Menu
header photo

Project Vision 21

Transforming lives, renewing minds, cocreating the future

17 years      OF Archives

WEEKLY COMMENTARY (AUDIO, 4 MIN.)

VISUAL PRESENTATION

DISCLAIMER

The commentaries we share here are merely our thoughts and reflections at the time of their writing. They are never our final word about any topic, nor they necessarily guide our professional work. 

 

The abyss between What We Dream to be and What We Show to be

In these times when screens replace reality and social media profiles stand in for our identity—when every action is posted, and every experience is monetized—we slowly lose our connection to who we are and who we long to become.


By anchoring our identity in the number of “likes” we receive, we reduce our being to whatever fits the new Procrustean bed—now digitalized—shaping ourselves according to what shapes us in the moment. In doing so, we push aside the deep longing to become what we once hoped to be in order to bring meaning and direction to our lives.
 

Long forgotten is that ancient call from someone named Saul of Tarsus, urging us not to conform to the dominant molds of any era, but to be transformed through the constant renewal of our awareness.
 

Because, ultimately, that self that flows with life—the one born of deep questions without answers, rooted in authentic values and aspirations—disappears when replaced by another kind of identity: an idealized version of the self that exists solely to please others and to grab attention.
 

This is no longer about a legitimate desire to grow or to share the good in our lives with others, hoping they too will flourish. Instead, we live focused entirely on projecting an image that will be accepted—regardless of whether that image has anything to do with our reality.
 

We’re not suggesting a return to the past, much less that the past was somehow better. That would be self-deception. What we’re suggesting is becoming aware that instead of growing inward, we’ve scattered ourselves outward, posting images that leave our inner lives increasingly hollow.
 

By constantly repeating gestures, phrases, or styles just because they perform well online, we end up behaving as if life itself were a never-ending self-promotion campaign. The pursuit of approval becomes routine, and with it, the aspirational self—that part of us that invites change, even if uncomfortable—is pushed into a corner.
 

Even more troubling, over time, we may forget what we once dreamed or aspired to become, to the point of confusing the edited (and published) image with the real person. As we begin to live according to external expectations—wearing the masks of others, as Parker Palmer would say—we become yet another simulation in a society flooded with simulations, as Baudrillard warned.
 

What once seemed like success becomes a burden, and what looked like connection turns into isolation.
 

But not all is lost. Returning to the aspirational self doesn’t require turning off your phone or deleting your accounts. It simply requires pausing for a moment and asking yourself: Am I choosing what I show, or just copying it? Does this version of myself help me grow?
 

That’s why reclaiming the aspirational self means allowing ourselves to be unfinished and imperfect—but authentic. In a world saturated with simulators, rediscovering who we truly want to be is an act of courage—and the first step toward a life with meaning.

 

 Posted in General

When Silence Speaks, A New Life Begins

We live in a time when chaos and noise seem to cover every part of our lives — bad news, shallow opinions, constant crises, and rapid, disorienting change. In the middle of this whirlwind, it’s only natural to feel fear, confusion, frustration, or even resistance to anything that hints at "change."
 

In moments like these, words often fall short — or, as British philosopher Tim Freke puts it, they become “irrelevant.” Sometimes speaking too much doesn’t open doors; it closes them.
 

And I’m not talking about doors to business deals or new opportunities — I’m talking about the deeper portals that lead to our future.
 

That’s why today, just as every time I write or speak, I’m not offering you theories or solutions.
I don’t have them — and to be honest, I never have. All I can offer is a simple invitation: to create a space — whether within yourself or shared with others — where silence is allowed to speak, and words are allowed to fall away.
 

When the noise inside and around us begins to quiet down, when we stop clinging to our “certainties” and self-imposed limiting narratives, something new begins to emerge. It’s not something we can force or manufacture.
It rises naturally, like a hidden spring, from the open mind and the open heart.
 

In openness, we allow new life to begin.
 

But stepping into that openness isn’t easy. Between what we know and what is just starting to show itself, there’s an uncertain space — a space of ambiguity. It’s not the firm ground of the familiar, nor the blind leap into the unknown. It’s a threshold — a place where the old and the new brush against each other, sometimes clashing, sometimes embracing.
 

In that ambiguity, we allow the old and the new to meet.
 

And in that delicate, luminous meeting, we need more than intellectual understanding.
We need faith — not in the sense of adopting a dogma or joining a group, but the deep kind of faith that connects us to life itself. A trust that something greater is already at work.
 

In faith, we allow the new life to become a living truth.
 

The greatest transformations often begin in the smallest of ways — with a silence that dares to listen,
with an openness that dares to trust, with a heart that, even trembling, dares to believe that something beautiful is already on its way.
 

We need “islands of coherence” — as scientists like Ilya Prigogine and thinkers like Otto Scharmer describe them — small spaces of hope in the middle of the chaos. Places where we don’t waste energy fighting the old or denying the pain of the present but instead tend to the seeds of the new — seeds that are already quietly breaking through the soil.
 

We don’t have to understand it all to take the first step. All we need is to open ourselves to the possibility of a fuller, brighter, more authentic life that is trying to emerge through us, here and now, in the silence between words.

 

 Posted in General

Interwoven News Stories Reveal New Dimensions of Our Consciousness

In the frenzied, fast-paced rhythm of today’s news cycle—what Walter Ong once described as “pumping data at high speed through information pipelines”—stories overlap and pile up without offering direction or purpose, and often without any meaningful context beyond novelty or entertainment. But there are exceptions.
 

Recently, for instance, a report emerged based on an article in the journal The Astrophysical Journal Letters, revealing that the planet K2-18b—located 124 light-years from Earth—might be a habitable water-covered world. According to researchers from the Institute of Astronomy at the University of Cambridge, it could host liquid water across its surface.
 

More specifically, the scientists detected “the most promising signs yet of a possible biosignature” on that exoplanet. In plain terms, life—likely microbial—might exist or might once have existed on K2-18b.
 

Almost simultaneously, another headline reported that experts from Google’s DeepMind division declared that artificial intelligence has now grown “beyond human knowledge.” In their presentation, Welcome to the Era of Experience, researchers David Silver and Richard Sutton argued that AI will develop “incredible new capabilities” once it begins learning through experiences and interactions.
 

Meanwhile, yet another report detailed how two scientists from the University of California, San Diego, identified the “rules” the brain uses to form memories. The most significant rule? The brain adapts these rules to determine how neurons communicate based on what is being learned.
 

According to researchers William Wright and Takaki Komiyama, the brain’s billions of neurons simultaneously apply several different sets of learning rules. This allows the brain to encode new information “with greater precision.” This, they say, is how memory is formed.
 

Taken together, these three stories (and others like them) make it clear that humanity is now measuring times and distances—both natural and artificial—that are wildly disproportionate to our capacity for understanding. They render our human existence small, fleeting, and nearly irrelevant.
 

These ideas resonate with the work of contemporary philosopher Benjamin Cain, who explores the notion of deep time—a scale of time so vast it exceeds human comprehension yet constantly surrounds us like an impersonal abyss.
 

Similarly, philosopher Tim Morton discusses the existence of hyperobjects—entities so massive in temporal and spatial dimensions that they escape the scale of human cognition. They cannot be fully visualized, located, or sensed through ordinary means or even our most advanced technologies.
 

And in a 2015 paper, Greek researchers Helen Lazaratou and Dimitris Anagnostopoulos introduced the idea of transgenerational objects—psychological constructs unconsciously passed from one generation to the next, shaping the thoughts, behaviors, and emotions of multiple generations.
 

If Deep Time reveals the sacred vastness of our universe, Hyperobjects reveal the unseen mesh we’re embedded in, and Transgenerational Objects reveal the hidden stories we carry, then we are, indeed, on the edge of consciously seeing deeper and wider.
 

So, we are left with a profound question: Will we learn to live—and co-live—within this new spacetime entanglement and psychohistorical depth? Or will we stubbornly cling to a separate, autonomous “self”

 

 Posted in General

The Lack of Good Questions Disconnects Us from the New Future

In a recent interview, Spanish philosopher Juan Carlos Ruiz stated, “Nobody teaches us how to ask questions.” He then expanded on this idea, explaining that we lack a “pedagogy of the question” and, as a consequence, we also lack an ethics of dialogue—a key element for connecting with the emerging future.

As the eminent Brazilian educator and philosopher Paulo Freire noted last century, our educational systems have placed so much emphasis on answers that they’ve neglected the (perhaps even greater) importance of questions. While answers may demonstrate a degree of knowledge, questions generate new knowledge.
 

In our current era, as Ruiz points out, the situation has become even more serious. After so many decades of prioritizing answers, the rise of artificial intelligence has blurred the lines between “getting answers” and “gaining knowledge.” But this process often skips the personal transformation that comes from engaging with new knowledge.
 

This ease and speed of access to answers, Ruiz suggests, limits (and I would add, hinders) the expansion of our language. It leads to what he calls a “lexical poverty,” which in turn “often degenerates into cognitive poverty.”
This brings us to a timely quote from Wittgenstein: “The limits of my language mean the limits of my world.” (Tractatus, 5.6). For Wittgenstein, language is a mediator between us and reality (the world), whether in the context of formal logic (Tractatus, 1921) or within shared social practices (Philosophical Investigations, 1953).
 

When we stop asking questions, when we only seek answers, when vocabulary and understanding diminish, and when propositional knowledge (as John Vervaeke puts it) or what Ruiz calls the “declarative dynamic” is overemphasized, our world becomes narrower. Other ways of knowing—through processes, perspectives, and participation—are abandoned.
 

Vervaeke describes this condition as the “tyranny of propositions”—a mindset in which truth is reduced to the correct articulation of data (“Rome is the capital of Italy”), without questioning our ability to understand that data, its context and relevance, or our relationship to the community from which that data arises.
 

In short, we become disconnected from reality because we turn into spectators of our own lives, lacking the ability to rebalance our systems of knowledge. Without that rebalancing, we remain stuck in fragmentation—a state Vervaeke famously describes as “the meaning crisis.”
 

Freire advocated for an education rooted in curiosity, critical thinking, and above all, dialogue. None of this is new—Socrates was practicing it 2,400 years ago. But this isn’t about returning to the past or recreating it in the present; it’s about moving away from the shortcuts and superficialities that dominate today’s culture (think short social media videos).
 

If the future depends on our capacity to ask questions—and if no one is teaching us how to do that—then perhaps we need to return to the enduring questions of the past that are still relevant today. Starting, perhaps, with one of the most existentially iconic and paralyzing questions: “To be, or not to be: that is the question.” Let’s try it. 

 

 Posted in General

We Anthropomorphize AI and Robotize Humans

I recently read an article that analyzes two trends: the number of older adults worldwide is increasing, and simultaneously, more and more people of all ages are feeling lonely. The confluence of these two trends means that social isolation among older adults is inevitable, according to a recent study published by the American Sociological Association.
 

Globally, according to the World Health Organization, one in four (25%) older adults lack meaningful social relationships, and four in 10 (40%) have no consistent companionship in their lives.
 

Furthermore, according to the Gallup pollster, 20% to 33% of people globally feel lonely or experience loneliness, with those under 24 being the most affected. In the United States, 52% of adults report “feeling lonely regularly,” according to the American Psychiatric Association.
 

But these two trends, already worrying in themselves, seem to converge with a third growing trend: the anthropomorphization of interactions with artificial intelligence—that is, attributing human qualities to the responses generated by AI and, therefore, reacting emotionally as if a human had responded.
 

According to Carmen Sánchez, a Spanish philosopher and educator, the anthropomorphization of AI is a “major philosophical problem” in our time. It consists of believing that “because (AI) returns correct and appropriate linguistic constructions, we are actually participating in a meaningful dialogue.”
 

In other words, we are so detached and isolated from ourselves that we no longer even recognize ourselves when we look in the mirror of our own creations. In the context of our loneliness and the overwhelming need to satisfy our desire to speak to someone, we even believe we are speaking to someone when in reality we are not. 
 

In a recent publication, Sánchez provides solid philosophical foundations (John Austin's philosophy of language, John Searle's philosophy of mind) to refute "the idea that computational systems possess a true mind or intentionality in linguistic communication." Therefore, "The attribution of understanding is also erroneous."
 

Our loneliness and isolation have reached such a level that, as Sánchez explains, we confuse "the generation of coherent text" with speaking to another person. More specifically, we confuse "the appearance of a phenomenon with its underlying reality" by attributing conscious and intentional acts to AI. And this confusion has consequences.
 

We so desire someone to listen to us that we not only accept the simulation as reality (Plato, Jean Baudrillard), but we also become emotionally and cognitively attached to that simulation, enjoying it when the AI "says" (in quotes) "That's a very good question" or "That way of expressing yourself is very beautiful." 
 

In other words, loneliness and isolation create a suitable context for deceiving ourselves into thinking we're not alone. When we acritically accept the AI simulation as part of (or the totality of) our reality, we are close to acritically accepting any other simulation just because it “tells” us how intelligent and deserving we are. 
 

That's why I keep writing, because I still want to express my own thoughts, feelings, emotions, dreams, frustrations, successes, and failures, not those of some unknown algorithm.

 

 Posted in General

Forgotten Humanity? AI, Ethics, and the Crisis of Decision

We live in a world of such rapid technological advancement that the landscape of reality around us changes long before we’re able to understand that change or adapt to the new reality. In this context, the challenge arises of analyzing whether new technologies are compatible with our human faculties for making decisions on our own.

There’s no doubt that artificial intelligence systems are becoming increasingly sophisticated and, as leading experts like Shelly Palmer and John Vervaeke have warned, synthetic humans and general AI seem to be just around the corner. As Hong Kong philosopher Yuk Hui aptly states, it sounds like science fiction, but it’s not.

Because of these advancements, AI and its offshoots now appear capable of making decisions that once belonged exclusively to human judgment, whether in medicine, education, justice, or many other fields. This shift raises a fundamental question: Who is really deciding when a machine appears to decide for us?

One could argue that these systems have the potential to complement—and therefore improve—human decision-making by reducing the impact of our cognitive biases and enhancing the efficiency and effectiveness of decision-making processes.

But it can also be argued that the absence of human emotions and the inability of these systems to navigate the subtle complexities of ethics raise serious concerns about the potential unintended consequences of outsourcing our decisions to AI—as well as the seemingly inevitable erosion of human agency.

Scholars from many disciplines have long grappled with the ethical risks associated with AI decision-making. The core philosophical dilemma lies in the fact that AI systems, despite their advanced capabilities, lack inherent human qualities such as empathy, moral reasoning, and the ability to consider the broader social implications of their choices.

So, to what extent can we consider these systems responsible for their decisions—or for the consequences of their decisions?

One of the main concerns is the potential for AI systems to make decisions that conflict with human values and social norms, a theme that has been repeatedly explored in science fiction books, movies, and series. 

AI could perpetuate existing biases or even introduce new forms of discrimination, as proposed in movies like 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), Colossus: The Forbidden Project (1970), and I, Robot (2004, based on Isaac Asimov’s work), the episode “The Ultimate Computer” of Star Trek: The Original Series, the episode “The Measure of a Man” of Star Trek: The Next Generation, and the book Neuromancer by William Gibson (1984).

And what level of transparency or explainability can—or cannot—exist in the decision-making processes of AI systems? In fact, throughout history and even today, it has often been difficult to explain the reasons behind human actions and decisions.

Will these challenges be solved through even newer technologies or by enacting new laws? Probably not. And here another paradox arises: if we want AI to make decisions based on our ethical values, why aren’t we making those decisions ourselves? Have we already forgotten what it means to be human?

 Posted in General

A fictitious dialogue about human reality in the age of AI

We don’t know where it happened, and it is not necessary to know it. Perhaps in a place belonging neither to the past nor the future. Perhaps in that timeless space where broken stories come together, not to be fixed, but to be mutually acknowledged. 
 

Four people, each marked by their time and circumstance, met briefly in a nameless room. There, a round table, shelves of untitled books, a mirror that doesn’t quite reflect, and a clock whose hands have long since stopped.
 

Gregor, Winston, Romney, and Solan were all there. None of them sought answers. None offered solutions. What they shared was something rarer, and more necessary in our time: consciously intentional presence.
 

Gregor, whose life had been interrupted by a metamorphosis that turned him into something his family could not—or would not—understand, spoke from within his silence. There was no resentment, only the memory of how others’ discomfort had sealed his isolation.
 

Winston, from a world watched and controlled by constant distortion of the truth, shared the weight of seeking authenticity in a place where even thoughts were betrayed. His was not a cry of rebellion, but a quiet yearning for something real, something untouched by manipulation.
 

Romney, deemed “obsolete” by a system that could no longer tolerate faith or individual thought, didn’t defend his beliefs—he inhabited them. His calm, lucid presence bore witness to the truth that human dignity requires no permission to exist.
 

Solan was the newest arrival. He came from another time—one not yet fully here. A time in which artificial intelligence has become deeply intimate, increasingly attuned to our emotions, patterns, and choices. 
 

He shared his concern: that in this hyper-personalized connection, we may lose what genuinely connects us to each other. That if we do not reclaim the art of deep listening, we risk being reflected endlessly by machines that cannot truly return our gaze.
 

And so, across memories and futures, no one interrupted. They listened. They recognized. And in that recognition, a different form of humanity emerged, the one that endures through shared presence.
 

On the table, an open book began to fill with words no one had written, but all had felt. They were not ideas or arguments, but traces of existence. The mirror, for a moment, reflected something—not a face, but a shared awareness. And the clock… the clock no longer marked the passage of time. It marked something else: the depth of the eternal moment.
 

At the end, without needing to decide who spoke, they all breathed a single truth, as if it were an ancient echo:
 

“And in presence, we are no longer insects or traitors or obsolete… In presence, we are… human.”
 

It is not the speed of our tools that defines us, but the depth of our relationships. Relearning how to be present and recognizing one another without judgment is the foundation of a new future because the future must begin with something as simple as truly listening to one another.

 

 Posted in General

Beyond the Threshold: Rethinking the Universe, Rethinking Ourselves

At the intersection of advanced technology and contemporary philosophy, a new narrative is unfolding—one that redefines our understanding of the universe and of ourselves.
 

Shelly Palmer’s recent reflections on the rapid advancement of AI-powered humanoid robots invite us to question our identity and the role we play in an increasingly automated world. These technological developments not only promise to transform labor markets and domestic tasks, but they also challenge the very essence of what it means to be human.
 

The convergence of more powerful AI models, advanced dexterity, and multimodal learning is bringing robots out of factories and into everyday life. 
 

Projects like Google DeepMind’s Gemini Robotics, which integrates vision, language, and action, enable machines to perform complex physical tasks without extensive pre-programming. These robots can fold paper, unscrew bottle caps, and organize objects with remarkable precision. Collaborations with leading robotics companies underscore the objective of making robots more capable, more useful, and ultimately, more accessible to businesses and consumers alike.
 

This technological evolution resonates with philosophical and scientific ideas that question the nature of reality itself. The holographic universe hypothesis suggests that our three-dimensional perception may actually be a projection of information encoded on a two-dimensional boundary of the cosmos. This notion, along with the possibility that the universe could be contained within a black hole, forces us to reconsider the very structure of reality. 
 

Moreover, Nick Bostrom’s simulation hypothesis, which proposes that we may be living in a sophisticated simulation created by an advanced civilization, adds yet another layer of complexity to our quest for self-understanding.
 

Also, Otto Scharmer’s theory of the "emerging future" takes on new significance. Scharmer suggests that the future is not merely an extension of the past, but a constantly forming reality—one that we can influence through our awareness and present actions. The integration of humanoid robots into our society will not only transform the way we live and work, but it will also shape our collective evolution and redefine what it means to be human.
 

The convergence of these ideas suggests that a new understanding of the universe is inseparable from a new understanding of humanity. Technologies that challenge our perception of the cosmos simultaneously compel us to reexamine our identity and purpose. We are at a threshold where technology, philosophy, and science intertwine—pushing us to expand the boundaries of our comprehension and inviting us to take an active role in our shared future.
 

We are not merely witnessing a collection of disconnected trends. We are standing before a moment in history where the very definition of reality and humanity is shifting. The universe is no longer what we thought it was. We are no longer what we thought we were.
 

Therefore, our role is shifting from passive observers of technological change to active participants in shaping what “human” will mean in the 21st century.
 

It’s not a hallucination. It is a cosmic invitation to participate in shaping the reality that is coming into being. Will we answer that call?

 

 Posted in General

Living in harmony with our own becoming

Change—whether superficial or a profound transformation—is one of the most perplexing paradoxes of human existence because it means both being and not being at the same time, ceasing to be in order to become, living in the "in-between" of the "no longer" and the "not yet."

We often see with great clarity that others should change, yet we struggle to recognize the need for change within ourselves. This phenomenon is so ancient that it was already noted two thousand years ago: in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus pointed out that we tend to notice the speck in our neighbor’s eye while ignoring the beam in our own (Matthew 7:3-5). This is not about religion but about human nature—it is easier to analyze from a distance than from within.
 

Some 2,500 years ago, Heraclitus had already intuited this tension when he declared that "everything flows," reminding us that change is inevitable but not necessarily easy or conscious. Human beings tend to cling to the familiar, even when doing so means remaining trapped in patterns that limit or harm us.
 

When someone does not change, is it because they cannot, do not want to, or do not recognize that they should?
 

There are cases in which change requires more resources, support, or skills than a person currently possesses. Factors such as environment, education, past experiences, and even biology can limit one’s capacity for transformation. Asking someone to overcome trauma is not the same as asking them to reorganize their schedule.
 

At times, resistance to change stems from a conscious or unconscious decision to remain in the comfort zone. Change means facing uncertainty, and the fear of losing what one has—however imperfect—can be stronger than the desire to improve. There may also be hidden benefits to not changing: maintaining a sense of identity, avoiding responsibilities, or preserving dynamics that feel convenient.
 

And sometimes, people simply do not recognize that they need to change. It is not that they are stubborn or negligent, but rather that their frame of reference prevents them from seeing what others see so clearly. This is where cognitive biases, the dissonance between self-image and reality, and our reluctance to question our own narratives come into play.
 

In our time, we live in a world where pointing out others' mistakes has become a social norm, yet deep introspection remains uncomfortable and largely discouraged.
 

However, change does not have to be an individual struggle or a solitary process. John Vervaeke proposes the idea of an ecology of practices—a set of interconnected methods (including meditation, Socratic dialogue, philosophical contemplation, or participation in learning communities) that can help us refine our perception, reduce biases, and expand our understanding of ourselves and the world.
 

Change requires more than simply recognizing a need. It demands a combination of self-awareness, will, and favorable conditions. As Heraclitus said, reality flows—and only those who learn to be transformed along with it can truly live in harmony with their own becoming.

 

 Posted in General

What Can We Do When We Can’t Do Anything?

Over the past few weeks, an increasing number of people have been asking me—more frequently than usual, though not unexpectedly—what we can do in a world and society undergoing such deep, constant, and unconsulted changes that they literally disorient and even paralyze us. And they asked me, as if I had an answer.


For many, the need to reflect arises—perhaps for the first time—because we find ourselves living in a world that is volatile (any conflict can erupt anywhere, at any moment), unpredictable (we cannot anticipate what will happen), complex (what happens in one place affects everything else), and ambiguous (nothing is as it seems).
 

Perhaps reflection should begin with the fact that at every moment of our lives, we are situated within a historical, cultural, social, and linguistic context. When that context remains stable—and therefore manageable—for a long time, we take it so much for granted that we lose awareness of its presence. (It’s similar to how, after listening to the sound of rain for a long time, we stop noticing it.)
 

The prominent and trailblazing Spanish philosopher José Ortega y Gasset captured this idea in a strikingly simple yet profound way: “I am I and my circumstances.” (Prologue to Meditations on Quixote, 1914). He immediately added: “If I do not save them, I do not save myself.” Yet in daily life, we often ignore both the duplication of the self and the circumstances surrounding it.
 

This is neither the time nor the place to fully unpack Ortega’s famous statement, so for now, we will simply say that only by becoming aware of our own awareness can we recognize our circumstances. At the same time, it is only through our circumstances that we become aware of ourselves. It is an inseparable and continuous interaction.
 

Through the rereading of Ortega by Humberto Maturana and Francisco Varela, his philosophical ideas—reframed from a biological and scientific perspective (as embodied cognition)—have had a significant influence on the neuroscientific and phenomenological research of John Vervaeke at the University of Toronto.
 

In fact, Ortega’s concept of circumstance seems to expand into Vervaeke’s idea of agent-arena (or agent-situatedness). Put simply, in order to know how to act, we must first recognize the arena in which we are acting. We cannot step onto a soccer field dressed as ballet dancers. The arena defines—though not entirely—the ways in which we can act.
 

So, what can we do in today’s world? First, become aware of our own awareness and our circumstances. Second, creatively adapt our actions to the arena we find ourselves in. But there may be a further step: preparing for the future, rather than just a future.
 

The future is not merely the day after today. That’s just chronological time. The existential, living future is an expansion of awareness that allows us to access possibilities and opportunities previously unseen or unimagined. This awareness of possibility enables us to be ready for any future—whether pleasant or not.

 

 Posted in General

View older posts »