What Actually Causes Our Suffering?

When we look at human suffering, we see that it can arise from an enormous variety of experiences. Loss, disappointment, insecurity, fear, rejection, sadness, anger, helplessness. Life brings movements and experiences that we don’t always understand, don’t necessarily want and often cannot influence.

Something happens in our lives, and an experience arises within us. We feel sadness. Something touches us deeply. Fear or resistance emerges. We feel insecure, rejected or wronged. In themselves, these are human experiences. They are part of life and part of being human. They are not necessarily the problem.

But what happens next?

We start giving meaning to what has happened. We create stories. We draw conclusions from our experiences and, in doing so, develop an image of ourselves, others and the world. An event, for example, becomes more than something that simply happened. It becomes something we believe says something about us.

Someone doesn’t respond in the way we had hoped, and suddenly a story emerges that we’re not important enough. Something is rejected, and we turn that into the conclusion that we’re not good enough. We experience insecurity and begin to believe that we’re somehow falling short.

Gradually, an entire structure of thoughts, beliefs, memories, expectations and identifications takes shape. And without always realising it, we begin to look at life through that structure. We no longer simply see what is happening. We see what we think is happening, what we fear might happen and what previous experiences have taught us to expect.

This is where an important layer of suffering emerges.

Not necessarily in the original experience itself, but in everything we build around it and subsequently identify with.

We’re not just feeling sad; we become someone who is always abandoned. We don’t simply experience insecurity; we become someone who isn’t good enough. We don’t merely feel fear; we begin to believe that the world is unsafe and that we constantly need to be on guard.

An experience becomes an identity. A thought becomes a truth. A story becomes a reality within which we begin to live. And precisely because we identify with these stories, they increasingly influence the way we experience life.

What’s particularly interesting is that we’re often not even aware of this happening. We think we’re simply responding to reality. That what we feel, think and believe comes directly from what is happening around us. But how many of our reactions are actually coloured by things we’ve experienced in the past? How many of the things we believe about ourselves did we once accept without ever consciously examining them?

We have all developed ways of dealing with life. Ways of protecting ourselves, avoiding pain, maintaining control, seeking recognition and feeling safe. These ways of responding didn’t just appear out of nowhere. Often, they once served a purpose.

A belief may once have been a way of making sense of something we couldn’t understand. A particular attitude may have protected us from rejection. Constantly adapting to others may have been a way of maintaining connection. But what once served as a form of protection can eventually become a limitation. What once helped us navigate life can ultimately distance us from it. And as long as we’re unaware of these movements within ourselves, we continue to repeat them.

We think we’re responding freely, while often reacting from old patterns. We think we’re making conscious choices, while all kinds of unconscious beliefs and identifications continue to influence us in the background.

This isn’t something we need to blame ourselves for. Rather, it’s an invitation to become curious about what’s really happening. Because how can we begin to see something differently if we aren’t even aware of the perspective through which we’re looking?

This is where, for me, the essence of the subject begins to emerge.

What happens when we allow the light of awareness to shine on something?

It doesn’t mean that something has to change. Nothing needs to be fixed. Nothing needs to be removed. We don’t have to immediately create a different thought or adopt a more positive belief.

The first thing that happens is simply that something becomes visible.

Something that was previously present in the background, but that we couldn’t truly see, comes into view.

Perhaps we discover that beneath our anger there is actually sadness. That beneath our need for control lies a deep sense of insecurity. That behind our tendency to constantly prove ourselves lives a belief that we’re somehow not good enough as we are. Perhaps we suddenly recognise how often we adapt ourselves to others, how quickly we draw conclusions or how tightly we hold on to a particular image of ourselves. Not because we’ve consciously chosen all of this, but because these patterns have gradually developed within us.

The light of awareness makes this visible.

And that is something very different from trying to change it. Because as long as something remains hidden, it’s almost impossible to distinguish what is actually happening. We may experience the consequences. We feel that something affects us, that we’re getting stuck somewhere or that we keep finding ourselves in the same patterns. But we don’t yet clearly see what’s really going on.

It’s as if we’re standing in a dark room. We can sense that all kinds of things are present. We bump into something, become entangled in something or experience discomfort. But as long as we cannot see what’s in that room, we mainly keep reacting to the consequences. When light enters the room, the space itself doesn’t suddenly become different. The objects don’t disappear. The obstacles are still there. What was previously hidden simply becomes visible. And because we can now see, an entirely different possibility emerges in the way we relate to what is there.

That is the power of awareness.

Not that it immediately changes everything, but that it gives us the opportunity to see.

There is sometimes a misunderstanding surrounding awareness and personal or spiritual development. As if becoming more conscious means we should experience fewer difficult emotions. As if fear, anger, sadness, jealousy, insecurity or resistance should eventually disappear. As if awareness means constantly existing in a state of love, peace and light.

But isn’t that simply another form of identification?

Another ideal image of how we believe we should be?

Because life continues to move. Experiences will continue to arise that touch us. There will still be moments when we feel insecure, become sad, experience anger or feel resistance towards something. Awareness doesn’t mean these human movements disappear. Nor does it mean that we simply have to approve of everything, accept everything or stop setting boundaries. It means that we can increasingly learn to distinguish between what arises within us and what we subsequently do with it.

Between experiencing a feeling and believing that this feeling tells us the truth about who we are. Between having a thought and accepting that thought as reality. Between being touched by something and completely identifying ourselves with that experience.

Darkness doesn’t have to disappear for light to be present.

Fear is allowed to be there. Sadness is allowed to be there. Anger is allowed to be there. Insecurity is allowed to be there. But we no longer have to live entirely from these movements. We can increasingly recognise them as something that is happening within us at a particular moment. And in doing so, our relationship with them begins to change.

Perhaps this is one of the most important movements that awareness makes possible: developing discernment.

The ability to see with increasing clarity what is actually happening.

What is an experience, and what is the story I’m placing on top of it?

What am I actually feeling, and what conclusions am I drawing from that feeling?

What is happening here and now, and what is being reactivated from my past?

What is truly present, and what am I adding through my beliefs, expectations and identifications?

This distinction doesn’t emerge by constantly analysing everything or forcing ourselves to think differently. It emerges precisely because we become willing to look.

Without immediately judging. Without needing to explain everything. Without having to resolve something before we’ve truly seen it. We begin to recognise that a thought isn’t automatically true. That an emotion isn’t automatically an instruction. That a belief isn’t necessarily a fact. And that a story we’ve believed about ourselves for years doesn’t necessarily tell us who we really are.

This doesn’t mean we need to reject our thoughts and feelings. Quite the opposite. We are allowed to meet them fully. We no longer have to automatically become absorbed in them. Space begins to emerge between what arises within us and the way we relate to it. And within that space, something new becomes possible.

Through clarity.

The Movements Remain, but Our Relationship with Them Changes

This is perhaps what I feel is most important to emphasise.

Becoming more aware doesn’t mean rising above life. It doesn’t mean we are no longer affected by things, that we no longer face challenges or that everything suddenly becomes effortless.

Life continues to be life.

There will be moments when we experience sadness. Moments when we are confronted with our insecurities. Moments when old patterns become visible again. Moments when we respond in a way that makes us think afterwards: there it is again, something happened there. But something can change in the way we relate to these experiences.

Where previously we were completely carried away by a thought or emotion, we may begin to recognise it sooner. Where previously we reacted automatically from an old belief, a moment of awareness may emerge. Where previously we immediately believed that something was about us, we can begin to explore what actually happened. And sometimes this means acting differently. Sometimes it means setting a boundary, having a conversation or making a choice that we couldn’t previously see. But sometimes it simply means that, for the first time, we truly see something. And that, too, is valuable. Because not every moment of awareness has to lead immediately to a change in behaviour. Sometimes the act of seeing itself is already a significant shift.

We don’t have to transform everything that becomes visible. We don’t have to turn every discovery into another project in which we need to improve ourselves. There can also be space simply to see, recognise and understand. To discover how certain movements within us came into being and how they influence our lives. From that clarity, our relationship with these movements can gradually change. Not because we force ourselves to change, but because we no longer automatically merge with everything in the same unconscious way.

And so we return to the symbolism of light and darkness. Perhaps light doesn’t need to overcome darkness after all. Perhaps light doesn’t need to fight anything.

Light makes things visible.

When we switch on a lamp in a dark room, we don’t have to push the darkness away. We don’t need to convince the darkness that it should disappear. We don’t have to fight against it.

The light is simply there, and because of that, we can see. And perhaps the same applies to our inner world.

When we bring awareness to our fears, beliefs, identifications and stories, we don’t need to judge or fight them. We don’t have to transform everything we experience as dark into something light. We can simply look.

What is actually alive here? What’s happening? What am I trying to avoid? What am I holding on to? Which story do I believe? And what happens when I no longer automatically accept that story as the truth?

This doesn’t mean that everything we discover will be pleasant. Sometimes it’s confronting to see how we limit ourselves. Sometimes it’s painful to recognise how we’ve acted out of fear. Sometimes we discover that we’ve held on for years to beliefs that don’t truly serve us. But even that doesn’t have to be a reason to look away.

The invitation stays: a willingness to see.

We can use any moment as an invitation to pause and become aware of what’s happening within us.

Where are we still living from old stories?

Which thoughts do we accept as truth without questioning them?

Where are we trying to avoid, control or change something because we don’t truly want to feel what’s present?

And where might we allow a little more light to shine?

Not to improve ourselves. Not to become a better version of ourselves. Not to leave all our darker aspects behind. But simply to see with increasing clarity.

Perhaps this is a much more essential meaning of light. That it doesn’t tell us what we should be, but makes visible what is already there. That it doesn’t ask us to reject parts of ourselves, but to learn to recognise them. That it isn’t about creating a life in which only light remains, but about living a life in which we no longer need to look away from what is truly happening.

Because the more we see, the more discernment can emerge. And the more discernment develops, the less we need to be automatically guided by everything that arises within us.

The movements remain.

Thoughts continue to come and go. Emotions continue to move. Life continues to touch us and challenge us. But our relationship with all of this can change. And perhaps that is what awareness is really about.

Not driving out the darkness, but allowing light to shine so that we can see with increasing clarity.