The Rythm of the Void

Sinking into the void’s rhythm, where the self dissolves and only silence remains.

Some people awaken without ever meeting the void. They gain clarity, function well, and move through life with a kind of inner spaciousness. And that’s valid. But from where I stand, they haven’t yet descended all the way.

There’s a lie most people believe about awakening: that once you’ve passed through the fire, the burning is over. That once you’ve faced the void and survived, you don’t go back.

The void isn’t a phase you graduate from. It’s a rhythm. A movement of life itself. It returns not because something is wrong, but because something false is ready to fall away.

Each time it comes, it burns something subtler: an identity that lingered unnoticed, a belief that quietly shaped your choices, an attachment masked as neutrality. You land again in that quiet space where there’s nothing to hold on to, nothing to want, nothing to become.

Flat. Empty. Honest.

It might feel like regression, but it’s not. It’s a deepening.

This is life without a center: where anything still pretending to be you is eventually brought to the fire. The void returns to keep you real. To keep you empty. To keep you free.

Not because you failed. Because you said yes.

After awakening, the mind may be clear, but the body still holds tension, trauma, old strategies. The void doesn’t wait for your readiness. It arrives when the body is ripe for release. When insight alone can no longer carry the weight. When embodiment is required.

Roles, impulses, protections, spiritual residue, somatic memory, unprocessed grief—these don’t dissolve all at once. They fall in layers, over time, with precision. Each return to the void is life saying: You’re ready for this now.

The earlier deaths are obvious: the seeker, the achiever, the spiritual persona. But identity hides deeper too—in helpfulness, in composure, in subtle self-referencing. The void finds those too.

And when it does, it feels more raw. Because the self that would normally manage the burning is already gone. What remains is openness. And the burn is felt without a buffer.

We crave a map. A neat arc: collapse, peace, creation. But life isn’t linear. It deepens by undoing. Just when you think you’re done, something collapses again. Not to harm, but to expose what still clings to the idea of being healed.

Insight is not the same as emptiness. Seeing through the self isn’t the same as being hollowed out. And the void returns when it’s time to dissolve what insight left untouched.

Sometimes it comes years after awakening, when life feels stable. And then, without warning, it cracks open again. Because life knows it’s time.

When it does, don’t look for meaning. Don’t try to fix or frame it. Let it hollow you out again. Let it show you what’s ready to burn now.

Because it doesn’t come to hurt you.

It comes when you’re strong enough to lose more.

And what you lose this time, you won’t need again.

What remains is freedom. Not the kind you hold. The kind that has no center.