Happy Sunday Friends!
How are you doing out there? I mean really—how are you? Because let’s be honest, the illusion, as we have said before, is thick these days. (Fun!) And in many ways, it’s getting thicker. But don’t panic—this is exactly when the real questions start showing up. You know the ones: the deep, inconvenient, soul-stretching questions we’d rather scroll past or spiritually bypass.
Don’t.
As the Course reminds us (and so does your own inner knowing), the only way out is through. Through the fear, through the doubt, through the stories we keep retelling ourselves. You’re not alone, and you don’t have to have it all figured out. But you do have to be willing to stay in the room with the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable.
And if you’re not joining us yet, come hang out in the livestreams here on Substack. Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays at 10:00 AM ET—we’re walking through New York City, sitting in the sunshine at Tompkins Square Park, and exploring it all. Sometimes it’s deep and wild and soul-rattling. Sometimes we’re just laughing about whatever nonsense the pigeons are up to. Either way, everyone’s welcome.
Which brings me to today’s article. It’s not fluff. It’s not cute. It’s a real invitation to drop the spiritual pretense, let go of everything you think you are, and meet God with empty hands. If you’re feeling like your bowl is too full—or worse, like you’ve been trying to scrub it clean for years—this one’s for you.
Let’s dive in.
Love You,
Max 💫💖
Come With Empty Hands (And Drop the Bull)
There comes a moment in every spiritual path when the good vibes and manifesting moon water just don’t cut it anymore. That moment where you stare down your carefully curated beliefs, your cherished wounds, your oh-so-precious opinions, and realize: none of this is helping. It’s just noise. Exhausting, repetitive noise. And then, if you’re lucky—or foolish enough to take the invitation—you drop it all. You come with empty hands.
That’s exactly what A Course in Miracles, Lesson 189, is asking of us:
"Forget this world, forget this course, and come with holy, empty hands unto your God."
Let’s pause on that. Not just some of your ideas. Not just the old religious hangups or your spiritual superiority complex. Not even just the beliefs you picked up from your mother’s anxiety or your college philosophy class. Everything.
All concepts of what you are and what God is. All judgments. All thoughts about good and bad, true and false, worthy and unworthy. Even the Course itself says—drop me too. Forget it.
Because in this moment, in this space of radical stillness, truth doesn’t need a container. It doesn’t need a theology or a label or a TikTok soundbite. It just needs a mind that isn’t trying to hold onto anything.
The Bowl Is Already Empty
Here’s the joke nobody tells you: the bowl is already empty. You’re not being asked to clean it. You’re being asked to realize that all the stuff you think is in it—your trauma, your genius, your stories, your spiritual identity—is imagined. You’re sitting at the table of life clinging to an empty bowl, furiously protecting what isn’t there.
But realizing it’s empty? That’s terrifying. That’s ego death. And also, freedom.
Not the cute kind of freedom where you get to do whatever you want and call it divine timing. I’m talking about the kind where you give up your addiction to being right. To being wounded. To being in control.
And Then Comes the Slap
If 189 is the deep inhale into surrender, Lesson 190 is the slap across the face that says, “And while you’re at it, stop blaming the world.”
"It is your thoughts alone that cause you pain. Nothing external to your mind can hurt or injure you in any way."
Cue the ego meltdown.
Because if that’s true (and spoiler alert: it is), then the entire scaffolding of victimhood collapses. Every story we tell about why we’re stuck, why we’re hurt, why we can’t possibly forgive—that’s our own mind doing cartwheels in a padded room.
It’s not the thing that happened. It’s what we think it means. It’s not the person who betrayed us. It’s the identity we built around being betrayed.
You either take responsibility for your perception, or you stay in the illusion that something outside you has power over your peace. Those are the only two roads.
Joy Is a Choice (But Not the Comfortable Kind)
“I choose the joy of God instead of pain.” It sounds like a pillow embroidered in cursive font on someone’s guest bed. Until you realize that choosing joy means refusing to believe in the power of your suffering.
Joy isn’t about bypassing pain. It’s about unmasking its source. And 190 isn’t letting us off easy—it’s not saying, “Feel a little better today.” It’s saying, “What if nothing outside you can touch you, unless you give it permission?”
What if you’re the one assigning meaning? What if you're the gatekeeper of your own suffering?
Suddenly, choosing joy isn’t about being cheerful. It’s about being clear. It’s about choosing to wake up from the dream that something else is running the show.
No Thought of the Past
This is the hardest part. We want to bring our wisdom with us. We want to bring our discernment, our boundaries, our spiritual lingo. But 189 is unequivocal:
“Do not bring with you one thought the past has taught, nor one belief you have ever learned before from anything.”
Not one. Not even the good ones. Not even the Course itself. Why? Because real communion—the kind where you’re not performing or praying for a parking space—isn’t something you remember. It’s something you enter.
And to enter it, you can’t be dragging your past like a suitcase full of holy excuses.
Come With Empty Hands
So come with empty hands. Not because it’s noble. Not because it’s spiritual. But because it’s the only way to make room for what’s actually true.
Empty hands don’t hold beliefs. They don’t argue. They don’t post. They don’t defend. They receive. They rest. They open.
This is the challenge. And the gift. And the slap.
Let it all go. Just for a moment. Not because you should. But because, deep down, you want to. You’re tired of holding what was never yours to begin with.
And in that holy moment of nothing—there it is.
Joy. Freedom. God.
Whatever you want to call it.
And you didn’t even have to clean the bowl.
You just had to stop pretending it was full.
The high-maintenance ego is exhausting. Do the treasure hunt of right here, right now. Thanks, Max!!🌹