I remember the distinct moment the world opened up.

This wasn’t a metaphor. This wasn’t something I had read or reasoned my way into. This was a tangible shift in the texture of reality. The noise of my own thinking slowed, and the heavy, invisible wall that usually separated me from everything else simply disappeared.

Life no longer felt random or adversarial. It felt intelligent. Participatory. And alive in a way that didn’t require explanation. It felt like I had found what I had been seeking all my life.

As I began to explore this new world, a sentence formed in my mind - one that will be familiar to many who have touched this kind of open space:

I am God.

Or, said more politely: I am Source.

At the time, saying it felt like clarity. Like finally claiming something that was my birthright, something that had always been true. Looking back now, I can see that this was the exact moment things began to go wrong.

The Experience Was Not the Problem

The experience itself was beautiful, uncluttered, and true.

There were no fireworks or choirs of angels - just a quiet, overwhelming recognition that the boundaries I had taken for granted were far more porous than I had been taught. Life wasn’t happening to me. It was happening with me.

That recognition didn’t ask to be named. It didn’t arrive with a handbook. It didn’t ask me to change my name, my beliefs, or my diet.

The trouble started when the experience ended - as all experiences do - and the mind rushed in to preserve it.

And the mind did what minds always do. It tried to capture what could not be held. It interpreted. It labeled. It claimed.

And without malice or intention, it replaced a moment of insight with a new identity.

When Insight Hardens into Identity

“I am God” can sound like humility dressed up as revelation. In practice, I found it to be a trap.

The sentence tried to make something fleeting permanent. It took an intimacy with life - something relational - and collapsed it into something personal. Something I was.

What had been a moment of connection quietly became a story about status.

I didn’t announce it. I didn’t preach it. But I noticed it in the assumptions that crept into my behavior. I felt a subtle elevation of authority I hadn’t earned. Disagreement from others began to register as resistance. Uncertainty in myself began to feel like a lapse in spiritual standing.

My perceived power increased, but my actual capacity did not. I felt “divine,” yet I couldn’t pay my bills with my mind. I couldn’t heal bodies with a touch or levitate.

I still made ordinary mistakes, hurt people unintentionally, and ran into the same limits - emotional, relational, human.

The experience hadn’t made me a god.

It had shown me how life works when I stop fighting it.

A Subtle Pattern Many of Us Know

This is where much of modern spirituality quietly loses its footing - and where many people carry an unspoken sense that something isn't quite right about the modern spiritual worldview.

Peak experiences are treated as destinations rather than invitations. Poetic language is taken literally. Insight becomes something to hold onto. Without anyone intending harm, a quiet hierarchy forms: those who see and those who do not.

Before long, belief becomes necessary again. One has to maintain the right frequency, protect the insight, defend the identity, avoid the "low" vibrations.

For a while, this can feel coherent, even empowering. But eventually, it becomes exhausting.

Most people don’t actually want a new spiritual persona. They don’t want to trade one set of assumptions for another. The world doesn’t need a specialized group of enlightened individuals standing apart from ordinary life.

It needs people who can live clearly, responsibly, and coherently within it.

What the Experience Was Pointing Toward

That moment of opening didn’t teach me that I was God.

It revealed something quieter yet more demanding: life responds to how it is met.

When attention is clean, life becomes intelligible. When perception is owned, action becomes impactful. When authority is no longer outsourced to belief - spiritual or otherwise - life begins to organize itself differently.

Peace, joy, and the ability to shape one’s circumstances are not rewards for holding the right ideas. They are the natural side effects of coherence.

This doesn’t require belief.
It doesn’t require metaphysical agreement.
It doesn’t require being special.

It requires care. Care not with rules, but with attention.

Beyond Spirituality

This is the layer Mythava is concerned with.

Not spirituality as identity, but life as a discipline. Not transcendence as escape, but clarity as something that must be lived.

Here, insight isn’t something you are. It is something you respond to. Experiences are not claimed as trophies; they are honored... and allowed to pass. The question is no longer, What does this say about how evolved I am? but rather, How does this ask me to live?

This is what deliberate living means: allowing clarity to shape conduct, not self-image.

A Quiet Line in the Sand

There is something beautiful about the longing that draws people toward spirituality. That longing is healthy. It is a sign of life and the desire to experience more of life.

But it does not need to be answered with more belief. It needs to be met with rigor, humility, and reality.

If there is a “New Earth” to be built, it will not be built by people declaring their divinity. It will be built by people willing to live carefully - without needing to be at the center of the story.

For those that have been here a while, this essay marks a departure from my earlier language, but not from the truth that lived beneath it.

The experience was real.
The mistake was what I added to it.

What remains is simpler, harder, and far more beautiful.

Welcome to Mythava.