The Infinite Mind: Journey to the Self

It never ends—wherever you start, you only get lost in the infinity of the human mind. Who is the cultivated? Who narrows the boundaries of this infinity? I am a writer. I have a reason to write. But what can you write without truly being a writer? Are those words merely echoes of great authors, sophisticated expressions crafted for the elite, understood only by those initiated into the world of letters?

How can I understand what I read if I never had the chance to be schooled properly? I’m not a university professor, nor an expert in literature. I don’t decipher cryptic texts or weave through complex theories. Do they want common people like me to remain lost, to be excluded from knowledge? Who says I don’t love books? Who says I don’t want education? I may not understand the jargon, but I do understand the world around me—astrology, stories, life itself—because it is shared in a language I can grasp. When did your knowledge become so twisted, so obscured, that it became a barrier instead of a bridge?

Is the world truly so complicated? Or do some choose to veil it behind layers of complexity to keep others from entering the path of learning?

For years, I battled this frustration. I fought to fit into molds, to grasp knowledge so purposely tangled and expensive that it required sacrifice from my family. I poured hours into reading, my eyes aching, my spirit weary. Sometimes I felt abandoned by education—as if it had rejected me, leaving me dumbfounded and lost. I was told I wasn’t good enough to join the ranks of the learned.

Then came a turning point, a slow descent into a different kind of madness—a madness born of love and pain, of longing and despair. For seven years, I wrestled with my inner self, trapped in a vast sea of loneliness, drowning in the infinite mind’s depths. It was there, alone and forgotten, that I discovered an unfamiliar feeling: not of the intellect, but of the soul.

Loneliness—the heavy companion of the isolated self.

No matter how much I tried, social bonds remained elusive. Friends were fleeting, relationships hollow. Everyone seemed too busy, too distracted, too distant. The tormented mind slowly realized it was left only with itself.

And so began the journey inward, to meet the self.

“Myself,” I whispered. “I am glad to finally meet you.” We have shared this body all these years, walked this earth with the same eyes, breathed the same air—yet I never asked if you were happy. I never cared if you felt alone.

Once, I sought knowledge outside, chasing education that was beyond my reach. Now, years later, I find the wisdom I craved resides within. This self, my constant companion, the silent witness to my pain and joy, my fear and hope.

Together, we gaze at the infinite sky. Some days, the loneliness weighs heavily—I want to disappear. But then wisdom returns, soft and steady:
“You saw what was needed. You survived what was unbearable. You carry the strength of infinity within you.”

This is only the beginning. The journey continues—ever deeper into the mind, ever closer to the self.

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More to come in my upcoming books…