How the longing for wholeness has drifted us further from it
Prologue
Every longing begins holy.
The ache for wholeness, for meaning, for belonging —
it is the memory of our origin,
the echo of the garden still alive in us.
But somewhere along the way,
that longing was renamed.
It was drafted into service.
It was given a sharper edge.
We called it ambition.
And ambition promised to deliver the very wholeness
it was stealing away.
I. The Sacred Root of Longing
Long before ambition, there was ache.
The deep yearning of the soul —
for union, for peace, for a home
that could not be bought or built,
only remembered.
The ancients gave this longing names:
moksha. shalom. nirvana. kingdom.
Different languages, same horizon —
whether voiced in scripture,
sung by poets,
or whispered in the long ache of philosophy.
Longing was once a compass.
It pointed us back to what already held us.
It reminded us we were whole,
even when we felt scattered.
But somewhere,
we mistook the compass for a ladder.
We started to climb.
“Longing was once a compass. We mistook it for a ladder.”
II. Ambition as Substitution
Ambition is longing, rebranded.
The soul’s quiet ache dressed up in progress and performance.
It does not ask you to return.
It commands you to advance.
Work harder, and you’ll arrive.
Earn more, and you’ll be complete.
Climb higher, and you’ll finally belong.
Ambition makes itself the new hope — but only by hijacking the oldest one.
The soul longs for wholeness, yet ambition promises to deliver it.
Where true hope points us back, ambition drives us ahead.
It reframes the ache not as remembrance but as pursuit.
It convinces us that the very rest we seek can only be earned in motion —
in glass towers climbed at dawn,
in glowing screens paced at midnight.
And ambition does not move alone.
It feeds on comparison.
It thrives on scarcity.
It whispers that your worth depends on standing higher than another’s,
and that there will never be enough to go around.
And in doing so, ambition becomes the system’s most powerful amnesia.
- Architecture forgets by fixing.
It hardens into blueprints that leave no room for imagination. - Culture forgets by repeating.
What begins as meaning collapses into habit. - Ambition forgets by consuming.
It devours the memory of wholeness in the name of progress.
This is how structures survive:
by forgetting what they cannot hold.
And philosophy and faith have long noticed the danger.
Plato warned that ambition crowds out virtue.
Buddhism named craving as the root of suffering.
Taoism cautioned against longing for gain.
Different words, same warning:
forgetfulness disguised as progress.
“Structures survive by forgetting. Ambition is their most powerful amnesia.”
III. The Drift from Wholeness
The promise of ambition is always just ahead.
One more milestone.
One more title.
One more ascent.
But wholeness cannot be found in the “next.”
And so, with every step forward,
we drift further from the ground that once held us.
Ambition teaches us to mistake the ache of incompleteness for the fuel of progress, until exhaustion itself begins to feel like meaning, and scarcity masquerades as drive, and we no longer remember what enough ever felt like.
The irony is cruel:
we reach higher than any generation before us,
yet feel more fractured than those who walked with less.
Because what began as holy longing
has been weaponized into hunger.
Ambition offers itself as hope —
but it only multiplies the distance
between who we are and who we were meant to be.
“Ambition teaches us to mistake the ache of incompleteness for the fuel of progress.”
IV. Awakening to the Drift
To awaken is to notice the drift.
To feel how far the ladder has carried us from the ground.
To recognize that ambition was never evil,
only misplaced longing.
Ambition is not the enemy.
It is the echo of a deeper hope —
a hope that can never be reached by achievement,
only received through grace.
Wholeness is not a prize.
It is not earned, climbed, or conquered.
It is remembered.
It is the still center that ambition keeps us circling,
but never landing upon.
And across traditions, this memory is the same:
Christian mystics praying through stillness.
Buddhists practicing mindfulness in each breath.
Taoists resting in wu wei, effortless action.
Sufis burning with longing until only the Beloved remains.
Different doors, same return.
The true hope is not ambition,
but return.
Not ascent,
but presence.
It is found not in what we build,
but in what already holds us.
“Wholeness is not a prize. It is remembered.”
V. The Closing Invitation
Ambition will keep calling itself hope.
It will whisper that the next step, the next summit, the next success
is what will finally make you whole.
But that hope is counterfeit.
It drifts you from what you already carry.
The true hope is older than ambition.
It does not demand ascent.
It invites return.
To presence.
To grace.
To the wholeness that was never gone.
So pause.
Step down.
Listen.
The wholeness you ache for is not out there.
It is here.
As close as breath filling your lungs.
As steady as water settling into stillness.
As alive as a garden after rain.
It waits in presence, not performance.
In grace, not grasping.
In the quiet courage to stop climbing,
and simply return.
For ambition is counterfeit hope, but longing remains true.
If remembered, longing is still the compass —
and it points us to the long and winding road.