Have you ever felt something stir deep inside you—a flash of stillness, a strange silence, a moment where you became the observer of your own thoughts? It may have happened when holding your child, standing before a vast ocean, or walking alone after heartbreak. For a second, you weren’t your body. You weren’t even your mind. You were simply present. That wasn’t fantasy. That was your spirit remembering itself.

“Then He duly proportioned him and breathed into him of His spirit, and bestowed upon you ears, and eyes, and hearts. And yet, little thanks do you give.”
— The Quran 32:9, Translation by Abul Ala Maududi

This spirit—the Rūḥ (Arabic for spirit or soul, believed in Islam to be the Divine breath from Allah Himself)—was not made. It was breathed into you. It is not yours. It is from Allah. That is your essence. That is the part of you that does not die.

But we forget.

We think we are this body. We serve its hungers, chase its pleasures, and drown in its fears. The body becomes a prison. We identify with pain, performance, ego, and image. We react, we perform, we forget the witness inside us. We forget the ruh—the sacred breath of God that lives within us.

And so we suffer.

But every now and then, Allah shows you. A trial hits. Something collapses. And you glimpse it—that unshakable, quiet presence inside you. The part of you that watches, that doesn’t break, that whispers, “I was never part of this noise.”

“We will surely put you to trial by involving you in fear and hunger and by causing loss of property, life, and earnings. And give good tidings to those who remain steadfast in these trials: when a misfortune comes to them, they say, ‘We are Allah’s and we shall certainly return to Him.’ Their Lord will bestow great blessings and mercy upon them; such are the people who are rightly guided.”
— The Quran 2:155–157, Translation by Abul Ala Maududi

Through these trials, Allah gently prods us to remember that our real being is beyond this world and its physicalities. Each hardship becomes a signpost, pointing us back to the truth: we are not this flesh or this fear. We are the spirit that was breathed from Him—and to Him, we return.

That is the you that was never lost.

“Recall when your Lord said to the angels: ‘I will indeed bring into being a human being out of dry ringing clay wrought from black mud. When I have completed shaping him and have breathed into him of My Spirit, then fall you down before him in prostration.’”
— The Quran 15:28–29, Translation by Abul Ala Maududi

The body was made. The spirit was breathed—God breathed His own into you. This is the Rūḥ al-Qudus, the Holy Spirit, the sacred breath that links all creation to its Source. That’s why your worth isn’t in how you look, what you earn, or how others treat you. Your worth is in what you carry inside: a light of the Divine, a spark of His eternal Nūr.

To remember that is to end fear. To live from that is to escape regret.

Other sacred traditions echo this truth:

“The Supreme Lord dwells in the hearts of all beings, O Arjuna, and directs their movements by His divine power, as if they were mounted on a machine.”
— Bhagavad Gita 18:61, Swami Prabhupada Translation

“You are not the body, nor the mind. You are the eternal Witness (Sakshi), untouched by birth or death.”
— Ashtavakra Gita 1.11

These aren’t poetic metaphors. They’re shared insights into the reality of the ruh—the Divine spirit that animates all life and connects us to our Source.

I once fell off a jetski in deep sea. I can’t swim. Even with a life vest, I couldn’t get back on. The waves tossed me. The body panicked. But my soul stayed calm. In that moment, I knew: if this is the end, I’m okay. The body may drown. But I was already free.

I also remember the moment my parents passed away. Their death didn’t crush me. Because I knew they weren’t gone. Their frail bodies had simply reached their limit, but their souls had already outlived them. I knew they had been freed—and they continued on their eternal journey through the universe.

That’s the power of spiritual awareness. It doesn’t change your life. It changes how you live it.

“We said, ‘Now go down, all of you from here. Henceforth there shall come to you Guidance from Me now and again: whoever will follow it shall have neither fear nor sorrow’”
— The Quran 2:38, Translation by Abul Ala Maududi

This verse was spoken at the moment the soul was being sent from heaven to earth. It reveals something profound: although the body and mind live burdened by regret of the past and fear of the future, the spirit doesn’t. And so, Allah promised His guidance—for those who follow it will be free from fear and sorrow. They will know their spirit, and live mindfully in the present, rooted in their true being. They will know that their existence is far greater than this short time on earth—connected to something eternal, guided by something Divine.

To return to the ruh is to return home. It is not escape. It is awakening. Earthly death is just one part of the soul’s journey. It is not the end. It is only the close of a brief excursion the spirit took through this world.

You were never meant to be just a body trying to survive. You were meant to live as a spirit—fully aware, fully alive, fully returned.