Thomas Merton once reflected on the illusion of separation, reminding us that humanity has always been one but has simply forgotten its unity. His words, “We are already one. But we imagine we are not. And what we have to recover is our original unity. What we have to be is what we are,” speak to a deeper truth about the human condition and the quiet ache that defines our search for meaning.
There is a kind of slavery that no chain can hold, one that lives quietly within the mind. It is subtle, invisible, and ancient. It began not in the fields or on the ships, but in the moment when human consciousness first awakened, when we learned to choose, to question, and to see ourselves as separate from the rhythm of existence.
Long before history, there was a time, whether real or imagined, when life moved as one. Humanity flowed in quiet coordination, each person a note in a single, endless song. We did not ask what was good or evil; we simply existed. There was harmony, not because we understood it, but because we belonged to it. We moved with a purpose unspoken, guided by something greater than thought, the rhythm of being itself.
Then came awareness, the first stirring of mind. The world divided into good and evil, light and shadow, I and you. From that division came free will, and from free will came the illusion of freedom. Humanity rejoiced in its power to name, to create, to dream. Yet something deep within us was lost: the unity of being, the pulse that once connected all life.
Every ancient story remembers this differently. Some call it the tasting of forbidden fruit, others the fall from the garden, and others the dawn of consciousness. But the meaning remains: once we were whole; then we became aware, and in becoming aware, we became divided.
Since then, humanity has sought freedom, yet remains bound. We have built civilisations in its name, written laws to protect it, and created gods to explain it. But each act of freedom brings new limits, new rules, new walls. In escaping our cages, we build new ones. And yet, there are moments, rare and luminous, when the illusion breaks. When individuality fades, and something ancient stirs.
It happens in music, when the drumbeat overtakes reason and the crowd moves as one. It happens in prayer, in love, in grief, and in the hush of nature. In those moments, the self dissolves, and we remember the unity we once knew. These are glimpses of the world before choice and before division.
Here lies the paradox: awareness was not a mistake but a transformation. The universe, through us, became aware of itself. Consciousness was the price of creation knowing its own reflection. Yet that awareness brought fragmentation, and from it grew longing, the human desire to return to what was lost.
Perhaps that is why we build towers, both physical and spiritual, reaching for the heavens. Yet every tower falls beneath the weight of our divided tongues. The way back is not upward but inward. Freedom is not the absence of restraint; it is harmony with what is. The bird is free not because it fights the wind, but because it moves with it. The dancer is free not by resisting rhythm, but by yielding to it.
To be free is not to have endless choice, but to align with purpose, to remember that all choices lead, in time, back to the One. The ancient sages called it enlightenment, surrender, and stillness. True freedom is the end of being ruled by will. The slave who finds peace within is freer than the ruler who never rests.
We live in an age of limitless choice, yet rarely have we been so bound. Our devices promise connection, but our minds are restless. We worship individuality, yet ache for belonging. We call it freedom, but it feels like fatigue.
Perhaps what we truly need is not more, but memory. To remember the song before words, the silence before thought, the unity before choice.
Even now, amid the noise of modern life, we still gather to sing, to dance, to love, and to mourn. We gather to remember, to reassemble what was once whole. For a moment, we are not many. We are one. And in that unity, we find not freedom of will, but freedom from will.
As Nisargadatta Maharaj said, “The consciousness in you and the consciousness in me, apparently two, really one, seek unity, and that is love.”
The ancients called it paradise. The mystics call it union. The poets call it love. It is where all things return to their source.
Ikenna Ronald Ani is a Nigerian writer and architect whose work examines human consciousness.
