THE COURAGE TO STAY OPEN: A GATEWAY TO THE RADIANCE OF BEING

There is a kind of strength that has nothing to do with effort, assertion, or control. It is the strength to remain undefended in the face of life.

To stay open — when everything in the conditioned self wants to close — is an act of profound courage. Not the courage of willpower, but the courage of surrender. Not the boldness of assertion, but the quiet willingness to meet life exactly as it is, without resistance.

This openness is not an emotional state. It is not a technique to be mastered or a goal to be reached. It is not something we do. It is what remains when all doing falls away.

It is our natural state — the pure, unarmored presence of being itself.

But for most, this openness remains hidden beneath layers of defense. The body is tense. The heart is guarded. The mind is in a perpetual state of commentary, trying to manage, interpret, protect, or escape. This closure becomes habitual. It is normalized — personally, culturally, generationally.

We are taught from an early age that to survive means to contract. That to be strong means to suppress. That to be successful means to control.

And so we become armored. We live inside a shell of separateness. We relate to life as something happening to us, something we must resist or manipulate. We relate to ourselves as something broken or not enough. And we relate to others with mistrust or judgment, often unconsciously.

This closure — this refusal of the present moment — becomes the very source of our suffering. We seek peace, but carry with us the mechanism of war.

To begin to see this clearly is the first step toward true freedom.

To see that resistance is suffering. To see that the story of "me" is not the truth of who I am. To see that no matter how much we protect ourselves, we are never at peace.

Openness invites a different orientation.

It is not the suppression of pain. It is not passive submission. It is a living, dynamic willingness to feel. To feel without conclusion. To feel without turning away. To let the feeling rise and fall without attaching a story to it, without reaching for comfort, and without pushing it away.

This openness does not belong to the ego. The ego cannot be open. It can only mimic openness in order to avoid annihilation. True openness happens when the center of reference — the one who controls, the one who resists — dissolves, even for a moment.

And in that moment, something is revealed. Not something new, but something ancient. Not an insight, but a presence. Not a state, but a ground.

The radiance of being.

It is not an experience. It is the silent space in which all experience arises. It is untouched by thought. It is deeper than emotion. It is not “yours” — but it is closer than anything you can call “mine.”

The mind cannot understand it. It cannot be possessed or described. It can only be recognized.

And this recognition changes everything. Not necessarily outwardly, but inwardly. The inner war — the war with oneself, with life, with others — begins to end.

Openness is no longer something to practice. It is what you are.

And yet, in the early stages of awakening, a practice is often needed — not to achieve openness, but to illuminate where we are still closing. This practice is not one of effort, but of honesty. A gentle, moment-by-moment inquiry: Where am I contracting? What story am I believing? What am I unwilling to feel?

To notice — not as judgment, but as clarity. To soften — not as a strategy, but as a return. To allow — not as passivity, but as participation in the living truth of this moment.

Each time we turn toward what we habitually turn away from, we open a little. Each time we stop defending against our direct experience, we remember. Each time we meet what is here without resistance, we rest in the truth of being. Eventually, the layers of defense begin to dissolve. Not all at once, but gradually. The nervous system unwinds. The heart unfreezes. The mind quiets. The being shines.

And what remains is not a better version of the self. What remains is the absence of self as a problem. What remains is peace — not as a passing feeling, but as a background silence. What remains is love — not as emotion, but as the absence of division. What remains is openness — not as a quality, but as the fabric of reality.

This is not self-help. This is not a spiritual enhancement of the ego. This is the death of the ego as the reference point. This is the birth of true seeing.

So the invitation is simple, but not always easy.

To say yes. To feel what is here. To stop trying to fix, improve, or escape. To experiment with softening — even in discomfort, especially in discomfort. To meet life — just as it is — without a story, without a defense.

This is the courage to stay open. And in that openness, the radiance of being reveals itself — as who you are, and as the ground of all things.

Explore the 7-Day Retreat at Art of Living Retreat Center, North Carolina, USA: January 11th to 17th, 2026.

And thank you, as always, for reading, sharing and commenting.