The Room Where Truth Waited

I walked into a room that didn’t exist.
No walls. No clock. No sound—
just four figures sitting there,
like tired teachers waiting for students who never show up.

The first still carried his bow,
and the dust of a battlefield on his feet.
His voice was sharp—like an arrow that missed its mark.
He said,
“When I stood on the war field, frozen—
because I didn’t know if I was fighting for honor… or hunger—
I was told: Do your duty. Don’t chase the reward.”

 “So tell me…
have you stopped chasing yet?”

The second wore simple robes and carried a cross,
but his words felt like mountains.
He said,
“I told them love was enough. Just love.
But they built walls higher than heaven.
They fight in my name and call it holy.
They kill…
and post a selfie that says Blessed.”

“So tell me…
how did hatred become easier than love?”

The third had eyes like deserts—endless, searching, dry.
He said,
“I whispered mercy into the wind.
But mercy was exiled
when power came dressed as prayer.”

“So tell me…
how did taking lives become a direct route to heaven?”

And the last—
He smiled, but it wasn’t joy.
It was the smile of someone who’s seen the same mistake
for two thousand years.
He said,
“I left behind gold palaces to sit under a tree.
You’ve built them taller,
and now even your suffering comes… with a subscription plan.”

And he asked,
“Is it worth it?”

I wanted to defend us.
I said,
“Hey, we still share your quotes!
We chant. We meditate. We visit temples!”

He looked at me and said,
“You’ve turned wisdom…
into a weekend workshop.”

And then they asked me the question—
“What do you seek?”

I didn’t know what to say.
Because truth was—
We seek everything.
Power. Applause. Abundance. Followers.
As if greed will buy us grace.
As if noise will save us from silence.

Maybe that’s why we’re tired.
Every day feels like a race
with no finish line,
just new notifications telling us
we’re still not enough.

So what if we just—
stopped?
Not quit.
Just… paused.
Reminded ourselves that progress isn’t earning more—
it’s feeling more.
What if we sought less—
so we could gain more?

In that room where truth waited,
they didn’t see sinners or saints.
Not monsters or martyrs.
They saw excuses—
to keep doing what everyone else was doing.
Because it was easier.

And they didn’t speak of heaven.
They didn’t promise miracles.
They spoke of making it simple—doing less:

Less hate.
Less judgment.
Less greed.

To make space for more—
More acceptance.
More tolerance.
More love.
More listening.
More empathy.

Because in the end,
it was never about becoming perfect.
It was about becoming human—
and living the experience in the now.

But now…
it’s about unlearning—
just to remember how.