What is the Truth for me?

I have been sitting with this question - not to answer it, but to stay with it, to let it move through me, to notice what it touches.

What is the Truth for me? And the more I ask, the less obvious it becomes. Because I see how much the observer creates the observation. The way I look shapes what I see. The place I stand in shapes what becomes real.

My truth is not something pure or untouched. It is shaped by time, by space, by culture, by the information I have received and believed. It lives in the stories I was told and the ones I tell myself. And still… there is something deeper. There is a truth that does not come from thinking, but from sensing. From the way my body reacts to life.

I notice it in small moments. When something in me contracts, even if everything “looks right.” When my breath becomes shallow around certain words, certain people, certain choices. And also when something opens quietly, almost invisibly, and I feel a soft yes inside, before I can explain it. This truth does not argue. It does not prove. It simply shows itself.

I have been asking myself lately: "Is it true?"

A question I know from the work of Byron Katie. And I see how often I am quick to say yes, how quickly I attach to a version of reality that feels familiar. But when I stay a little longer, when I soften my certainty, something begins to shift. I see that what I call “truth” is often a perspective, shaped by memory, emotion, protection.

A few days ago, I walked through the Migration Museum. I moved slowly, almost as if I didn’t want to disturb what was there. Stories of people leaving, searching, beginning again. And I could feel it, how each story carried its own truth.

For one, migration was a loss.

For another, freedom.

For someone else, survival, or hope, or exile.

The same movement through the world, and yet completely different realities.

Standing there, something became very clear to me: truth is not fixed. It is a way of understanding the world. A lens through which we give meaning to what we live. And at the same time, there is something in me that does not depend on that lens.

When I go deeper beneath the stories, beneath the identities, beneath what I have learned, I meet something very simple. Something quiet, but undeniable. Love. Not as an idea, not as something poetic, but as a state of being. As openness. As presence. As connection.

And in that space, I feel it: everything else can change. Everything else can be questioned, reshaped, re-seen. But this… remains.

So maybe I am no longer looking for one truth to hold onto. Maybe I am allowing truth to move, to evolve, to reveal itself in layers. And at the same time, I return to this place in me that knows, without words.

And I wonder… what is the Truth for you? Not the one you learned. Not the one you defend. But the one you feel - in your body, in your breath, in this moment.

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Photo Credits: All image rights remain with their original owners.

Photos: https://www.fenix.nl/en/

Exhibition: https://www.fenix.nl/en/the-family-of-migrants/