"Do You Believe or Question Every Thought That Comes to You?"

Ah, dear friend, the winds of thought are many, and their voices and images are loud and relentless. Yet, do not be deceived by their clamor. The thoughts you entertain are not your own; they are the echoes of others, whispers that drift from past generations, from teachers, parents, strangers, and even from the world around you. 

But these thoughts, these fleeting phantoms, do not define you. They are borrowed, like a leaf carried by a current, pulled into your mind and momentarily resting there before the next gust of wind takes it away.

You see, thoughts are not anchored in truth. They come and go like the clouds in the sky. One moment, they are shaped and thick with meaning; the next, they dissolve into nothingness. 

If you stop to look at them, you will realize that thoughts themselves cannot be trusted—they are not fixed or permanent. They float by, like the passing seasons, changing their form and shifting their hue. And just like clouds, they hide the vast, unchanging sky beyond. But the sky does not change. It is always there, endless and eternal, silent beneath the noise.

Pause momentarily, my friend, and ask yourself—are these thoughts yours? Do they emerge from the core of your being, or are they merely the remnants of the world’s influence?

Observe what happens when you observe them, when you question them. They dissolve like shadows, for thoughts can only echo the past or the future, never the present. Only the inquirer, only consciousness remains in that silence—vast, present, and free.

Understand that the thoughts occupying your mind have been planted, much like seeds from the gardens of others' opinions. What your parents believed, what the world tells you, and what the media floods into your consciousness shape your thinking. 

Remember, dear friend, when you were so pure, like a child with eyes wide open, gazing up at the endless sky. You accept the world as shown to you, and you believe what others have told you without question. You were told the sky is blue, so without hesitation, you believed it to be so.

But who, I ask, decided the color of the sky? Who placed that label upon the infinite expanse above? And how truly real is it, my friend? If you pause and look more closely, the sky may shift its color or even disappear entirely, veiled by the shifting clouds.

Consider the world around you. We are taught names, labels, and definitions. You call it a tree, a stone, a flower—but is it really a tree, a stone, or a flower? These are just names we have agreed upon, borrowed from the minds of those before us. But beyond these names, what is it? Can you honestly say you know?

 We fight to defend and hold these names sacred, but truthfully, they are no more than a passing breeze. The object itself remains, but our thoughts about it change constantly.

The truth is, my friend, that which is real does not change. It does not flicker in and out like the transient thoughts that flood your mind. The real is the unchanging presence that watches the thoughts come and go. When you sit in silence, what remains? When all the thoughts are stripped away, what do you feel? The stillness, the peace beneath it all—that is the truth.

Realize that, as a child, your mind was a blank canvas, untouched by the brush of reason; you had no choice but to accept the world as it was presented. But now, as you awaken to your true nature, you must question: Whose thoughts am I believing? Do they support my potential for success and a higher purpose, or do they keep me trapped in a fleeting illusion? 

These thoughts that rise and fall are not your essence. Your essence is the stillness between them, the silent observer that notices them.

So I ask you, once again—can you trust your thoughts? If they change so easily, how can they be true? That which changes with the winds of time and dances to the tune of others' opinions is not reality. It is but the shadow of what is.

Know this: only the unchanging is real. The vast sky of your actual being is unmovable, untouched by the fleeting storm of thought.

Be still and see beyond the clouds.The truth is always here, beneath the noise, waiting to be discovered.

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