Own Nothing - Be Everything

I’ve met people so poor they barely had a roof over their heads or food for their stomachs—
and yet they were warm, kind, and generous, genuinely grateful for each day they had to live.

I’ve also met people who had everything in excess—material goods, relationships, success, and good health—
and yet lived in misery: angry, arrogant, scared, and unable to relate to others in any meaningful way.

How is that possible? Could we have it all wrong about the ideals we’re taught to chase?

Indeed, upon honest observation, it appears that peace of mind depends very little on external conditions—and far more on one’s relationship with self, others, and reality as a whole—
though this unfolds in a way far more subtle than it may seem at first glance.

I’m not interested in comparing abundance with scarcity, for I believe the point of the matter lies elsewhere.

To truly explore the roots of suffering, we must begin by understanding the impulse to own, to control—
where it originates, and who or what is trying to exercise it.

At the surface, life appears full of contradiction, conflict, and lack.
But when you look deeper—beneath the noise—there is stillness, beauty, and completeness.

The only problem is that most of us never truly stop and look—too busy chasing the ideals society has drilled into our heads.

An entire life can be spent at the surface, carried by the winds from island to island, never truly finding what we’re looking for.

Or we can simply pause—stop everything—and take a look.

How do we begin to see what rests beyond the surface of our tormented world?
First, by not adding more waves—more beliefs and ideals.
Then, by looking through the old lies: those unquestioned assumptions we inherited since childhood.

Take ownership: my body, my house, my religion, my nationality, my wife, my successes, my failures.
Do we even see how all these are just ideas—concepts that do not refer to anything real?

They are conventions—agreements society depends on—but not truths of nature.

Look closely. Material goods, relationships, achievements—even identity—come and go on their own, without notice, without your permission.
You never truly own them.

Ownership is only a thought—a habit upheld by society. It has no basis in reality.

The division between mine and yours is not natural—it is entirely conceptual.
It’s all a performance we agree to play. But when a comedy is taken too seriously, it becomes a tragedy.

The one who believes he owns may feel powerful. But in truth, he is a slave—burdened by the need to defend and justify the first lie: this is me, this is mine.
He is always at war with reality.

In reality, no one controls anything—not truly. Not the billionaire, not the ruler, not the spiritual master.
Not because they lack skill, but because both controller and controlled are illusions.

And yet, this illusion stands at the very center of society—a society built on the image of the individual as owner of thoughts, actions, and things.
From there, judged and ranked on scales of power and worth.

The system wants you to believe in the dream of rising to the top—even though there is no top, and no bottom.
That belief is its fuel. Even those who think they control the system are controlled by it.
Everyone becomes a puppet of thought and belief.

It is the most widespread addiction of all. An addiction to thought, concept, imagination and belief.

Thought is beautiful and powerful tool—but one that has taken the throne and claimed to be reality itself.
That’s where the trouble began.

Thought should never be the center of life. It isn’t qualified for that role.
It knows nothing of truth. It only knows what it has created.
Yet humanity has made thought the master—and we have become its servants.

As long as thought remains at the center, there is no real way out of war, fear, or division.

The only antidote is clarity. To see—without the shadow of a doubt—that a life built around a lie will never bring peace.
It cannot.

Once you realize this—that the need for ownership, control, and self-definition is what creates your prison—something else becomes possible.

You begin to glimpse a deeper reality: a single, indivisible whole, without conflict, lack, or corruption—right here, in the heart of reality as it is.

And this is the hidden advantage of the “poor”—not the one who lacks money, but the one who knows he owns nothing.
Not even his body or mind.

Such a person doesn’t need to defend illusions by creating more lies.
He doesn’t need anything to be whole.
He knows that, no matter what happens, he is already free.

But the one who believes he owns, who relates to the world only through these small and fleeting extensions of himself,
will never have enough—and thus will never know freedom.

An owner always grows tired of what he owns—and begins chasing the next thing.
The one who owns nothing already owns the whole world.
What more could he want?

This is what society wants you to believe: achieve this, earn that, marry well, gain fame—then you’ll be fulfilled.
But it’s a lie.

When you tie your peace to things that are unstable, you only become unstable yourself.
And when such a lie is taken too seriously, it leads to desperation.

It doesn’t work, and it was never meant to. Its only function is to sustain the very structure that created it.

You give away your health and years chasing money, respect, approval, ideal relationships—
and receive only anxiety, fear, and frustration in return—and perhaps a few crumbs of what peace was always meant to be.

Of course, society doesn’t want you to know that you need none of it to exist.
Because if you did—you’d stop fueling it by chasing illusions.

And in the simple fact of being alive, you’d find every blessing already included.

Anything you’re given to experience in this life is a gift.
The extraordinary might seem more appealing—but nothing is special in itself.
It’s how you see it that makes it so.

And the moment boredom sets in, you’ll discard it and chase the next “special” thing.
That kind of pleasure has no lasting breath.
It is a distortion of life’s energy—a misuse of what was meant to keep the organism whole and vibrant.
Now it makes it half-dead and sick.

True well-being lies far deeper.
It is stable, undisturbed—a quiet recognition of what truly matters.

When you have that, whether you gain or lose doesn’t change anything.
Your feet rest on solid ground that nothing can shake.

Then the events of life pass like weather through the sky.
And you are the sky—unchanged by passing clouds.

The sky is simply this: existence.
The ordinariness of everyday life—sometimes dull, sometimes brilliant—yet always miraculous, and beautifully beyond comprehension.

That recognition is already in you.
It needs no study.
Only the removal of what distorts your seeing.

When you forget that ground, you build your life on substitutions. And they fail you.

You identify with objects and expectations.
And you become their prisoner.

Nothing will satisfy you, because you’ve lost contact with the miracle that you are—and that this moment is.

But when you return to that recognition, whether or not you have anything at all, you remain untouched.

What movie you watch doesn’t matter.
It’s the fact that there is a movie at all that matters.
It is the normal—not the exceptional—that is extraordinary.

And so, you stop chasing.
Whatever arises is here to be seen, felt, lived.
Even when it’s difficult, that too is life’s energy, momentarily expressing itself that way.

The surface will change. It always does.
The depth remains: calm, peaceful, undisturbed.

IMF - La Cathedrale Verte, Lausanne 11 June 2025