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Many decades ago, a wonderful intuition struck me: I understood what the Now is.
I can still see before my mind’s eye the same image I saw then. Today we might call it understanding, though I prefer the word insight. The image that appeared before my inner eye was worth more to me than a thousand words. I saw the slowly moving arm of a seismograph as it drew onto paper. I understood that the very moment in which the waveform was being drawn was, in fact, the Earth’s present heartbeat. And at the same time, I underwent the state that reveals itself in the intentional living-through of the present moment.
Was it spiritual, or physical? I do not know. Perhaps both.
What matters is that the capacity to intentionally live through the Now has stayed with me, and I am deeply grateful for it.
That capacity became truly critical when the panic attacks began. I kept trying to extend that focused living-through in time, as if, perhaps, a panic attack might lose interest in me if I could remain there long enough. I believed it might help in principle, but unfortunately panic always proved stronger.
As a person suffering from panic disorder, I was never truly able to prevent a single panic attack by means of this technique of living through the Now—at most, perhaps, I could delay one by a few minutes. And yet, here and now, I think those attempts were not futile after all.
Only later did I begin to understand that the practice of intentionally living through the Now—something I could not really make use of during my panic years—was in fact worth gold. In recent years, it became clear to me that surviving fifteen years of panic disorder was not enough. I also had to name what I had lived through.
So I began to write. First daily notes, later a blog, and then a book. Writing is a kind of remedy for my soul. It also helps me better understand all that panic has taught me, and it forms one of the foundations of Aletheosophia.
On this platform, I will be writing about Aletheosophia. The subjects are almost endless, yet all of them return to the same place: to the present moment, to its lived-through reality, and to the wisdom of reality and truth.
This Agora is not a one-way street. When you open my letters, do not look in them for a distant expert or an impersonal algorithm—look only for me, Gábor. Expect these writings to be the beginnings of real conversations. I write to you as if we were sitting together over a coffee: honestly, sometimes uncertainly, but always curious about your thoughts. Do not only read what I send—write back boldly, interrupt, disagree, argue for what you see as true.
Here, your reply will not be merely data, but one living half of a dialogue within the Agora, because I believe that the lived-through encounter with truth and reality happens somewhere in the space between us.
If you too sense that truth and reality are more than something to be merely believed, then we have something to speak about.
I am here waiting for you in the virtual Agora—not to teach you, but to search together for what neither of us yet fully knows. If you ask, and I can answer, I will gladly do so. But do not expect polished revelations. I bring only questions—questions that may hold up a mirror to your own thoughts.
Welcome to the threshold of Aletheosophia, where the next step is in your feet—or, more precisely, in your hands.
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