Albert Einstein once said:
“A human being is part of the whole, called by us ‘Universe,’ a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest—a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness.”
Einstein wasn’t just speaking from science—he was describing a spiritual and psychological condition. And in the 21st century, that delusion of separateness isn’t just philosophical. It’s physiological. It’s neurological. It’s cultural.
We have not just felt disconnected—we’ve been neurologically wired to be. That wiring lives in our brains, in our instincts, in our social behaviors. And if we want to reweave the thread of life, it requires working on all levels:
• within ourselves,
• between ourselves and others,
• and across the fabric of our communities.
This is where the Three Threads of Divine Union come in.
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The First Thread: Union with Self
This is the work of self-mastery—the lifelong process of integrating our inner masculine and feminine, our yin and yang.
People often hear this and reduce it to a catchphrase: “Love yourself first.”
But the truth is, most people never even glimpse what true union with self means. Because it’s not just self-love—it’s self-integration.
In Taoist philosophy, the yin/yang symbol teaches us that within the black there is a drop of white, and within the white, a drop of black. True balance isn’t separation—it’s dynamic integration. The masculine exists within the feminine, and vice versa. Light exists within the dark, and shadow within the light.
Balance is not stasis—it’s motion.
It’s the capacity to know when to lead with assertive strength, when to soften into receptivity. When to act, when to reflect. When to hold, when to release.
Your brain plays a part here, too. The Reticular Activating System (RAS)—the network in your brainstem that filters incoming stimuli—operates based on what you’ve trained it to notice. If your inner world is fractured, your RAS continues to filter life through that fracture: always spotting threats, always bracing for rejection, always bypassing opportunities for connection.
But when you begin to integrate your masculine and feminine energies—when your yin and yang are conversant rather than combative—your RAS shifts. It begins to filter life through the lens of wholeness.
Still, this is a journey. It is nonlinear. And many never embark on it. Some never finish. Some people’s shadows remain in revolt, pulling them into the very darkness they fear.
Without union with self, the other threads—partnership, community—can’t anchor. But these threads aren’t always sequential. Some people find themselves in deep partnerships or communities first, only to be summoned inward later.
The threads weave together, not in order, but in orbit.
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The Second Thread: Union with the Other
Sacred partnership—romantic or otherwise—is the second thread. But even here, there is fool’s gold.
Many believe they’ve found their divine counterpart, only to discover it’s an attachment in disguise. A longing to be completed. A repetition of familiar trauma patterns dressed up in spiritual language.
True sacred partnership is not about completion—it is about mirroring. It is the space where your wholeness is reflected back to you, while your unhealed parts are exposed—not to shame you, but to awaken you.
Science backs this, too. Through interpersonal neurobiology, we know that our closest relationships can regulate our nervous system, heal attachment wounds, and expand our emotional capacity. In sacred partnership, even the RAS adapts: attuning us to safety, intimacy, and relational presence.
But this is only possible when you’ve done enough self-integration to recognize the difference between love and attachment, presence and possession.
Otherwise, you mistake intensity for intimacy. Drama for destiny.
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The Third Thread: Union with Community
And then—there’s the third thread: community. The one our modern society has neglected most.
We’ve talked about this thread abstractly, but let me ground it in a real-world tragedy: the 2022 University of Idaho murders. Four students—Kaylee Goncalves, Madison Mogen, Xana Kernodle, and Ethan Chapin—were murdered in their off-campus home. Two housemates survived.
The facts of that night remain complex and devastating. One of the surviving students reportedly saw a masked figure in the house and froze. Instead of calling the police, she returned to her room. The next morning, the survivors called friends—not law enforcement.
We cannot judge their actions. They were young. Reports suggest they may have been drinking. Trauma is unpredictable, and the freeze response is primal. This is not about blame.
But it does invite a broader reflection:
What have we failed to instill in ourselves and in our culture that so often leaves people paralyzed, disconnected, or unsure of what to do in moments of danger?
We live in a world where the bystander effect is not just a psychological footnote—it’s a cultural norm. We’ve been conditioned to mind our business, to doubt our instincts, to stay in our lane. Add the detachment of the digital age, and we are more disconnected than ever.
I think back to my time in Bari, Italy, where in the old city center, communities remained tightly woven. During the strictest COVID-19 lockdowns, they survived by caring for each other—not through wealth or infrastructure, but through connection. Residents opened windows, called across alleyways, checked in, offered food. No one was left unseen.
That’s what happens when the third thread is intact:
Connection sharpens instinct. Connection fuels courage.
Our nervous systems co-regulate in community. Courage is not just a personal virtue—it is often an inheritance of connection.
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Reweaving the Thread of Life
So what are we left with?
1. Union with Self: Integrate your inner masculine and feminine. Balance your light and shadow. Teach your RAS to perceive from wholeness.
2. Union with the Other: Engage in conscious, sacred relationships that rewire the brain for safety, truth, and expansion.
3. Union with Community: Cultivate embodied connection that restores our collective instinct to serve, protect, and witness each other.
Without these, the thread of life frays. We become sovereigns of empty kingdoms—disconnected, lonely, disoriented.
But the beauty of these threads?
They’re not fixed. They’re not linear. They’re elastic. You can start weaving from anywhere.
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What Now? A Coach’s Question
At I Can Be, we believe wholeness is not just personal—it’s relational, communal, and purposeful.
So I’ll leave you with this—not just to reflect on, but to act on:
What is one action you can take today to feel more connected to:
• Yourself?
• Your community?
• A greater purpose or higher order?
Start there.
Because when we reweave these threads, we don’t just survive—we come back to life.
We remember that we were never meant to be just one.
