That was the question Lubo asked me one quiet Easter morning in Greece.
We were drinking coffee in the garden of our little house by the sea. I remember the olive tree, the pink and white oleanders, the bees, the warmth of the sun on my face, and the bitter taste of coffee. Thoughts were moving, labeling everything — tree, sky, taste, sound — and then, for no reason at all, everything merged into one.
The sounds, the colors, the sensations — all of it became a single, seamless movement. And suddenly it was clear: everything was happening, but not to me.
The “me” I thought I was wasn’t there.
Life wasn’t personal anymore. The idea that this moment had to mean something for someone dissolved into the softness of what is.
For hours, days even, I laughed — laughed at the weight I had carried, at how serious everything had seemed, at how what I had searched for had always been right here.
That was the beginning.
Because what no one told me is that awakening isn’t the end — it’s the first step.
After the light comes integration.
In the months and years that followed, everything that hadn’t yet been seen began to surface — emotions, old habits, subtle fears. Not to destroy the peace, but to join it.
