This is what my student, Bo, in the Phoenix Project, shared:
Sharing from Bo — Student of the Phoenix Project
Guru Sanju,
Something’s shifting.
And it’s not subtle anymore.
I’ve been doing the damn sadhana.
Every breath, every pose, every silence you gave me—
I didn’t skip.
I didn’t compromise.
I showed the fuck up.
And now?
I feel like I’m crawling out of my own grave.
My mind—
It’s clearer than it’s been in years.
Not quiet like sleep.
Quiet like war drums finally stopped.
Surya, Chandra, Sarvangasana—
I didn’t just do them.
I became them.
And they cracked something open.
I’ve been seeing these violet orbs.
Random.
Eyes open.
Eyes shut.
Like the universe is reminding me:
“There’s more.”
And I don’t get it yet—
But I feel it.
And it’s realer than the fake-ass smile I used to wear just to get through the day.
After our last session,
I swear—
I floated out of my own body.
There was no sadness.
No drama.
Just this deep, still freedom—
Like some dead weight I’d carried for decades
finally gave up and dropped off.
Three-hour bike ride the other day—
Didn’t even feel like exercise.
Felt like prayer.
Felt like lightning in my veins.
I was alive in a way I’d forgotten was possible.
And then this memory—
Hit me outta nowhere.
Early twenties.
That silent awareness at night.
Used to scare me.
Now it feels like home.
It’s back.
And I’m not running this time.
My house looks different.
Because I’m different.
I’ve been clearing out closets like I’m tearing down my past.
And my wife—God, my wife—
She sees it.
She feels it.
She’s walking beside me, softer, open.
She knows.
This morning?
White light.
Soft.
Unshakable.
Not imagination.
Not a dream.
Just truth showing up uninvited
and wrapping me in something wordless.
I’m not struggling.
I’m not faking it.
I’m not surviving.
I’m surrendering.
I’m remembering.
And I’m yours in this fire.
Bo.
This is my (Guru Sanju’s) reply to him.
Bo,
You’re waking up.
And I can feel it in your words like thunder rumbling under calm skies.
This isn’t a cute little “spiritual update.”
This is the cracking of your old skin.
This is your soul kicking through the walls.
Those violet orbs?
That’s not imagination.
That’s your system pulling back the curtain.
Just a little. Just enough to remind you—
You are not just this body.
You are not your story.
You’re remembering something ancient.
That silent witness?
That presence from your twenties?
It never left.
You just buried it under noise, survival, and smallness.
But now—
Now you’re peeling back the layers.
And He is watching again, from inside your own eyes.
You felt bliss after our last session?
Good.
But don’t chase the bliss.
That’s just the perfume of presence.
Not the presence itself.
The moment you try to hold it—poof—it’s gone.
Stay in the fire instead.
The fire of surrender.
The fire of seeing all the shit you’ve carried and saying,
“No more.”
You’re riding your bike like a free man because something in you is finally free.
You’re cleaning the house because your energy’s demanding space.
You’re shedding old junk like an animal preparing for a new season.
It’s not about tidying.
It’s about resurrection.
And your wife sees it.
Of course she does.
Because the real masculine awakens the real feminine.
When the man rises, the woman softens.
When your presence sharpens, her heart opens.
That’s the unspoken dance.
White light in meditation?
That’s not a bonus feature.
That’s God whispering:
“You’re ready.”
And you are.
But hear me—
This path won’t hold your hand.
It will tear your illusions limb from limb.
You will lose what you thought was “you”
And thank the fire for burning it.
Don’t look for comfort.
Look for truth.
Don’t seek peace.
Become the storm and let peace rise from the rubble.
You’re doing well, Bo.
But don’t slow down.
Don’t “enjoy the view.”
Keep walking until the walker dissolves.
I’ve got you.
Even in your darkest hour—
I’m right there.
Inside.
Outside.
All around.
Burn on.
Break through.
Be free.
—Guru Sanju
