The Original Sin and Returning Back Home

Questions And Answers Born Out of this Subject

This is Part 2 of “What Is ‘Original Sin,’ Really? When Good and Evil Were Born — and Why That Became the Root of Suffering.” In Part 1, I shared how the Eden story can be read as a shift in consciousness: the mind believed it was separate, fear was born, shame appeared, masks formed, and once the mind began labelling reality as “good” and “bad,” inner division intensified. We also saw how psychological suffering grows when we resist what is, and how control often becomes the mind’s way of trying to protect itself.

Once you understand that, questions naturally arise. And some of them can feel uncomfortable, because they touch our moral reflexes and our привычes of living. So I want to walk through this calmly.

If We Loosen The Judgment Of Good And Evil, What Happens To Ethics And Compassion?

For me, the answer is simple: compassion does not get smaller. It gets larger. Ethics does not disappear. What changes is the source of action. Action no longer comes from rejection and inner condemnation, but from something deeper and more true.

And that “something” is love—though not love as romance, and not love as a moral command like “you should love.” At its root, love is total acceptance.

When you truly love someone, you accept them. Fully. Their light and their shadow. Their beauty and their limits. When you’re trying to change them from the inside, very often you’re not loving the real person—you’re loving the version your mind imagines they could be.

So for me, real love is not correction. It is seeing. It is being with. It is accepting. And from that acceptance arises a presence that naturally helps, naturally accompanies, naturally carries wisdom. Not because something is “wrong,” but because loving presence is, by itself, a movement of integration.

And this is where love connects to something very concrete: homeostasis.

Love And Homeostasis: The Natural Movement Toward Balance

I feel that life has a natural movement toward balance—just like the body does. The body doesn’t get angry at a wound. The body doesn’t label the wound as “bad.” The body responds. The body repairs.

When something moves out of balance, inflammation can appear, and inflammation is not punishment—it’s intelligence seeking homeostasis. It’s the organism returning to harmony. One leg with the other. One eye with the other. Different organs cooperating as one living system.

For me, that same movement exists in consciousness when there is love. Love—as total acceptance—doesn’t reject what appears. And precisely because it doesn’t reject it, it allows the intelligence of life to move: what was hidden becomes visible, what was stuck begins to release, what was fragmented begins to organize.

So when judgment relaxes, compassion isn’t “I fix you.” It becomes “I’m here with you.” Presence. Support. Collaboration. Action when action is needed—without inner war, without superiority, without condemnation.

Letting Go Of Control Is Not Doing Nothing

Here’s another key point: letting go of control is not passivity. It’s not giving up. It’s a shift in where we live from.

We can let go of control from two very different places. We can let go from emptiness and disconnection—“then I won’t do anything.” Or we can let go from unity, from trust, from connection.

That’s why a natural question comes next: if life is already guided, and everything is happening within a deeper order, why talk about letting go of control at all?

My answer is simple: letting go of control doesn’t mean stopping action. It means stopping separated action. The mind is useful—but not to live projected into the past and future. The mind can become an instrument through which unity moves. And when that happens, we often do not do less—we do more, and we do it better, but without the strain.

Returning To God: From A Distant Goal To Recognition

And this is the bridge into what “returning to God” actually means. If unity can experience duality without leaving the divine order, then “return” isn’t a punishment and it isn’t a spiritual race to reach a faraway place. It’s a shift in perception: stopping the life-long habit of living as if we were separate.

So “returning to God” stops being a mental effort to reach a distant God, and becomes something completely different. Returning to God is returning to unity that is already here. Recognizing what has always been. Ending the inner fight with reality.

And yes, that requires humility—because it means releasing the belief that I am the one controlling the process.

Of course, when we see that, a very human emotion can arise: “Why did you put me here?” A sense of injustice. And that, too, is resistance—another version of “it shouldn’t be like this.” Which brings us back to the core point: the human struggle against what is.

Does Suffering Help Us Wake Up, Or Does It Only Trap Us?

If suffering comes from resistance, it’s also true that many people wake up through suffering. So how do we understand that?

For me, suffering can become a powerful mirror: it forces us to see where we are resisting. It creates a strong contrast between what is and what the mind insists should be. And if we pay attention—if we observe honestly—this contrast pushes us toward the truth of what is, because it exposes the exact mechanism that has been creating inner struggle.

Pain has a natural role. Pain is a signal. It’s life moving us back toward balance. But suffering is resistance to pain. Suffering is the “this shouldn’t be happening.” The inner war.

And yes—suffering can play a role in awakening, until it no longer needs to. Because sometimes we suffer so deeply that something in us finally asks, “There has to be another way to live.” That question opens a door.

But the learning is not to worship suffering. The learning is to see resistance, observe it, and stop resisting it.

And here is something essential: we don’t need to resist our resistance. We don’t need to fight it. We can observe it without judgment. Because the moment we judge our own resistance, we rebuild duality again: good/bad, right/wrong. And we return to the same pattern.

If Nothing Leaves The Divine Order, What Changes When Someone Wakes Up?

What changes, for me, is surrender.

And with surrender, there is often more peace—not always as a perfect state, because when something difficult is happening, pain can still be pain. But the relationship with pain changes.

I’ve experienced many times that pain and peace can exist together. And what usually appears is more trust, more inner stability: a sense that things are unfolding as they are meant to unfold, that I can trust the perfection of what is happening even if it brings me pain. It isn’t easy—I know—but you can arrive in that state. And from there, solutions appear along the way without being forced.

A Practical Note: How This Looks In My Work

When someone comes into my session, my main intention is not to “fix” them. My focus is presence—so I can see clearly: myself, the other person, and the space we share. From there I accompany with acceptance. And if resistance appears—whether in them or in me—I don’t turn it into an enemy. I observe it, I allow it, and I work with what is alive in that moment.

I also start from a simple truth: we are already connected. I don’t have to force connection. And when that connection is recognized, people often feel safer, and their own system begins to find its way back toward balance.

For me, this is one of the deepest integrations of the whole topic: we don’t return by becoming perfect according to human standards. We return by becoming true. And when we stop fighting what is, peace becomes the background—even when the waves are moving.

Katiana