Awakening does not arrive like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky. It comes more like a quiet whisper that has been trying for years to break through the noise of our lives. Sometimes it begins with a small crack in the structure of the everyday — a moment when something that felt obvious just yesterday suddenly loses its meaning. It might be a glance in the mirror that feels deeper than usual. Or a sudden distance from our own emotions — as if we were observing ourselves from the outside, sensing that something within no longer fits the role we’ve been playing.
It is in such moments that the question arises — the one that changes the course of everything: “Is the life I’m living truly mine?”
At first, awakening often takes the form of a subtle fatigue — a weariness with what is artificial, superficial, repetitive. We stop believing in the system we once participated in. Collaboration with what is false becomes impossible. Our body begins to react to inauthenticity like to a poison. We sit in a conference room listening to sales results and suddenly cannot find any meaning in it. Or we talk with loved ones and realize that all those words are only echoes of old patterns that have long since lost their life.
Some call this stage the dark night of the soul. But it is merely the beginning — the moment when consciousness starts to expand beyond the structure that once held it captive. The nervous system refuses to cooperate with what is not true. The body, emotions, and intuition begin to speak with one voice: enough.
At this point, many believe they have awakened. And in a sense, they have — something within truly has stirred. But this is only the first spark. Awakening begins like light flooding the room we have slept in our whole lives. The view is dazzling — colors, shapes, movements we never noticed before. We see the illusion we once participated in and believe we now know.
This experience is intense. Euphoria mixes with relief and a sense of mission. We feel compelled to share it with others. We begin to speak about consciousness, energy, spiritual awakening, synchronicities. Our words carry truth — yet something in their tone reveals tension, as if we were trying to convince not only others but also ourselves.
And here arises the first illusion of awakening — subtle, yet deeply rooted. It is the moment when we begin to build a new identity upon the ruins of the old one.
The light that was meant to dissolve our ego is seized by it and turned into a new mask. Instead of an identity built from achievements, we create one built from spiritual knowledge. Instead of professional titles — quotes from teachers. Instead of the desire for success — the desire for enlightenment.
Thus is born the spiritual ego — the most refined form of that which we were meant to transcend.
We begin to differentiate: us, the awakened, and them, the sleepers. We look with pity at those who still “live in the system.” We speak of energy, frequency, transformation — but beneath it all, the same mechanism still operates: the need to be someone special. The need for confirmation that our path is more meaningful than someone else’s.
This is the very core of the illusion of awakening — the subtle game of ego dressed in spiritual disguise.
Ego does not disappear when we meditate, heal, travel to sacred sites, or experience transcendence. It simply changes its costume. Instead of craving wealth, it craves purity. Instead of recognition at work, it seeks recognition in spiritual circles. Instead of competing for success, it competes for “awareness.”
It begins to say: I know; they don’t.
Or: I’ve already been there; they’re just starting.
Or even: There is no “I” — but I know that, and they don’t.
This is the most subtle form of separation — the one that uses spiritual language to sustain the illusion of division. Instead of dissolving boundaries, it creates new ones. Instead of building bridges, it erects temples — where one can feel “purer,” “more conscious,” “closer to God.”
And so, unknowingly, we fall back into sleep. Only now, the dream is spiritual. At some point, however, the mirror appears. We begin to see that we are still playing a role — only a more refined one. We realize that the “spiritual awakening” we spoke of was merely another layer in the search for self. It is a painful yet honest moment. We notice that we still want to be seen. That we still crave someone to acknowledge our light.
That there is still an inner voice whispering, I am further along than they are.
The illusion of awakening, therefore, does not appear when we are still asleep, but when we believe we are already awake — when we turn awakening into another story about ourselves. When spirituality becomes a defense mechanism against pain, fear, human vulnerability. We can recognize it by certain signs:
– when we feel “superior” because we see more,
– when we can no longer empathize with those who still “sleep,”
– when spiritual words become shields against true connection,
– when our “purity” becomes a tool of separation,
– when, instead of humility, a subtle sense of superiority appears.
True awakening needs no recognition. It does not seek reflection in the eyes of others. It is not afraid of ordinariness.
Mechanisms of the Spiritual Ego and the Path Back to Truth
When we begin to truly recognize what awakening is, we discover that its greatest enemy is not sleep — but the illusion of awakening. Sleep can be interrupted. But illusion disguised as awareness is far more elusive. It does not deny the spiritual path — it becomes it. It slips into our language, our posture, our way of thinking. The ego that was momentarily dissolved in light returns in a new form — softer, subtler, yet still hungry.
Instead of desiring money, it now craves “purity.”
Instead of success — spiritual recognition.
Instead of social status — status in the spiritual world.
Instead of trophies — mystical experiences.
The spiritual ego no longer wants to possess things — it wants to possess Truth. And this is precisely where many of us have been stuck for years. For what seems like awakening is often just a new layer of sleep.
1. The Mechanism of Comparison
The subtlest manifestation of the spiritual ego is comparison along the path. That quiet “I’ve already been there” which seeps into conversations between those “working on themselves.” We compare the number of ceremonies, years of meditation, depth of insight, the count of “shadows integrated.” We rarely say it aloud, yet in the eyes one can sense an invisible hierarchy.
Comparison is an ancient survival mechanism — the child of the ego that still wants to know if it is good enough. Only now, instead of asking: Am I better at work than others? — it asks: Am I more awakened?
But Awakening knows no hierarchy. There are no better or worse souls. No one is more “advanced.” There is only the unique rhythm of consciousness maturing. Every soul blossoms in its own time.
When we cease to compare, we begin to see others not as “students” or “teachers,” but as mirrors — reflections of the same Divine essence remembering itself in countless forms.
2. The Mechanism of Escaping the Shadow
Another manifestation of the illusion of awakening is the escape into light — the tendency to focus only on love, gratitude, and high vibrations, while unhealed pain still pulses beneath.
Many people after spiritual awakening unconsciously begin to fear the darkness — not the external one, but the inner: anger, jealousy, guilt, fear, sorrow. It seems that “spirituality” means transcending these emotions. So we begin to suppress them beneath the cloak of “love and light.”
But true love does not exclude the shadow. True love includes everything. Awakening is not about rejecting what is painful, but embracing it with compassion.
The shadow does not disappear when ignored. It waits — patiently — until we welcome it into our arms. For the shadow is simply the part of us that has been lonely for too long.
3. The Mechanism of Spiritual Separation
Many who experience profound spiritual openings — visions, revelations, mystical states — begin to feel “beyond the world.” Daily life seems too heavy, people too “asleep,” the system too dense.
This is a natural stage. Yet if we linger there too long, spirituality becomes an escape from the human experience. We start speaking of “the illusion of matter,” when in truth we fear life. We speak of “non-attachment,” when in truth we fear intimacy. We speak of “consciousness,” while fleeing from emotion.
True Awakening does not cut us off from the world — it roots us more deeply within it. We begin to see the Divine in washing dishes, in talking with a neighbor, in a child’s tears. We no longer need extraordinary states to feel connected. For we sense that every experience — even the most ordinary — is part of the Sacred Play.
4. The Mechanism of Mission and Salvation
As consciousness opens, it is natural to want to share it with others. Yet here lies another illusion: “I must save the world.” We begin to believe our role is to awaken others, to enlighten humanity, to rescue the planet. Beneath this, however, often hides an old pattern — the need to be important, needed, chosen. A mission that was meant to be an act of love becomes an unconscious source of tension.
The world does not need saviors. The world needs the present.
The greatest gift we can offer is not to teach others, but to live truthfully — authentically, quietly, anchored in presence. We do not need to awaken anyone. Consciousness awakens in each of us in its own time, like a flower bud opening in sunlight. We cannot hasten this process by pulling on the petals — we can only radiate the light that inspires.
5. The Mechanism of Spiritual Identity
The spiritual ego often creates a new self-image: “I am an old soul,” “I am a healer,” “I am a guide,” “I am a Manifestor,” “I am one who remembers.” These are not false statements — they may be profoundly true when they arise from the heart. But when they become our identity, we fall into the same trap again: separation.
For Truth needs no label. Consciousness does not say of itself: I am consciousness. It simply is.
When we cease defining ourselves even through spiritual terms, we open a space for something far greater than a personal story. The “I that awakens” dissolves. What remains is pure being.
6. The Path of Return — Integration and Humility
How do we recognize that we’ve fallen into the illusion of awakening? Not through analysis, but through honest feeling. The ego can be deceived — the body cannot. If we feel tension, the urge to prove, superiority, contempt, or a messianic drive — if spirituality becomes an escape from life — it is a sign that the light has touched only part of us, while the rest still waits in shadow.
The path of return does not lead toward “more light.” It leads deeper into our humanity.
Awakening is not something to be achieved. It is what reveals itself when everything else dissolves. It requires no effort — only the courage to be naked: without masks, without roles, without stories.
Humility is the gateway to Truth.
For only when we cease wanting to be someone special can we finally experience that we have always been One.
7. True Awakening
Awakening is not a moment of triumph in which we finally grasp truth in our hands, as if it were a trophy after a long spiritual journey. It is rather the moment we realize that truth has always been with us — fluid, alive, elusive — like a handful of water slipping through our fingers as we try to hold it.
Awakening gives us nothing new. It takes away. Gently — sometimes brutally — it dissolves what was never real: all our spiritual identities, our beliefs in uniqueness, in “already knowing,” in being “beyond.”
Many of us experience, after awakening, a stage in which consciousness begins to see everything — people’s mechanisms, their programs, wounds, escapes, illusions. Suddenly, the world that once felt “normal” becomes transparent, sometimes unbearably so. We feel like strangers among the sleeping. We start to believe that awakening separates us from others — that seeing the truth makes us lonely.
But here arises one of the subtlest illusions of all — spiritual superiority — one of the last, most refined faces of the ego. True awakening does not exclude. It includes. It does not isolate — it connects.
When we begin to truly see ourselves — in our human clumsiness, anger, fear, and longing for closeness — something softens. The distance between “the conscious me” and “the unconscious them” disappears. We realize there are no “others” — only different phases of the same consciousness experiencing itself in countless forms.
What once felt like spiritual loneliness reveals itself as a subtle form of protection — a fear of being seen in our own imperfection. A fear that someone might discover that behind our awareness still stands a human being — sensitive, uncertain, longing. And then we begin to understand that spirituality which avoids humanity becomes just another mask.
Awakening, then, is not about rejecting the human, but fully embracing it — allowing consciousness to breathe through our anger, our sorrow, our love, our laughter. Not floating above the world, but resting at its very heart — in a conversation with a neighbor, in a stranger’s glance, in a quiet act of care.
In this sense, awakening is a return to simplicity — to effortless being, without the need to prove anything. We no longer need to be “special,” “enlightened,” or “perfect.” We no longer have to pretend joy or wear a spiritual smile. When we stop playing these roles, true joy appears — not the one built on positive thinking, but the one born of authenticity.
Awakening is not an achievement but a process of letting go — layer by layer. It is the spiral discovery that everything we tried to “fix,” “improve,” or “heal” was just another way to avoid a real encounter with ourselves. It is not a linear path, but a movement inward — ever the same, yet ever softer, more conscious, less in need of anything.
Over time, we begin to see that every illusion we release was necessary. That every attachment, every escape, every spiritual pose had its sacred purpose. Only when they are fully lived can they be released. This process cannot be rushed, for it is life itself that unfolds us — from outer to inner, from falsehood to truth, from mind to heart.
Then humility is born. And in humility — true freedom. Not the kind that separates us from the world, but the kind that allows us to be in the world without losing ourselves. We enter relationships not to “awaken” or “fix” anyone, but to see ourselves in the other. To be a presence in which others may feel that they no longer need to pretend.
For awakening is not separation from humanity — it is its full embrace. It is the recognition that consciousness belongs to no one — it is what unites us all.
True Awakening is silent. It needs no words, rituals, or validation. It is not something we “have,” but something we are when the illusion of possession disappears.
It does not lift us above life — it immerses us deeper into its fabric. It does not separate us from people — it allows us to see God in each of them. It does not protect us from suffering — it opens the heart so wide that even pain becomes a prayer.
Awakening is not the end. It is the beginning of true presence. It is the moment we stop seeking truth — because we become it.
When the last petal of spiritual identity falls and only silence remains, we will know that awakening was never something that happened. It was always here.
We simply stopped pretending to be asleep.
We do not become someone new. We simply cease to be someone we never truly were. We return to ourselves — to that quiet, unmoving presence that has always been here, waiting for us to stop searching.
When the last petal of spiritual identity falls and only silence remains, we will know that awakening was never something that happened. It was always here.
We simply stopped pretending to be asleep.
Epilogue – My Own Experience with Gene Key 64
I do not write this as an observer. I write from a place that knows each of these illusions from within. In my profile, Gene Key 64 appears twice — as a reminder that seeing Truth is not the same as embodying it. For years I lived between worlds, caught in every spiritual trap I describe here.
I sign my name to each of these points — not as an author of theory, but as a witness to my own process. I have felt the spiritual ego put on a new mask — subtler, more luminous. I have felt the desire “to be someone awakened,” even if I never said it aloud. I have felt the yearning to be seen in my uniqueness — that subtle pride hidden beneath words of humility.
There were times when I escaped from shadow into light — when I preferred speaking of consciousness rather than feeling my pain. Times when I confused mission with control, and service with the need for significance. Times when spirituality became just another language my ego used for protection.
And yet — precisely in those moments of illusion, in that confusion — I came to recognize most deeply what Awakening truly is. Not as an idea, but as something that dissolves within us slowly, until only Silence remains — a silence that no longer needs to be named.
Gene Key 64 — The Shadow of Confusion — teaches me that I do not need to see everything to trust. That what is veiled is also sacred. That Truth does not always come in the blaze of understanding — sometimes it reveals itself in the full acceptance of not knowing.
Each of these illusions was part of my awakening. Each led me deeper — into humility, into humanity, into ordinariness. Because ultimately, when we remove all the spiritual garments, when we stop trying to be anyone “spiritual,” we discover something that needs no name at all.
I am not “awakened.” I am in a continual process of recognition and seeking Truth — and I know, and accept with humility and peace, that I will never find it :). I believe that what has a divine source and nature cannot be understood from the level of the human mind.
And if there is any grace in this — it is that now I can say:
every illusion was and is a blessing,
for each one points toward what has always been longing to be seen.