Transformation Author Hugh Harris

I have lived through all forms of poverty. The kind you can see — in empty cupboards, eviction notices, and the ache of unpaid bills. But also the kinds you can’t see. The spiritual kind. The emotional kind. The psychological kind. The kind of poverty that leaves no bruises but hollows out your sense of worth, your sense of power, your sense of possibility.

There came a moment — still and terrifying — when I sat in what I can only call the seat of consciousness. For an instant, I saw myself with total clarity. Not as a name, or a role, or a story — but as a constructed self. I saw how I had created myself to survive… and how I had been shaped by the world around me. My ego collapsed like a dying star. And in its absence, I remembered something ancient.

The silver thread. You were never as far from home as you believed.