I want war, it had been silence and not peace

These words are not a call to arms but a clarion cry for awakening. It is not the war of swords and blood but a war against the inertia of the human spirit—against stupidity, unconsciousness, and the numbing comfort of unquestioned beliefs. It is a war waged not against others, but against the walls within ourselves.

In a world fragmented by love and hate, by religions that suffocate the divine act of questioning, the call to battle is an invitation to transcend. “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened to you.” (Matthew 7:7). Yet how often do we knock on the doors of our own understanding? How often do we question the narratives that have been handed to us?

We are bound by a single thread, the consciousness that runs through all. It is he who lives and dies, who oppresses and is oppressed, who kills and is killed. This consciousness is not separate from us; it is us. It is the eternal witness, the doer and the done.

“The self is not something ready-made; it is continuously made anew,” says Krishnamurti. Yet, in our arrogance, we seek to play creators of our small universes, forgetting the vast one already present—a universe where boundaries dissolve, and the self merges with the whole.

But we, blinded by ego, create barriers. We fragment the one into many, mistaking the shadow for the substance. “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.” (1 Corinthians 13:12). When will we cease dividing and begin uniting?

Why do we build walls in a limitless expanse? Why do we shrink into smaller communities, isolating ourselves from the oneness that breathes through us all? Those who fancy themselves creators, heed this: What you create will return to dust. “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.” (Ecclesiastes 1:2).

Creation, true creation, is not a human endeavor but the self-manifestation of consciousness. It is the divine play where differences are seen, not as divisions, but as expressions of the same essence. This is the paradox of unity: to know that you are different, yet the same.

Who is this “he” who unites us and divides us? The one who loots and is looted, who despises himself through us? He is not a deity in the heavens but the pulse of life within us. He is the eternal consciousness, the one who speaks through these words and the one who reads them.

As Dostoevsky said, “What is hell? I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love.” And what is love but the recognition of the self in the other, the collapse of barriers, the dissolution of the illusion of separateness?

This article is not mine. It is not yours. It belongs to the one who unites us all. Read it, and it will be a hundred articles, a thousand meanings, or none at all. What you see is what you bring, and what you bring is the reflection of the consciousness that you are.

So, tell me: What do you see?

Let this be the beginning of our war—not against each other but against the silence mistaken for peace. Against the barriers that obscure the truth. Against the refusal to question. For in questioning, we awaken. And in awakening, we become the one.