There's a line of thinking that runs through almost every wisdom tradition on earth, and it's this: heaven and hell aren't places you go to after you die. They're states you're already living in, right now, built moment by moment out of the thoughts you keep feeding.
I know a thing or two about hell. I’ve lived in it, physically and mentally. I spent years sleeping in freezing alleys, shivering through raw opiate withdrawal, wondering if I’d survive the night, and feeling an absolute, burning hatred for myself and the world. If you had asked me back then, I would have told you hell was a very real place, and I was firmly checked in.
But here’s the crazy thing: after I got clean, got my life together, and started building a decent existence, I realized something terrifying. I wasn’t on the street anymore, but my mind was still sleeping in that alley. I had a warm bed, food in the fridge, and people who cared about me, but I was still waking up in a cold sweat of anxiety, lashing out at the people I loved, and constantly waiting for the next disaster to strike. I was physically safe, but mentally, I was still living in the exact same hell. That was the moment I realized that hell isn't a zip code. It's a state of mind.
Think about the last time you spiraled over something that hadn't even happened yet. Your body tensed up, your mind ran the worst-case scenario on a loop, and for those minutes, you were living in a self-made hell — even though nothing in the physical world had actually changed. Now think about the last time you were fully present, grateful, laughing with someone you love. Same physical world, completely different experience. That's the whole game. Circumstance is neutral. The meaning, the suffering, the peace — that's assembled inside you.
And then, when I had my stroke at forty-three, I was put to the ultimate test. Lying in that hospital bed, completely unable to move my right arm or leg, unable to speak, relying on nurses to wipe my face — most people would call that a living hell. And at first, it was. I was trapped in a nightmare of my own resentment and fear, screaming at the universe for doing this to me. But one night, when the hospital was dead quiet, I had a moment of clarity. I realized that my body was broken, yes, but my mind didn't have to be. I could lie there and spend the next ten hours rehashing every mistake I'd ever made, hating my useless limbs, and drowning in bitterness. Or, I could focus on the fact that my lungs were still drawing breath. I could be grateful for the cool air conditioning in the room. I could feel appreciation for the nurse who had been kind to me earlier.
In that hospital bed, paralyzed and helpless, I experienced a peace so deep and profound that it felt like heaven. Same room, same broken body, but a completely different universe. That’s when it clicked for me: heaven and hell are states you are actively building inside your own chest, moment by moment, with the thoughts you choose to feed.
This isn't about toxic positivity or pretending pain doesn't exist. Real hardship is real. But there's a difference between the pain that shows up and the suffering we add on top of it by rehashing it, resenting it, and letting it define every hour of our day. The first one is life. The second one is a choice, even when it doesn't feel like one.
The practical version of this is simple, even if it's not easy: catch yourself mid-spiral. Notice when you've quietly checked into hell — the resentment, the doom-scrolling anxiety, the grudge you're still carrying from a decade ago — and ask what it would take to check out. Usually it's smaller than you think. A breath. A reframe. A decision to stop rehearsing the worst version of the story.
You don't need a different life to feel different. You need a different relationship with the one you've already got. If you find yourself checked into hell today, you don't need to change your entire life to check out. You just need to catch yourself mid-spiral. Take one slow breath. Look around the room and find one thing that is actually okay right now. That small shift is how you step out of the fire and back onto solid ground.
Go love somebody that you don't like. I love y'all. 🙏
0 comments