When I was five, I asked my mother, “What happens when you die?” “Nothing,” she replied. “When you die, they put you in a hole, and that’s it.”
That answer didn’t make sense to me. What is the point of living if life simply ends?
I grew up in Argentina unable to accept the materialist story: that consciousness is just matter doing tricks, that we’re biological machines pointed at oblivion. That unease pushed me out of Buenos Aires, through Spain and Europe, into the video game industry at Rockstar Games, through cities like Prague, Mumbai, and New York. Each move, each achievement, each distraction only sharpened the question rather than answering it.
India changed things. There I encountered the Vedic teachings: the Bhagavad Gita, the Srimad Bhagavatam, wisdom traditions that predate the hollow spirituality of today’s wellness market. Here was a philosophy willing to stare at the hardest questions without flinching. Here was knowledge that treated consciousness as primary, not derivative. We are not bodies that happen to be aware, but eternal souls temporarily wearing material forms. Maya keeps us cycling through desire and suffering. Liberation isn’t something you accumulate but something you stop being fooled out of.
Living across Málaga, Madrid, Prague, Germany, Mumbai, and New York, I’ve watched the spiritual emptiness that modern secular life mistakes for freedom. Science has become like cats pawing at closed doors, certain they grasp the mechanism while blind to what’s on the other side. The real affliction isn’t any particular virus. It’s the atheism and spiritual bankruptcy that leave people with no ground to stand on when things fall apart.
What I write here isn’t New Age platitudes or self-help repackaging. It’s an attempt to pass on what I found: that there is an alternative to the materialist nightmare, that the Vedic teachings offer something genuinely different, that the soul and consciousness are not metaphors. The stories draw on childhood memories, hard observations, and the Gita’s philosophy, moving between the personal and the cosmological, trying to land on something true without preaching it.
The question I asked at five led me across continents and through ancient texts. The answer transformed everything. Now I write for others on the same road.