The Quiet Pull: Yearning, Insight, and the Journey Beyond Self

by Michael Zaky, MA Clinical Psychology.

In the darkness of my own mind, I wander, drawn toward a light that only I can see, a fire that doesn’t blaze but simmers, steady—a burn felt deep, beyond the reach of sight. I feed it with my own thoughts, my own knowing, each spark of insight pulling me closer, quenching an endless thirst, only to leave me wanting more.

This is a state of yearning, a pull that isn’t about selfish desire but the instinctive drive to reach further, to touch a sense of more. It’s this calling, this urge that whispers, “I am capable of understanding, of expanding, of becoming.” Ignoring that call would feel like wasting some part of myself. And yet, spirituality doesn’t look the same for everyone. For some, this kind of inner fire is familiar; for others, spirituality comes from another kind of connection, another rhythm. There is no single path—each of us resonates with our own way of seeking, each path valid and real.

Still, for those who feel it, there’s something unmistakable in this pull. It draws us to explore beyond comfort, into that in-between space where we’re neither here nor there, yet somehow both. This place doesn’t fit simple labels; it’s an openness, a fluidity where understanding deepens without needing firm conclusions. It’s less about answers and more about staying open, about wondering and considering without ever fully grounding. It’s like stepping into a space where thought just is, and that’s enough.

The yearning often leaves me on edge, almost restless—a raw, intense inspiration. It’s not excitement; it’s something purer. When I’m in this state, I want to leap out of my skin, to transcend, even while loving my body enough to place it somewhere safe. The body feels like both home and limitation. Is it simply a container for consciousness, or something more—an integration so seamless it defines me? When I look inward, I don’t question if I exist. I question the mystery of how awareness turns back on itself, of how I’m able to see myself seeing. There’s something nearly illogical, a paradox that blurs understanding and pulls me both into myself and beyond.

And yet, I want readers to understand that this depth, this intense pull, isn’t for everyone. Delving too deep without guidance can be unsettling. For those not inclined to go inward, it can feel like losing ground. Spirituality doesn’t demand these depths from all of us; it’s as unique as we are, each person finding connection in their own way. This journey, this intensity I describe, is one form of spirituality, one path among many.

As I sit with myself, I feel the depths of my own awareness—layers of thought connecting and twisting, each one intertwining with the next. I’m observing, analyzing, and comparing, never focusing on one thought at a time but watching as ideas coalesce, fueled by intuition and memory. I’m hypersensitive, able to understand others deeply because I see them fully. A small shift in body language, a hint of tension, the movement of hair or the gleam of sweat—all speak to me. I see sadness, joy, anger, guilt, love, and everything in between. And as I absorb this, I feel an empathetic resonance, a connection beyond myself, reminding me that I’m not here just to exist. I’m here to experience, to touch something more than myself.

This is the essence. This connection, this experience—it’s what grounds me, what makes the journey worth it. And maybe, just maybe, that’s something others can feel too, even if the paths we take are our own.

by Michael Zaky, MA Clinical Psychology