Dear reader. Here is chapter 3 of my book the speed of love. It is about the mind, how it lets go into surrender to the sacred.
Chapter Three: The Mind — Unraveling, Reweaving
The mind is a maze of mirrors.
It reflects everything back to itself, again and again, until we start to believe the reflection is real. Thought looping upon thought, memory wrapped in identity. The mind isn't the enemy. It's just overworked, overtrusted, and misunderstood.
When the light first touches the mind, it doesn’t burn through like a sword. It moves like water. Soft. Persistent. Patient. Because the mind doesn't need to be destroyed. It needs to be invited into something gentler.
I remember the day you said, “I don't trust myself anymore.”
And I knew exactly what you meant.
Not because you'd made a mistake.
But because the mind had made a fortress out of old stories.
It was never about logic—it was about safety.
The mind kept you from the edge because it feared the fall.
But the fall was never the danger.
The clinging was.
And so, we began to listen.
To watch the thoughts move—not to follow them, but to feel the space between them.
That was the first crack.
One thought said, “You're not ready.”
Another whispered, “What if you’re too much?”
But something deeper breathed, “Come anyway.”
The unraveling isn't violent.
It's subtle. Almost imperceptible.
Like silk threads loosening at the edges of a tapestry.
At first, it feels like you're falling apart.
But you’re not.
You’re just unweaving the false from the true.
And then the reweaving begins.
The mind doesn’t disappear—it transforms.
It stops guarding the heart and starts serving it.
It becomes a channel, not a container.
Thoughts soften. Space widens. New patterns arise.
Now when you think, it’s not as reaction—it’s as creation.
Now your thoughts are prayers, intentions, sparks of design.
We don’t demonize the mind here.
We give it a new job.
Not to control.
But to collaborate.
Not to analyze the pulse.
But to dance with it.
This is the new intelligence—
one that bows to the heart, to the body, and to the silence that holds it all.