Imagine a library in the desert, bookshelves rising from the sand, an oasis of wisdom in a barren and superficial world.

Books and bodies reflecting around the water, I see a crowd of thousands - some people sitting alone, some clustered in studious circles - and everybody is looking inwards together.

Searching souls, troubled travellers.

I see my people clearly.

The vision is clear: I see them gathered under the library limbs of paper trees, golden books falling from the branches, and chapters passing from person to person.

One book opens into another and another and another… the chain continues like an infinite game of pass-the-parcel, each book unwrapping itself into eternity like a series of bibliographic Russian Dolls.

“This is my work… this is my task?”

“My position, an oasis of information?”

The mixed message isn’t lost on me: an oasis is life saving, for sure, but it’s a cleansing and a slumber… never the final destination.

Pride and sorrow hold hands in the desert library at the edge of the digital wasteland; and here are my people, circling round the rim of the wisdom pool with knowing smiles and nods exchanged as silent currency.

The community is transient, forever in flux.

Some travellers stop here for a few days, most stay for a few months, and there are some special souls who have been dwelling between the shelves for several years, but everybody leaves eventually.

I’ve started to accept my place as a teacher in this world.

I appear to be charged with building the energetic equivalent of a library oasis on the periphery of beginner-friendly guidance in the realm of self healing and self development.

My YouTube teaching is free, but my work isn’t for everyone, and it’s an open truth that I’ve never been beginner friendly.

I’ve never aimed for accessibility because I get bored by foundational conversations, and I likewise recognise the burning need for higher-level, holistic teaching at the intermediate and advanced stages of self integration.

There are many decades of library work ahead, and I appear to be something of a guiding, structuring and pathfinding influence in the unique yet deeply archetypal journeys of motivated (or desperate) individuals who find themselves multiple years deep into their inner work process.

As I write these words, and I continue to gaze into the vision of my mission, I feel the symbolic essence of my online presence.

And I know you’ll move on eventually.

You arrived alone.

You leave alone.

There will be a final book, a final video, and the vast majority of the people reading these words will leave the same way they arrived: alone.

But notice the change in the quality of your aloneness, notice the transformation after spending time in deep introspection: what was first experienced as an excruciating alienation from both your heart and the world is now transformed into the spirit-bound security of the Self who settled within.

Thousands have arrived with baggage and burdens, the weight of wounds inflicted by the ignorance of others, and thousands have departed without shackles and shame.

They fell upon my library with heavy hearts and famished souls, and I cannot help but smile as I watch them leave with their spirits renewed.

I don’t know the full scale of my responsibility, but I promise to stay my keep as the steward on this periphery.

I delight in the daily experience of looking up from my desk and watching my people venture beyond the outer dunes as they continue their journey.

An open mind, an empty cart, and an inner work library in the chambers of your heart.

Be well, always.

Jordan