“There’s nothing wrong with wanting the cookie. But you don’t need it to be loved. Sometimes accepting what is - without reason, simply appreciating the mystery and the magnificence of the manifestation - is enough. Like wind and stream, they follow their Dharma - regardless of the why.”
In the stillness of reflection, I caught a glimpse of a younger version of myself. A wide-eyed five-year-old reaching for the cookie jar — even after being told no. This was more than a playful image; it became a mirror into the emotional honesty of my present choices. The conversation wasn't just about sweets or defiance — it was about agency, innocence, pattern, and the internal tug-of-war between impulse and wisdom. I didn’t shame that child — I smiled at him, sat beside him, and began listening. That’s integrity. That’s the embodied ethos of a man willing to grow with kindness toward himself.
There was tenderness in this realization. A softness. I didn’t scold the five-year-old; I held space for him. I saw how the desire for a “taste” — whether sugar, or a momentary escape — often echoed deeper needs: connection, soothing, affirmation. Tears weren’t shed, but the heart cracked open — just enough for compassion to rush in. Through this lens, recovery isn’t just about saying no. It’s about saying yes to the small child within — loving him enough to guide him into the light without punishment or exile.
This internal dialogue wasn’t sentimental alone. It illuminated the mechanics of change. I observed how my decisions — to stumble, to recover, to reflect — revealed repeatable emotional sequences. Impulse, reaction, consequence, awareness, realignment. Like a behavioral feedback loop, these choices mapped themselves onto cognitive models of addiction, neural plasticity, and trauma-informed growth. To witness the five-year-old is to understand the root. To listen to him is to rewire the outcome. My reasoning sharpened in the light of this truth: without acknowledging that boy, the man can never fully heal.
This moment emerged organically — not forced, not fabricated. It arose after spiritual reflection, financial inquiry, and emotional honesty all danced within the same thread. There was a readiness — a ripening. I didn’t summon this insight; I allowed it. And in allowing it, I honored the timing. This is kairos: the opportune moment for inner dialogue. The veil between adult and child-self thinned — and the conversation happened, not because it had to, but because it was time.
To speak to the five-year-old within is an act of sacred reparenting. Tonight, I didn’t just hear the small voice — I knelt beside it. And something beautiful happened: the child softened, and the man stood taller. Both felt seen.