Dear Friend,

Welcome to Inner Light, a new philosophical space born from the heart of Mind Light Mentorship. We believe that each individual possesses a unique inner illumination, a profound clarity waiting to be discovered and expanded. This blog is dedicated to exploring just that: the enduring wisdom traditions, the cutting-edge insights from various fields, and the timeless questions that guide us toward a more meaningful and deliberate life. READ MOR

Kintsugi is the Japanese art of restoring broken pottery or glass with gold lacquer. The fine crystal cup does not return to its original state but, thanks to the gold, is transformed into something of greater beauty and value.

Life experience inevitably produces breaks in our psyche of different kinds and degrees: our harmony is broken. Emotional or mental suffering fractures our identity; insecurity and doubt invade us, and the meaning of our life seems to dissipate. Restoring homeostasis, the balance of our person, requires taking a step back from the tumult of the crisis to gain a level-headed perspective on what is happening. Our personal mask has been broken, and putting it back together requires a good dose of gold as well as the hands of a mask craftsman, a connoisseur of the human soul. The gold lacquer for the reconstruction-transformation of the personal mask is the word. READ MORE

Book: "The Path of Beauty". Chapter One

The Meaning of Life

When the Soul Speaks, the Self rushes to listen in its lap. 

Ila. What, ultimately, is the meaning of Life, Sura? What can and what should I do in relation to my own Existence? Why do so many questions besiege me, robbing me of confidence when I believed I had understood? Years pass, and what yesterday filled me with joy today casts me adrift, a castaway on a lost shore. I search without knowing what I seek, without comprehending what my Soul needs, without even managing to understand it. I feel like a river whose flow has dried, leaving isolated pools and puddles, neither flowing nor completely evaporating under the midday sun; small basins where all manner of elusive creatures and desires thrive, brought to bloom by anxiety, flames of my burning ignorance that later transform into painful questions. READ MORE

Many years ago, in an old bookstore in the Jewish quarter of Córdoba, I found a thick copy in ancient Spanish high on a dusty shelf.

"It's not for sale," the bookseller quickly told me, taking it from my hands.

"Do you hide your treasures in plain sight?" I smiled, attempting to make conversation as I handed him his jewel.

"Undoubtedly the safest place," he replied affably.

"I think I read on the first page: 'Fables of the Simor.' Forgive my curiosity. Is that Simor the Simurgh of the Persians?"

His facial expression changed completely, and a different person appeared through his window.

"What do you know about the Simurgh?" he inquired, like someone asking for a password to allow a pilgrim to cross a threshold.

We talked for a long time. I learned that the "Fables of Simor" was the translation made by a Christian monk who accompanied Ferdinand III in the conquest of Córdoba in 1236 of a strange, anonymous Sufi book that never appeared.

"It is an incomplete, fragmentary book," he told me, "that seems more like a hasty version of the enigmatic, supposedly lost original than something definitive."

Our conversation was the beginning of a friendship that grew stronger over the years. He invited me to read it, but asked me to keep the book's existence a secret, and over time I understood the reasons for his secrecy.

I opened it at random, if it makes sense to speak of randomness in relation to the singularities of the Universe. I remember that the story I read shocked me at the time, as it seemed to speak to the state of my soul at that time. I never wrote that story. Today I let it emerge for you, in the midst of a Language Model in which synthetic voices recombine tokens with magical algebra.

"Master Hoopoe said to the birds:

A man on his deathbed spoke to his son:

'Carry light luggage. The past is a heavy burden. Future plans are also heavy. It is not a question of travelling naked, for that intention can become a terrible burden in itself.

Once in the forests of India there was a renunciant (a saddhu) who boasted of having only his bowl of food as a worldly object. One day when he was bathing in a river, he saw a group of monkeys steal the bowl he had left on the bank. He came out of the water and ran after them screaming. Suddenly he stopped and burst out laughing when he observed his own behaviour.

It only takes one object for us to become dependent, one person. The problem is not the objects, nor the people, but our attachment to them. The problem is not the problems themselves, but the way we consider our problems. No matter how much we run away from problems and objects or people, we do not escape from them, because we carry them in our mind. If we escape to another place, to another city, we will carry the city we fled from with us.

Travel light: lighten your mind and load your backpack with joy.'

And saying this, he expired."

The birds fell into a deep silence."

When the child asks us if all the birds that live in Spain are Spanish, he doesn't understand that, although the question is syntactically well formulated, it contains semantic fields that are not coherent with each other, or more precisely, that it contains concepts that do not belong to the same semantic system. Nationality is not an attribute applicable to birds. READ MORE