I once envisioned the inner landscape of depression — and other bottoms of the human experience — as a kind of hell. But not the fiery torment from religious stories. It’s quieter, heavier. A space where negative thoughts, fear, doubt, and uncertainty reign. Positivity is rare, though not completely absent. Every so often, a flicker of light appears, or a soft glimmer of hope brushes past. It feels good — for a moment — and then, like gravity, you’re pulled back into the depths.
The journey toward peace, toward joy — toward paradise — is not a straight climb. It’s steep, uneven, and paradoxically harder the closer you get to the light. In those bottom states, it often feels like the darkness itself resists your ascent. The more you want out, the tighter it grips. The further you rise, the stronger the pull to fall back.
But the light becomes brighter too. As the pull of the bottom intensifies, so does your will to live. And somewhere in that tension, love enters. Not romantic love — but the force that says, “You can still rise.” The force that whispers, even in the darkest moments, that something brighter is real. That there is a path beyond the inertia.
Eventually, you reach a kind of purgatory. Not quite hell, not quite paradise — a gray space in between. It feels like a rest stop for the soul. You’re no longer drowning in darkness, but you haven’t yet rooted yourself in the world of light either. This middle ground is treacherous. It’s easy to think you’ve made it, to believe you can relax. But that’s when you start slipping — quietly, subtly — and suddenly you’re back at the edge of the pit.
Here’s the hardest truth: the work isn’t over just because it feels better. The hands of the bottom — old thought patterns, unresolved pain, the habit of despair — don’t disappear just because you see the sun. You have to keep choosing the light. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.
It’s tempting to think that all it takes to step into a new life is to stop thinking negatively, to stop causing harm. But as you rise, you realize: what once looked pure in contrast to darkness still carries residue. Compared to shadow, you might seem luminous. But in the brilliance of real Love — unconditional, all-accepting, infinite — you begin to notice what you’re still carrying. And that’s where the deeper work begins.
The love you felt in fleeting moments — in dreams, in flashes of hope while at the bottom — becomes a guiding star. You want to merge with it. You want to live from that place. Not just for others, but for yourself too. Because now you understand: there is such a thing as light, and it is the only real thing.
You begin to see yourself in the web of life. Your body, your hand — a composition of molecules that once belonged to trees, animals, warriors, sunlight. Everything is made from everything. You’re part of it all. A single drop in the great ocean — distinct, yes, with your own sound and scent and signature — but never separate.
And suddenly, it’s clear. Your hell was never really the darkness. It was the loneliness. The illusion of separation from everything that is. The sense that you didn’t belong to the greater whole. That you were unloved, unlovable. That wall wasn’t built by others. It was built by your own mistrust of the Love that was always flowing toward you.
Paradise is the return. To unity. To connection. To the knowledge that you are not broken, not alone, and never truly cut off from the Source. The moment you touch that truth, you begin to dissolve the bottom’s grip. And love — the real kind — becomes your way home.
