Calling Us Back Home to Love: Finding Anchor in Collective Chaos
We are living in very interesting times. Humanity seems to be moving through extensive turmoil and collective chaos—wars, migration, displacement, people getting hurt, and pain that feels almost impossible to hold. And with the internet and the constant stream of news, we are more connected than ever, which also means we are more exposed than ever. Now with AI in the picture, it can feel hard to even know what is reality, what is altered, what is exaggerated, and what is created. There are polarizing forces everywhere—different narratives, power plays, manipulation, and division—and so often it feels like the common people carry the cost of it all. There is a collective grief moving through humanity, a sense of nervous system dysregulation, and an emotional fatigue that many of us cannot fully name. More than anything, our nervous systems are seeking anchor right now.
And even when we try to do “everything right”—our spiritual practices, self-care routines, disengagement from social media, boundaries with the news, grounding rituals, prayer, rest—it still impacts us. Especially if you are sensitive. Especially if you are an empath. Especially if you work in the healing field. Because holding space for others, holding space for the collective, and absorbing the frequency of the world comes at a cost. It can feel like we are constantly swimming in unseen currents. Some days it feels heavy in the body. Some days it feels like anxiety. Some days it feels like grief. Some days it feels like a quiet inner collapse that we don’t talk about because we’re trying so hard to stay stable.
At times, it genuinely feels like the world is going out of balance. It can seem like opposing forces are becoming stronger, louder, more extreme. It may even feel like the world is coming to an end. And in moments like these, it’s natural to ask deeper questions—not shallow, philosophical questions, but real questions of the heart. If it’s said that God exists in all things, and that consciousness is behind everything, then how do we make sense of this? How can one believe in a divine plan when the world looks so broken? If we are all one, how can one human do this to another? How can there be so much cruelty, so much harm, so much dehumanization? These questions are not doubts—they are the soul refusing to accept the world as “normal.”
As I’ve been sitting with these questions, meditating, listening, asking for clarity, something slowly started to reveal itself. Nature always seeks balance. The universe moves in cycles—creation and destruction, expansion and contraction, death and rebirth, dissolution and renewal. Not in a way that excuses suffering, and not in a way that spiritualizes pain, but in a way that recognizes something deeper: life is always trying to return to wholeness. And perhaps what we are witnessing is humanity reaching a tipping point, because for decades, maybe longer, we have collectively drifted away from our true nature. We have been shaped by industrialization, materialism, speed, productivity, and disconnection. We’ve moved from tribal and communal living into fragmented lives. We’ve normalized isolation. The nuclear family system replaced the village. We learned to survive alone, to protect ourselves alone, to struggle in silence—and over time, a subtle division has formed not only between people, but within our own inner worlds.
Yet our bodies tell a different story. Even nervous system science reminds us that humans regulate best in safe connection. We are wired for co-regulation, for belonging, for touch, for presence, for being seen. We were not designed to carry life alone. And if we are truly one, then this illusion of separation will always create suffering—because it goes against the truth of our being. So the question becomes: how does the universe return a disconnected humanity back to remembrance? How does it remind us, collectively, of what we have forgotten? How does it bring us back to our original state?
Sometimes the answer is not gentle. Sometimes the universe doesn’t awaken us only through comfort. Sometimes it awakens us through contrast. Sometimes it awakens us through pressure. Because when we drift too far from love, too far from truth, too far from community, the imbalance becomes louder. The discomfort becomes unavoidable. The structures that were never sustainable begin to crack. Not because life is cruel, but because life wants us to come back home. The darker times reveal what matters. They expose what is false. They bring our unhealed patterns to the surface. They force us to ask deeper questions. They remove the ability to remain numb. They make it harder to pretend that we are fine while the world burns. And in a strange way, it’s almost as if society has no choice but to remember what it actually needs: each other.
If you remember a few years ago, COVID did this in its own way. Overnight, we understood isolation. Some of us loved the solitude. Some of us were terrified by it. But for many people, it pushed them inward. It forced reflection. It stripped away distractions and revealed what was really happening inside. Now we are in another collective chapter—different circumstances, different intensity—but the invitation feels similar. We are being called not only to look inward, but to look outward. We are being called to rebuild community, to return to care, to re-humanize each other, to come back to a more connected way of living. We are being asked to remember that our lives are intertwined, and that we belong to each other more than we have been conditioned to believe.
What if that is the hidden invitation of these times? What if the universe is trying to help us remember who we truly are? Not as an idea, but as an embodied truth. That underneath fear, beneath ego, beneath survival, we are love. And not soft, passive love, not bypassing love, but living love—the kind that shows up. The kind that checks on a friend. The kind that shares food. The kind that listens without fixing. The kind that holds boundaries and still holds compassion. The kind that refuses to dehumanize. The kind that says, “I will not let this world make me forget my heart.” Because fear feeds on separation, but love always restores connection. And the more we return to love—through our choices, our relationships, our communities, our daily practices—the more we begin to anchor the frequency that dissolves the illusion.
This doesn’t mean we carry the whole world. It doesn’t mean we stay informed at the cost of our peace. It doesn’t mean we ignore our own nervous system needs. It means we become steady. We become conscious. We become anchors. We care for ourselves so we can stay present, and we care for each other in ways that are real and sustainable. We return to devotion—not as an escape, but as a remembrance. We return to the body—not just as a personal healing journey, but as a collective responsibility. We remember that love is not naïve. Love is the most powerful force we have. And perhaps, in these uncertain times, the universe is not punishing us. Perhaps it is calling us back. Calling us home. Calling us to be love again—together.
