DW's Blog
Truth: The Partner I’ve Known Since Conception
by DW Green — October 15, 2025

“But the Truth remains, patient, waiting, always available, never forcing itself, just quietly being what it is: the ground of everything, the source of everything, the One expressing itself as all things.”
There are some things you don’t learn so much as remember. Some knowings that don’t arrive from outside but well up from within, as if they’ve been there all along, waiting patiently for you to notice them. Truth, for me, has been one of these—not a concept I acquired but a companion I’ve walked with since before I had words, since before I had thoughts, since the very beginning of this particular expression of consciousness that calls itself “me.”
To say this feels both impossibly intimate and strangely natural. Truth as my lifelong partner. Not truth as philosophical proposition or debatable claim, but Truth as the living presence that’s been here all along, the ground beneath every step, the breath behind every breath.
The Knowing That Can’t Be Taught
Recently, in a retreat group I belonged to for a dozen years, I suggested we explore the unique distinction of the word Truth. The suggestion went nowhere. And I think I understand why: Truth is only known firsthand, experientially. You cannot talk someone into it, argue them toward it, or explain it in a way that transmits the knowing itself.
You can point. You can invite. You can create conditions where recognition might occur. But the recognition itself—that warm, comfortable feeling of yes, this is so—that belongs to each person’s direct encounter. It’s like trying to describe the taste of honey to someone who’s never tasted sweetness. The words can gesture, but they cannot give the experience.
And yet. Here I am, writing about it anyway. Because even though Truth cannot be captured in language, even though it lives beyond words in the realm of direct knowing, there’s something in us that wants to share, to point, to say to each other: Do you feel this too? This thing I cannot name but somehow know with certainty?
Not My Truth, But THE Truth
Let me be clear about something from the start: This isn’t “my truth” as if there are multiple truths competing for validity, as if truth is merely personal perspective or individual experience. This is my recognition of THE Truth—the one that’s true whether I recognize it or not, whether anyone recognizes it or not.
My experience of it is uniquely mine. My words for it are mine. The particular way it shows up in my living is mine. But what I’m pointing toward is universal, eternal, unchanging. It was true before I was born. It will be true after this body dies. It’s true for everyone, even those who haven’t yet remembered it.
This distinction matters. In our contemporary landscape, “my truth” has become a way to honor different perspectives, to validate personal experience, to make room for multiple viewpoints. That’s valuable in its place. But what I’m speaking about here is something different—not perspective, but what IS. Not interpretation, but reality itself.
I am bearing witness to THE Truth as it reveals itself through my living, through my direct experience, through the partnership I’ve known since conception. But the Truth itself doesn’t belong to me any more than gravity belongs to the person who discovers they can fall. It simply is what it is, available to all, waiting to be recognized by anyone willing to look.
One With All Things
The Truth I’ve partnered with since conception is this: I am one with God, one with all things, past present and future.
Even as I write those words, part of me knows how they might sound—grandiose, mystical, perhaps presumptuous. But that’s the mind’s chatter, its nervousness about claims that can’t be proven in conventional ways. The knowing itself is much quieter, much simpler. It doesn’t shout or insist. It just… is. Like breathing. Like existing. Like the warm weight of truth you can softly place in your pocket with a smile.
This isn’t something I figured out through study or arrived at through reasoning. It’s more fundamental than thought. Before I had language for God, before I understood concepts like unity or oneness, before I knew anything about mysticism or philosophy or theology, there was this felt sense: Everything is connected. I am not separate. There is only One, experiencing itself through infinite forms.
The mystics across traditions have always known this. Meister Eckhart: “The eye through which I see God is the same eye through which God sees me.” The Upanishads: “Tat tvam asi”—Thou art that. Jesus: “The Father and I are one.” Rumi: “You are not a drop in the ocean. You are the entire ocean in a drop.”
Different words, different traditions, same recognition. Not because someone taught it to them, but because they remembered what was always true. What is always true. What will always be true.
The Holy Trinity of Experience
There’s a reason the trinity resonates so deeply—not as doctrine to believe in, but as pattern to recognize. Three faces of the same reality. Father, Son, Holy Spirit. The Source, the Incarnation, the Living Presence. The Eternal, the Now, the Continuous Becoming.
Or, as I’ve come to understand it: God, Truth, Love.
These aren’t three separate things requiring faith to connect. They’re three ways of encountering the One that contains everything. God is the infinite wholeness, the all of it, the ground of being. Truth is what is, what has always been, what cannot be other than it is. Love is the force that recognizes itself in every form, the gravity that pulls all things back toward unity.
And we—you, me, all of us—we are not separate from this trinity. We are expressions of it. Temporarily forgetting our nature so we can experience the joy of remembering. Playing hide and seek with ourselves. God experiencing what it’s like to be human, to feel separate, to journey back toward the recognition of what we’ve always been.
This isn’t belief. This is the truth I’ve carried in my pocket since conception, the knowing that lives deeper than doubt, quieter than questions, more certain than any argument could ever make it.
The Warm Recognition
Here’s what I’ve noticed: this knowing isn’t exclusive to me or to mystics or to anyone special. It’s available to everyone because it’s what everyone already is. We’re all One with what is and whatever will be. Some of us just remember it more clearly than others, more consistently, with less interference from the mind’s chatter about impossibility.
When someone has a moment of recognizing this—even briefly, even just for a heartbeat—there’s a quality to it that’s unmistakable. A warmth. A rightness. Not the heat of excitement or the satisfaction of figuring something out, but something gentler. Like coming home. Like remembering something you’d forgotten you knew. Like the relief of finally being able to stop pretending to be separate.
You’ve probably felt it yourself, even if you’ve never named it this way. Those moments when the boundaries seem to dissolve. When you’re watching a sunset and suddenly you’re not separate from it—you’re the watching and the watched, the beauty and the beholder, all of it one seamless experience. When you look into someone’s eyes and recognize not just a person but consciousness itself looking back at itself. When grief or joy cracks you open and suddenly you’re not contained anymore—you’re spilling out into everything, or everything is spilling into you, and there’s no clear line between
These aren’t mystical experiences reserved for saints and sages. They’re moments of remembering what’s always true. The veil thins. The forgetting pauses. And for just a moment, we know: Oh. This is what I am. This is what everything is. There is only One, and I am That.
Why Words Matter (Even When They Can’t Capture It)
If Truth can only be known experientially, why write about it at all? Why use words to point toward what lives beyond words?
Because we’re human. Because we’re consciousness expressing itself through language, through story, through the reaching toward each other that connection requires. Because even though words can’t give the experience, they can create invitation. They can say: Look here. Pay attention to this. Notice what you already know but might have forgotten.
This is what all spiritual writing is really doing—not explaining Truth but pointing toward where you might encounter it yourself. Not giving you answers but helping you recognize the questions that lead somewhere real. Not teaching you something new but reminding you of what’s always been here, waiting to be noticed.
The words are fingers pointing at the moon. The pointing matters, even though the finger is never the moon. We need the pointing. We need each other’s attempts to gesture toward the wordless knowing. We need the invitation that says: I’ve seen this. Have you? Can we meet here, in this recognition?
Rumi understood this perfectly when he wrote:
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
There is a field. I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
The world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
Doesn’t make any sense.
That field beyond wrongdoing and rightdoing—that’s where we meet in the recognition of Truth. Where the boundaries dissolve. Where even “each other” stops making sense because there is no other, only the One recognizing itself. The world becomes too full to talk about because we’re no longer standing outside it observing—we’re lying down in that grass, inseparable from everything.
And yet, we keep trying to speak about it anyway. Not because words can capture it, but because the invitation matters. Because somewhere, someone might hear the pointing and remember to look toward that field themselves.
Living As the One
The practical question, of course, is: So what? If we’re all One with God, one with all things, if this is the fundamental truth of existence—what difference does it make in how we live?
Everything. It makes all the difference.
When you know—not believe, but know—that there is no real separation, that everyone you meet is yourself in another form, that everything you do to another you’re doing to yourself… how could you not live with more compassion, more patience, more love?
When you understand that past, present, and future are all held in the eternal Now, that you’re not racing toward something but already immersed in it… how could you not be more present, more grateful, more awake to what’s already here?
When you recognize that God isn’t somewhere else watching and judging but is the very consciousness through which you’re experiencing this moment… how could you not treat each moment, each encounter, each breath as sacred?
This isn’t about being perfect or enlightened or better than anyone else. It’s about remembering more often. Forgetting less frequently. Living from the knowing rather than from the forgetting. And when we do forget—because we will, we’re human—it’s about the gentleness of coming back. Again and again. Like waves returning to the ocean that they never actually left.
The Universal Invitation
Here’s what I believe with the same warm certainty I’ve carried since conception: this Truth is knowable to all of us. Not because we’re all mystics or especially spiritual or somehow special. But because we’re all expressions of the One that is. We are each God experiencing itself through a particular form, in a particular moment, with a particular flavor of consciousness.
You already know this. You’ve always known it. Even if you’ve never thought about it in these terms, even if you’d use completely different words, even if you’d reject the language I’m using entirely—the knowing is there. The Truth is there. The recognition is available.
It might come in a moment of profound peace. Or in deep grief that cracks you open to everything. Or in ordinary wonder at the way light falls through leaves. Or in the eyes of your child. Or in the overwhelming sense of being held by something larger than you can name. Or in the simple, inexplicable warmth of knowing: I am not alone. I have never been alone. There is only One, and I am That.
Truth as Partner
To live with Truth as partner since conception means living with a knowing that doesn’t need defense or proof. It means carrying something in your pocket that makes you smile even when you can’t quite explain why. It means being walked by something larger than yourself that is also inseparable from yourself.
It means recognizing that every spiritual path, every religion, every mystical tradition is pointing toward the same recognition using different words, different stories, different fingers pointing at the same moon.
It means understanding that atheists who reject God-as-separate-being while feeling profound connection to the universe are having the same recognition as mystics who talk about union with the Divine. Different words. Same knowing.
It means seeing that we’re all trying to remember together. Some of us remember more clearly right now. Some remember only in flashes. Some have forgotten so thoroughly they’ve convinced themselves there’s nothing to remember. But the Truth remains, patient, waiting, always available, never forcing itself, just quietly being what it is: the ground of everything, the source of everything, the One expressing itself as all things.
An Invitation, Not an Argument
I’m not trying to convince you of anything. I’m not making a claim you need to accept or reject. I’m simply pointing—with words that I know are inadequate, toward something I know you already know in the deepest part of yourself.
Truth lives in direct experience. You cannot get it from me or from anyone else. You can only recognize it in yourself, in those moments when the warm knowing rises up and you remember: Oh yes. This. This is what’s real. This is what’s always been real. I am one with all things, past present and future. There is only One, and I am That.
Maybe you’ll dismiss this as mystical nonsense. That’s okay. The Truth doesn’t require your belief.
Maybe you’ll recognize it immediately as something you’ve always known but never quite said. That’s beautiful. Welcome home.
Maybe you’ll be curious, wondering if there’s something here worth exploring in your own experience. That’s the invitation. Not to believe what I’m saying, but to notice what you already know. To pay attention to those moments when the boundaries dissolve. To trust the warm recognition when it comes.
Because here’s the deepest truth I can point toward: You are already what you’re seeking. You are already home. You are already One with all things, past present and future. You always have been. You always will be. The only question is: Will you remember?
The Truth waits patiently, your partner since conception, ready to be noticed whenever you’re ready to see what’s always been here.
All you have to do is recognize what you’ve always known
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