There is a constant drive within us towards unknowable truth — that which is full, absolute, total. The Everything It calls to us, not as a concept to be mastered, but as a reality that surpasses us. We know it exists, we sense its presence, but we cannot directly grasp it. It is at this point that the feeling of distance arises, almost like an abyss between what we are now and what we seek to understand.
The Absolute is too vast to be reached in a single leap. When the distance seems too great, the path becomes difficult. If everything is on one side and we are on the other, how can we move forward? How can we walk towards the Whole if it seems infinitely greater than our current capacity for comprehension?
It is precisely at this point that the intermediate steps. Symbols, forms, images, narratives, and references appear throughout human history not as substitutes for the Absolute, but as... possible approximations. They make the path walkable. They are not the truth itself, but partial expressions of it—aspects of the Whole that we can assimilate at a given moment in our development.
These steps exist because they are necessary—and only as long as they are necessary. Each symbol points to something we need to work on now: a quality to be integrated, an attitude to be matured, a limitation to be overcome. They don't appear randomly; they emerge precisely to the extent of our need. They function as bridges over the abyss, allowing us to advance without denying either our smallness or the greatness of the Absolute.
The essential care lies in understanding the place of each thing. Intermediaries are not the destination, but means. Steps do not exist for us to linger on them, but so that we can climb. When we forget this, we run the risk of absolutizing what is temporary and losing sight of what lies beyond.
Under the guise of Universe, of Time, of Space and from Mobility, it always remains hidden Substantial Reality — the fundamental truth that does not change, even when everything seems to change. Symbols do not replace this reality; they only help us to get closer to it, step by step.
Sometimes the path isn't revealed by a paved road, but rather hidden or guarded and secret by the waters of rivers, by the blossoming of flowers in the seasons, by the rays of sunlight that pass through. And then, in the silence, we direct the question to our own hearts:
Could our blood hold the wisdom of the unseen path?
