Feeling Safe – The Journey to Egypt

Feeling Safe – The Journey to Egypt 

Safety is usually defined as the absence of danger. A situation under control. No immediate threat. But in a deeper sense, safety has little to do with control. It has everything to do with alignment.

When you are aligned with your soul, something in you relaxes. Not because the world has suddenly become predictable, but because you are in right relationship with it. Your ego and your soul both want you to live — that is important to acknowledge. Yet they guide in different ways. The ego scans for risk and reacts quickly. The soul senses direction and moves quietly. When you begin to recognize the difference, you discover that true safety is not created by constant vigilance, but by inner attunement.

Your soul is the thread that connects you to all life around you. It is not separate from the field you walk in, the people you meet, or the places you travel to. When you listen to that thread, you often find yourself gently steered away from what does not belong to you. There is a subtle knowing before something happens. A small hesitation. A sudden clarity. A change of plan that later turns out to be wise. The guidance was there, long before the mind understood it.

We see this kind of connection in simple, everyday moments. A dog that sits by the door, alert and expectant, just before its caretaker turns into the street. A child who suddenly looks up from playing, sensing a parent arriving. The moment you reach for your phone already knowing who is calling. These are not dramatic spiritual events. They are natural expressions of connection. They reveal that we are in relationship long before we physically meet.

The question is not whether we are connected. The question is whether we are conscious of it.

Returning to that consciousness does not require complicated practices. It begins with something very simple: remembering. Think of a moment in nature when you felt deeply at ease. Perhaps standing at the sea, walking in a forest, sitting under a wide sky. You can go there instantly. And as you do, your body responds. The breath slows. The muscles soften. The nervous system settles.

The body remembers safety before the mind does.

In that relaxation, your sensitivity increases. The body is always in dialogue with vibration. When there is tension, the signal is distorted. When there is space, perception becomes clearer. Listening strengthens. You begin to sense what feels aligned and what does not. Safety then is no longer something imposed from the outside; it becomes an inner orientation.

There are also places on earth that seem to hold this orientation more visibly. Places that awaken memory without explanation. For many people, Egypt carries such a resonance. Even speaking the name can stir something — a warmth, a familiarity, a longing that feels older than this lifetime. Some experience it as curiosity. Others as a quiet homesickness. It is as if the land itself is calling something forward.

The Sinai desert is one of those landscapes where silence is not empty but present. The vastness does not overwhelm; it clarifies. The sand, the mountains, the night sky — they strip away distraction and invite remembrance. Not remembrance as nostalgia, but as recognition. Recognition of who you are when the noise falls away.

To travel there with a group of people who sense the same call is not about escape. It is about returning. Returning to a deeper alignment. Returning to the original relationship between human beings and land. Returning to the understanding that peace is not an idea we promote, but a state we remember together.

This journey is not focused on adding knowledge or acquiring techniques. It is about allowing the deeper current to become audible again. When that current is felt — individually and collectively — something shifts. Alignment follows naturally. Decisions become simpler. Presence deepens. And from that alignment, peace begins to move through us rather than being something we try to create.

Safety, then, is no longer defined by the absence of danger. It is defined by the presence of connection.

And perhaps the subtle longing some feel toward Egypt is not about a destination at all. Perhaps it is the soul recognizing a place where it can listen again — where it can remember its original harmony with the land, with others, and with life itself.

In that remembrance, peace is not something distant.

It is home.