Truth Isn’t What You Think

Undoing the Collapse Between Belief and Truth

There is a grief that comes before any tears.

It arrives the moment you realize something you’ve always called “truth”

…was only ever a belief.

Not a lie.

Not a manipulation.

But a belief.

A lens.

A spell spoken over you long ago that you mistook for reality itself.

Why We Collapse Them

Because we are human.

Because we need order.

Because we’re born into stories too large and ancient to question — stories inherited like skin, stitched with blood, fear, longing, and love.

The collapse of belief into truth is not a failure.

It’s an act of survival.

As children, we cannot hold multiplicity.

We need to know:

Who is safe?

What is good?

What does love require of me?

So we accept the answers we are given.

We call them truth.

And we forget they had an origin. A moment. A speaker.

Eventually, we speak them ourselves.

And so the spell passes on.

But What Is Truth, Really?

Not fact.

Not certainty.

Not even agreement.

Truth, in its rawest form, is relational.

It exists between us. Beneath us. Beyond us.

It shimmers. It contradicts. It expands when shared, not defended.

The Earth holds truth.

So does the body.

So does the silence between people who love one another but no longer see the world the same way.

Truth is not what you know.

It is what you meet.

And often, it is what you are unwilling to meet that reveals the shape of your beliefs.

The Impact of Mistaking Belief for Truth

When we confuse the two, we forget that truth can have more than one voice.

We call one worldview “common sense” and pathologize all others.

We raise children who fear difference.

We create laws to protect our comfort, not to honour complexity.

We begin to believe:

• That our God is the only one who speaks.

• That our way is the only way to love, to live, to lead.

• That if someone else’s truth exists, ours must disappear.

This is how families break.

This is how cultures disappear.

This is how entire ecosystems die — because we believed the land was ours to name and tame.

We didn’t know how to listen.

The Cost to the Soul

The moment we collapse belief into truth, we close a door inside ourselves.

We stop asking.

We stop wondering.

We stop being surprised.

We narrow the world until it fits what we already know —

And call that knowing “wisdom.”

But it isn’t wisdom.

It’s containment.

And our spirits were never meant to live in boxes.

We are wild creatures of curiosity.

Born to be transformed by encounter.

Ritual: Sitting with the Difference

To uncollapse belief from truth, we must practice.

Here is a ritual for remembering:

What you’ll need:

• A candle or small bowl of water

• Two small stones, shells, or natural objects

• A quiet place to sit (outside if possible)

Step 1: Prepare the space.

Light the candle or place the water before you as a symbol of clarity.

Let this be a space of humility. You’re not here to be right — you’re here to remember how to listen.

Step 2: Hold the first object.

Let it represent something you’ve always believed.

Speak the belief aloud.

Ask:

Is this true for everyone, everywhere, across time?

Where did I learn this? Who gave it to me?

What might open if I let this belief soften?

Step 3: Hold the second object.

Let it represent a truth you’re afraid to name.

Speak it gently.

Ask:

Can I allow this truth to live, even if it doesn’t yet belong anywhere?

What would it take to honour this truth without needing to prove it?

Place both objects side by side.

Not in opposition.

But in relationship.

Step 4: Speak these words aloud:

I am not my beliefs.

I am not their beliefs.

I am the one who listens.

I am the one who chooses again.

I make space for truth to change shape.

I release what no longer serves.

I remember that love survives uncertainty.

Blow out the candle or touch the water.

Let this ritual live inside you as a new way of being.

The Day I Let Go of My Truth

It wasn’t dramatic.

No shouting. No breaking glass.

Just a moment —

sitting in stillness

watching someone I loved speak something I couldn’t agree with

and realizing…

I didn’t have to agree.

I didn’t have to fix it.

I didn’t have to make one of us wrong.

I could just sit in the space between.

And still love them.

And still love myself.

And somehow,

that space felt more like truth than anything I’d ever believed.

This is the invitation.

To live in relationship with truth,

not possession of it.

To let truth move.

To let belief soften.

To make room for others to arrive whole.

Because we were never meant to defend our truths like fortresses.

We were meant to open them like doors.

Let others walk through.

Let ourselves be changed.

Let the truth

not be what we think —

but what we meet.