip:
“I’ve made it through 100% of my worst days so far. And I’ll make it through this one, too.” So when it all feels like too much? Remember — you're not being punished. You're being prepared. You're not lost. You're launching. You're not broken. You're breaking through. So get up, take one more step, and give the Universe your best “oh-you-thought-I-was-gonna-quit?” face. You’ve got this. And I’ve got you. See you on the summit — robes optional, but highly encouraged.  Let me start with something controversial (because why not?): You’re not a sinner. There, I said it.
Now if you grew up anything like I did, that statement probably made a part of your nervous system do a backflip. Somewhere deep in the recesses of your mind, Sister Mary Scowls-a-LOT just gasped and dropped her rosary, and the ghost of a priest you never liked is preparing a sermon against you as we speak. But let’s get something clear: You. Are. Not. Broken. You’ve just been told you are—over and over and over again. The Original Guilt Trip Many of us were handed the spiritual equivalent of a participation trophy—except instead of “Thanks for being born!” it said, “Congratulations, you’re already damned!” Now that’s a fun way to start life, right? Imagine a baby being born and the nurse looks at the little bundle of joy and goes, “Aww, look at those tiny hands! Too bad they’re already steeped in sin.” It’s ridiculous. But it’s what many of us were taught. From the moment we took our first breath, someone, somewhere was already preparing us for shame. We were told God loved us—but with the kind of love that comes with conditions, clauses, and more fine print than a pharmaceutical ad. “God loves you… but if you don't act right, think right, speak right, give right, kneel right, and feel appropriately guilty about everything, He might smite you like it’s the Old Testament and He skipped lunch.” And so we learned to look outside of ourselves for approval. For salvation. For love. Spoiler alert: That never works. Religion Gave You Amnesia (Spiritually Speaking)Now don’t get me wrong—I’m not here to knock anyone’s path. If going to church brings you joy, then hallelujah and pass the potato salad. But too many of us weren’t taught how to connect with God. We were taught how to outsource Him. Instead of cultivating divine presence within, we were told:
And it’s time we all got our memories back. Because guess what? You’re not a lowly worm groveling before a distant deity. You are a spark of the Divine wearing human pants. God is not outside of you. God is expressing through you. Right now. Even as you read this. Even if you’re wearing yesterday’s sweatpants and eating ice cream with a fork (no judgment—I’ve done worse). The “I Am” Awakening One of the most powerful teachings of Jeshua—yes, that guy you might know as Jesus—was I Am. Not “I will be.” Not “Someday I might evolve into something worthwhile if I attend enough workshops.” Just--I Am. “The Kingdom of Heaven is within you.” — That’s not poetry. That’s a GPS coordinate. But that simple truth got buried under centuries of tradition, hierarchy, and very dramatic choir music. And instead of realizing our own power, we learned to fear it. We learned to doubt our inner knowing. We learned to think of the Divine as a judgmental sky landlord keeping a spreadsheet of our moral infractions. And the problem with that model is…it doesn’t work. It disempowers. It disconnects. It creates a cycle of shame where people feel unworthy, unloved, and stuck waiting for some external savior to do the inner work they were always meant to do themselves. You Don’t Need to Be Saved—You Just Need to Accept Your Divinity Now here’s the fun part. The moment you start seeing the truth, all the old fear starts to look a little silly. Like, really silly. You begin to realize that a lot of your “spiritual wounds” were inherited. You didn’t pick them. You were trained into them. But guess what? You can un-train yourself. You can rewire your beliefs. You can walk away from the cage, even if it’s been decorated with stained glass and incense. And when you do? You start to realize something big: You’ve been Divine the whole time. You just forgot. It’s like a cosmic version of The Wizard of Oz, only you’re both Dorothy and the wizard, and the ruby slippers are your divine consciousness—and they were on you the whole time. All it takes is presence. Not performance. Not perfection. Presence. The more present you are, the more you feel the connection. The less you analyze and overthink and obsess about how to be “good enough,” the more you remember you were never bad in the first place. You don’t need to earn God’s love. You are God’s love—emanating in form. The Holy Trinity of Healing: Love, Laughter, and Letting Go Here’s what I’ve found on this crazy, beautiful path:
I get asked a lot about the “Second Coming.” And here’s what I say: It’s not about a man floating down from the clouds on a holy hoverboard. It’s about you remembering your Divine nature and living from it now. The second coming isn’t a person—it’s a presence. A reawakening of love, truth, and empowerment in as many people as are willing to step out of fear and into faith—in themselves. When enough of us do that? The world shifts. The sky doesn’t need to crack open. You do. Final Thought (Before I Get Struck by Lightning for Saying All This) Here’s the real miracle: You are here, right now, reading this, because something deep inside you knows. It may have been buried under years of dogma, guilt, or New Age fluff—but it never left. That quiet inner voice that says, “There’s more than this… there’s truth in me”--that voice is the Divine reminding you of who you really are. So take a breath. Sit in love. Laugh at the cosmic joke. And remember… You were never broken. You were just brilliantly disguised as a confused human for a while. Now go shine that Divine light of yours. The world needs less fear and more you. And if anyone says otherwise, just smile and say, “I AM… and that’s enough.”  Once upon a time (which is how all great stories begin, unless they’re written by Quentin Tarantino), you were born into a world already scribbled on. From the moment your fresh little lungs screamed you into existence, everyone around you began writing your story for you. They gave you a name, told you what was right and wrong, what to believe, how to act, who to vote for, what God looks like (usually a lot like Santa), and whether pineapple belongs on pizza (sometimes.) Before you could even hold a crayon without eating it, the world had already outlined your plotline. But here's the divine twist: you’re not a side character in someone else’s novel—you’re the author of your own damn epic.
Stop Letting Other People Be Your Ghostwriters If you’ve ever found yourself thinking, “Why does my life feel like someone else is driving and I’m just a confused Uber passenger who forgot to set a destination?”—well, congratulations. You’ve just realized you’ve been outsourced. Society, religion, parents, teachers, your Aunt Dolores with the mole that looks like Elvis—they’ve all taken turns writing your chapters. They’ve handed you roles like “The Good Girl,” “The Obedient Son,” “The Quiet One,” “The Screw-Up,” or “The One Who’s Gonna Be a Doctor Even Though He Passes Out at the Sight of Blood.” But you, my friend, are not an actor in their play. You are the playwright. You are the pen-wielder-in-chief. And if you don’t believe that, let me ask you a simple question: Who’s holding the pen right now? (If your answer is “ChatGPT,” I’m going to gently flick your forehead.) The Blank Page Only Appears When You’re Present Here's a spiritual truth dressed up like a bumper sticker: You can’t write on a page that’s already filled with yesterday’s crap. To write a new story, you need blank space—and the only blank space available in this life is the present moment. The past? That's just yesterday’s newsprint, already printed, folded, and lining someone’s birdcage. The future? That’s tomorrow’s comic strip—it’s not here yet, so don’t try to edit it. Right now--this breath, this moment, this weird eye contact with your dog who’s definitely judging you—this is your blank page. And the only way to write on it consciously is to stop reacting based on the plot twists of the past. Because if you're constantly reacting from past programming, you’re not writing—you’re copying and pasting someone else’s trauma template. “Character in Someone Else’s Story” Living by other people’s expectations is like showing up to life wearing someone else’s pants. They don’t fit, they’re not your style, and you keep tripping over the hem. But here’s the real kicker: the moment you say, “Hey, maybe I want to live my life differently,” people will act like you’ve joined a cult. “What do you mean you don’t believe in guilt anymore?” “What do you mean you don’t think you’re broken?” “What do you mean you’re not going to Sunday brunch with us while we passive-aggressively compare lives?” The nerve! But you’re not here to be someone else’s loyal character in their drama. You’re not “Supportive Best Friend #3” or “Rebellious Teen Turned Middle-Aged Cynic.” You’re the protagonist, the narrator, the main event. And yes, sometimes the plot gets messy. But you know what? That’s when the story gets good. Conscious Choice: Your Superpower, Baby You can’t write your own story until you realize you’re not your habits, your upbringing, or your uncle’s weird political opinions. You are the one choosing—whether consciously or unconsciously. Unconscious choice is like letting a drunken raccoon type your autobiography. You end up with chapters that start with heartbreak and end with 17 open browser tabs and an impulse-purchased samurai sword. But conscious choice? That’s where the magic happens. Conscious choice is pausing before you react. Conscious choice is asking, “Is this really how I want my story to go?” Conscious choice is saying, “Nah, guilt isn't a great narrator. Let’s try love instead.” That’s not just powerful. That’s Pulitzer-worthy living. It’s Not Too Late to Rewrite You might be sitting there thinking, “Great, John, I’m 60 years into this book, and it’s been mostly a mix of guilt, confusion, and weird chapters titled ‘I Did What They Told Me.’” Good news: spiritual books don’t follow normal publishing rules. You can rewrite your life mid-sentence. Heck, you can change genre completely. Been living a tragedy? Flip the page—make it a rom-com. Stuck in a drama? Add some comic relief (preferably involving your cat and an unattended bowl of yogurt). The Universe doesn’t care how long it took you to pick up the pen. It just gets really excited when you finally do. Let Love Be Your Editor Here’s the ultimate trick to writing a story worth living: let love be the editor-in-chief. Don’t write from fear, obligation, or “because that’s what everyone else did.” Write from love. Write from joy. Write from the deep inner knowing that your story is sacred—even when you’ve got plot holes and spelling errors. Because when love edits your life, shame gets crossed out. When love edits, courage gets underlined. And when love edits, the ending is always a beautiful beginning. The Moral of the Story So here’s your plot twist, dear reader: you were never lost. You were just following someone else’s GPS. The pen is in your hand. The page is blank. The ink is made of presence, purpose, and probably a little bit of coffee. Start writing your story today. Not the one your past told you to write. Not the one religion or family drafted for you. But the one where you decide who you are, what you believe, and how the story unfolds. Just try not to write it like a soap opera. We’ve had enough amnesia and long-lost twin plotlines, thank you.  Probably Not the Messiah, But Still Worth Listening To
Let me start by saying: I didn’t wake up one morning, stretch, yawn, and declare, “You know what? I think I’m the reincarnation of an ancient apostle today.” That’s not how this went down. I was just a guy with comedy sword-fighting show, an introvert when not on stage, and a healthy sense of humor about everything—including myself. Life, as you know, is weird. Over the years, as I’ve shared my experiences, insights, and that inner knowing that I once walked alongside Jeshua himself, a curious thing happened: 19 different psychics spontaneously started telling me that I walked with Jesus as John the Beloved. This is not something I wanted no jumped at the chance to live. I tried to avoid this and not become the guy who thinks he's Napoleon. John, the Beloved's return was foretold. Turns out, a lot of psychics, mystics, and spiritually nosey folks have talked about the return of John the Beloved. Not just metaphorically, but literally. As in: “He’s back, and he’s probably quietly sipping coffee somewhere trying not to attract attention while calling out the Church with love and sarcasm.” Sound familiar? Sure, But Isn’t That a Bit… You Know… Egotistical? You’re not wrong for thinking that. Believe me, I’ve wrestled with it. Because nothing sends your spiritual ego into a panic like people sincerely suggesting you might be the guy Jesus trusted enough to care for his mother. That’s not light stuff. I’ve had to really sit with that. Because the moment your mind goes, “Yeah, maybe I am,” it tries to follow it up with “Maybe I should write a gospel, buy a white robe, or start referring to myself as ‘The Beloved’ at Wawa.” And that’s where the inner voice of truth has to step in and say: “Hey, buddy. Don’t get weird. You’re not here to be worshipped. You’re here to remind people they never needed to worship anyone in the first place.” That’s the line I walk every day—between remembering something deep and ancient within me… and not letting my human ego throw a toga party about it. So What Do the Prophets Say? Well, let me summarize. Apparently:
The Coincidences That Aren’t Coincidences You know what’s funny? I didn’t start this work trying to prove anything. I didn’t even know most of these prophecies existed when I had my past-life recall. I just knew. It was quiet. It was peaceful. And it felt like a memory coming home—not a revelation to tweet. But the deeper I went, the more people started telling me how much my message reminded them of something they already knew within themselves. Not the fear-based, guilt-inducing, cross-polishing version we’ve all been fed. But the loving, simple, be-present-and-love-people-like-it’s-your-job version. And when you align that with what Cayce, Solomon, the Cathars, and even I, John all describe? Well… let’s just say it’s getting harder to chalk it up to coincidence. The Ego Trap: Avoiding “Messiah Syndrome Here’s the deal: this isn’t about identity. It’s about message. If I were here to gather followers, build a spiritual empire, or sell “John the Beloved” bobbleheads, you’d know I took a wrong turn. But that’s not why I do this. I’m here to help people:
So… Am I John? Here’s my honest answer: I remember being him. But more importantly? I remember the message of simplicity Jeshua revealed to us. I remember what it felt like to sit at the feet of Jeshua and realize there was nothing to worship—only a presence to feel, a love to share, and a life to live awake. So whether you believe I’m John, or just John Davis with an overactive memory and a webcam—my goal remains the same: To bring back the original message. Not by quoting scripture, but by living the truth of it. Not to be followed, but to walk beside others until they see the divine within themselves. Final Thought: If It Walks Like John and Teaches Like John… Look, I don’t need to be “right.” I don’t need to be “recognized.” I certainly don’t need anyone kissing my hand or calling me “Beloved” at the grocery store. I simply stay true to the message that’s burning inside me:
And if I’m just John of New… well, maybe that’s exactly who I was meant to be all along. From my Heart to Yours Still sitting in love. Still sipping coffee. Still not wearing a robe (TRY NOT TO VISUALIZE!). |
RSS Feed