Ah, the soul.
That quiet, knowing companion beneath all the clutter.
It doesn’t shout.
It doesn’t argue.
It doesn’t get into conflicting wars in the comment section of your thoughts.
It just… knows.
Like an old lighthouse, standing still, calm, unbothered, while the tides crash and swirl and the skies throw tantrums.
And meanwhile, our dear mind, the ship’s ever-vigilant, slightly caffeinated captain, is up there pacing the deck, muttering “I’ve got this, I’ve got this,” while trying to steer through the fog with a magnifying glass and a backlog of over-analysed WhatsApp messages.
But let’s give the mind some credit.
It’s doing its best.
It wants to keep you safe.
It wants to figure things out.
It wants to file everything into neat categories like:
- Things I Understand
- Things I Will Fix
- Things That Might Kill Me But Hopefully Won’t Before Tuesday
The mind is like a loyal dog that’s read too many psychology textbooks. It’s hyper-aware, overly keen, and doesn’t quite realise that barking at every passing leaf isn’t actually helping.
But the soul?
Oh, the soul is a cat.
A lion, maybe.
It doesn’t chase. It watches. It waits. It knows.
It doesn’t speak in bullet points or self-improvement mantras.
It speaks in stillness.
In spaciousness.
In the quiet moment right before sleep, when the mind finally surrenders and the truth just arrives, fully formed, like it’s always been there, waiting for you to notice.
The mind, of course, will try to jump back in:
“Wait, wait! Let’s just double-check that truth! Let’s analyze it from all angles! Let’s compare it to that thing you read on Instagram in 2019!”
And that’s okay.
Because the mind, truly, is not the villain in this story.
It’s the overworked assistant, not the CEO.
The stage manager, not the star of the show.
It’s running on good intentions and a backlog of ancient survival programming.
It’s been trained to fear silence, because silence feels like surrender.
Like letting go.
And that? That’s terrifying when your whole job is to control things.
But here’s the irony:
Everything we’re trying so hard to control…
It was never ours to manage in the first place.
We’re not here to micro-manage the universe.
We’re here to remember who we are inside of it.
And who we are… is not our thoughts.
Not our stories.
Not our carefully constructed identities.
We are the soul.
That eternal, unflappable presence beneath all of it.
That ancient radio tuned to the frequency of Universal Intelligence,
Call it Spirit. Call it Source.
Call it “The Deep Hum Behind the Chest.”
It doesn’t broadcast in capital letters.
It doesn’t send push notifications.
It just is.
Always humming. Always guiding.
Always waiting for us to remove the earplugs of overthinking long enough to hear.
And the soul? The soul is already listening.
The soul never stopped.
That’s the beauty of it.
It’s not broken.
It’s not lost.
It doesn’t need twenty-seven healing modalities and a three-day retreat to the mountains with limited Wi-Fi and gluten-free snacks.
It just needs space.
Not silence imposed from outside.
Because space is created from within.
Because maybe healing isn’t about fixing what’s wrong.
Maybe it’s about clearing enough room for what’s always been right, to breathe the soul, finally.
Maybe it’s not about silencing the mind through force or guilt or meditation apps that stress you out with their calming voices.
Maybe it’s about saying to the mind:
“Hey. Come sit down. You’ve worked hard.
You can stop solving for a while.
The grown-ups are talking now.”
Let the mind rest, not wrangle.
Let it note, not narrate.
Let it be a curious child on the journey, not the anxious parent driving the car with a crumpled, outdated map.
Because the soul?
The soul has the coordinates.
It always did.
It doesn’t need to figure it out. It already knows.
You’ve felt it before, haven’t you?
That sudden moment of clarity while washing dishes.
That full-body sigh during a sunset.
That tiny, stubborn whisper saying “You’re okay” when everything else feels upside down.
That’s the soul.
The deeper you.
The one that isn’t performing, isn’t pleasing, isn’t planning.
Just being.
The truth is, the soul doesn’t speak English.
Or any language.
It speaks presence.
It speaks in sensations.
A warmth in the chest.
A loosening in the belly.
That weird smile you get when no one’s around and something just feels right.
So how do we “listen” to the soul?
We don’t try.
Trying is the mind’s job.
Instead, we allow.
We create stillness, not silence.
We make space for the sacred.
We rest in awareness.
We breathe without rushing to the next inhale.
We trust the wisdom that arises in the gap between thoughts.
And we forgive the mind, again and again, for trying to protect us in the only way it knows how.
Because the soul?
It doesn’t judge.
It doesn’t correct.
It simply waits.
Like an old friend holding out a hand and saying,
“Ready when you are.”
The soul isn’t there.
Or here,
It is everywhere within,
It is your very being.
So breathe.
Not to relax, but to arrive.
Laugh.
Because the absurdity of being human is a divine comedy.
Forgive your mind its busy loops and late-night reruns.
Then close your eyes, even just for a moment.
In that space, in that silence,
You may hear it again.
That still, unwavering voice that was never lost,
Your soul.
It was always speaking.
And now…
You’re finally listening.
And once again ….. being YOU!
Robert A Burns
UI-Academy.co.uk