Longing… When It Disguises Itself as Addiction

I have often stood in still contemplation before one of the deepest mysteries of creation, the root of attachment: a subtle illusion that tethers human beings to earthly chains and quietly robs them of the capacity to rise into the boundless sky of their divine potential.

I lingered long with this riddle, and after much supplication and reflection, I came, perhaps belatedly, to understand that attachment is neither a sin nor a deviation. It is an instinctive inclination of the soul, a primal attempt to survive and expand, still unable in its early stages to recognize that human nature is charged with an innate, deeper pull, an attraction of the self toward the Source, toward the Whole, toward the river’s dissolution in the awe of the ocean.

From this understanding, my existential questions began to unfold:

Why do we seek serenity outside ourselves?

Why do we rush toward what numbs pain for a fleeting moment, only for it to return heavier and more profound?

Why are we so easily addicted to immediate comfort?

Are we not all addicted, each in our own way?

When we delve into the depths of the psyche seeking the root of attachment, the sincere seeker discovers that addiction is nothing more than a deep call of the soul, yearning for connection. Seen through this compassionate lens, addiction ceases to be an error or a failure; it becomes an instinctive, unconscious attempt to soothe a pain that has not yet been acknowledged.

It is like a thirst lodged in the body, answered with saltwater that only deepens the thirst, a hasty response to a need that has not yet found its way to genuine satiation. At such moments of urgency, the demand appears, on the surface, to be for more, more comfort, more stimulation, more control. Yet beneath this hunger for more lies a very different longing: not for more, but for all, for wholeness, for belonging, for finding one’s place within a wider field of meaning and existence.

And this longing, unable to find its true fulfillment, searches for any outlet that might dull its intensity. It takes many forms and finds expression through many paths. At times it seeks refuge in substances; at others, it takes refuge in work, food, technology, or gambling. It may also return in disguise, taking shape in our attachment to destructive identities, such as perfection or control, not because we love them, but because they offer a conditional sense of worthiness or safety, serving as a defense for a self-image we fear might collapse.

In our relationships, we may seek closeness through anxious attachment, avoidance, or retreat into fantasy, longing for connection that offers warmth and reassurance, yet spares us the risk of being fully seen, touched, and unsettled in our inner vulnerability.

These patterns often arrive as whispers, long before we become aware of their presence. They are nothing more than signals, revealing the depth of our longing for safety and for the preservation of inner coherence. When addiction is understood through this compassionate lens, the story softens: we stop blaming ourselves and begin to listen. And in that listening, we begin to glimpse what the deeper longing has been trying to reveal from the beginning, what lies beyond the thirst, beyond the masks, beyond the carefully guarded image of who we wanted to project.

A Gnostic–Sufi Reflection

Here I recall a saying attributed to one of the Sufi masters:

“Blessed is the One whom “apostates still worship, even as they believe they have turned away, yet, unwillingly and unconsciously, they continue to worship Him through the idols they cling to.”

The esoteric meaning of “apostates” here, does not point to an outward abandonment of religion, but to a retreat at the threshold of transformation, the moment when a person approaches an inner unveiling that threatens their old self-image and chooses to return to what is familiar, not because it is truer, but because it feels safer.

The one who withdraws at the threshold is someone who finds the vastness of truth constricting and therefore seeks refuge in the familiar. It is the triumph of habit over awareness, memory over presence, and fear over courage. Apostasy, in this sense, is not a conscious choice but a trembling of the being at the edge of transformation, when the light of truth touches the depths of the soul and the cost of crossing reveals itself as dissolution (fanāʾ), where the false identity quietly falls away. One then chooses to remain at the edge, like the moth circling the flame of the Beloved, drawn to its light, yet turning back when the fire calls for self-consumption.

Thus, the “apostates” here are all who turn away from the Source and shelter beneath substitutes woven by their own illusions. And the “idols” are not stone statues, but anything that becomes a compulsory refuge: an idea, a habit, a pleasure, an attachment to power, a dependence on others, or an addiction to a substance or a state of being.

At a deeper level, even while immersed in the worship of idols, human beings cannot escape the primordial longing for the Source.

The Qur’an affirms this primordial dimension in the verse:

“There is nothing that does not glorify Him in praise, yet you do not perceive their glorification.”

(Al-Isrāʾ 17:44)

Worship, then, is an innate human instinct. Yet when insight is veiled, the inner compass falters, and this energy is diverted toward lesser substitutes. In such moments, a person worships what harms him, not out of love, but as a means of escaping the confrontation with his own existential nakedness.

From this perspective, addiction is less a moral deviation than a misdirected act of devotion: a desperate attempt to contain pain, invoke safety, and retrieve a sense of self, yet offered to an illusory idol. Addiction thus becomes a prostration of the body without the heart; prayer is reduced to lips that murmur without presence; and an attachment that once promised release becomes only another tightening of the chains.

As for the word “Blessed” in this context, it does not suggest approval of idol worship. Rather, it points to a deeper, subtle expression of mercy at work: even when worship is distorted, the primordial longing remains intact, and the divine root within the human being stays alive, awaiting redirection, not condemnation.

This reflection thus reveals how longing, when devoid of awareness, transforms into addiction, and how realignment remains possible not through repression, but through awakening the dormant awareness imprisoned within inherited intellectual and social forms.

It is an esoteric invitation to leave the narrowness of substitutes behind and return to the vastness of the Source…

from attachment back to connection…

The Siddha Vision for Restoring Balance and Connection

Perhaps the most essential insight I received from my beloved teacher, Palpendian, is that our relationship with ourselves carries an inner rhythm woven by the Divine: when this rhythm is disturbed, the world reflects that disturbance; when it is restored to harmony, the door to true connection opens once again, by grace.

No relationship takes shape in the outer world without first being formed within, and no conflict with another arises that is not the echo of an earlier inner fracture that has yet to be acknowledged. Seen in this light, the outer world is not the true source of our unrest but its mirror, faithfully revealing what has settled in the depths of our inner life.

This meaning finds a deep resonance in words attributed to Ali ibn Abi Talib.

“You presume yourself to be a small body, while within you the greater universe is enfolded. "

These lines unveil a profound truth of the path: the human being is not a passive recipient of the world, but its living mirror, what appears outwardly is but the echo of what is held within.

When the inner world is disturbed, the outer world becomes distorted. When the inner state is aligned, existence around us begins to arrange itself accordingly. The external world thus becomes a precise reflection of the state of consciousness, not a realm separate from it. True work, then, lies not in changing the scene, but in restoring harmony within.

How the Inner World Fractures.

In the Siddha perspective, addiction is neither a moral failing nor a simple “lack of willpower,” nor is it merely a chemical imbalance requiring pharmacological correction. At its root, addiction is a sign of inner fracture: a splitting within the human being, such that one is no longer fully present in the body, and no longer fully connected to life.

Seen more clearly, addiction is not attachment to a substance or an act, but attachment to the relief it promises, the numbing calm that briefly extinguishes the inner fire. For the sake of this temporary soothing, the nervous system settles for a substitute for true connection: something rapid yet empty, offering neither relationship nor containment, neither depth nor meaning.

As this inner coherence is lost, addiction presents itself as a ready-made refuge, whispering to the body:

“This will calm you, now.”

And the nervous system responds, not because it seeks harm, but because it is seeking survival.

What proves most painful in this trajectory is not the initial fall, but what follows. Temporary relief is soon replaced by guilt, shame, or a subtle inner collapse, and then the tension returns, heavier than before. With each repetition, the body is mis-taught that regulation lies not in presence, but in performing an external act or reaching for an object to manage its state. The inner split deepens, and the neural pathway hardens.

Here, guilt plays its most dangerous role. As soon as the fleeting comfort fades, an inner voice of accusation arises, quiet shame, a subtle rupture, a sense that the self has turned against itself. This pain does not remain at the level of thought; it settles into the body as a constricting tension that reduces one’s capacity to endure. When this burden grows heavy, the nervous system does not seek understanding, it seeks escape. And so it returns to the familiar path, not in pursuit of pleasure, but in flight from the weight of guilt itself.

Thus guilt becomes the fuel of the cycle. The behavior does not extinguish it; it reignites it. It lashes the inner world, deepens the rupture, and intensifies the need for yet another escape. With every turn of the loop, the body learns a harsh lesson: pain is treated with pain, and relief is borrowed at an ever greater cost. The cycle repeats, not because the human being wishes to fall, but because guilt constricts the pathways back to presence.

Psychology names this state dissociation, a disconnection from the self. Neuroscience frames it as the dominance of emotional centers when conscious regulation weakens. The Siddha tradition, however, speaks plainly: the human being has drifted from their essence and is cut off from the wellspring of innate intelligence within.

When Organic Balance Is Hijacked: How Addiction Manufactures a False Equilibrium

The body–mind system does not primarily seek pleasure; it seeks balance. It is continually oriented toward homeostasis, a state of inner stability in which the heart, breath, emotions, energy, and attention fall back into rhythm. When life offers sufficient safety and support, this balance can be restored naturally and organically.

Yet this innate capacity develops only under one essential condition: a felt sense of safety. In pressured or traumatic environments, the nervous system is deprived of the conditions it needs to recalibrate. Rather than settling into rhythm, it stays braced and guarded, with anxiety, tension, or numbness shaping everyday experience. Over time, the capacity to return softly to balance is lost.

In this state, the body does not ask moral or intellectual questions. It asks only one biological question: What will ease this pain now?

Here addiction emerges, not as a tendency toward excess, but as a desperate attempt to restore a lost balance.

Addiction as an Emergency Regulation of the Nervous System

At this point, the brain searches without hesitation for any means capable of producing a rapid shift toward comfort, numbing, or stimulation. When it finds something that reliably and predictably brings about this shift, the nervous system registers it as an effective solution.

Alcohol may temporarily reduce anxiety or social fear.

Sugar may fill a sense of emptiness or loneliness.

Constant scrolling may distract from grief or boredom.

Gambling may generate excitement that masks depression.

Smoking may calm the nerves almost instantly.

Overworking may obscure emotional pain through constant busyness, and so on.

In this mode, the brain does not distinguish between what is healthy and what is harmful. Its only concern is restoring balance as quickly as possible. With repetition, the nervous system begins to rely on this behavior as its primary means of regulation. In this sense, the human being has not “chosen” addiction; the body has learned a strategy for survival.

When Addiction Becomes the New Equilibrium

Because the relief it provides is both rapid and predictable, the nervous system is gradually reorganized around the addictive behavior. Neural pathways strengthen, inner responses are reshaped, and the brain learns a new mode of regulation, until addiction itself settles in as the new equilibrium. In this state, the addictive behavior is no longer experienced as an exception, but as the new “normal.”

The smoker finds calm only while smoking and grows anxious in its absence. The one who turns to compulsive eating for comfort comes to experience the lack of food as tension and shame. The person accustomed to constant scrolling finds silence and stillness almost unbearable. In this way, addiction begins to resemble a trait of personality, when in truth it is something foreign that has quietly taken residence within the person, slowly mistaken for who one is.

Through repetition, the nervous system is trained to rely on a particular behavior or substance in order to feel safe. When this support is removed, anxiety surges, meaning begins to waver, and a sense of insecurity takes hold. This is why stopping feels so frightening: the nervous system is not losing a fleeting pleasure, but the very support it has learned to lean on.

Why Willpower Fails at Self-Control

Within the Siddha framework, the notion of willpower, so often blamed for failure or credited for success in recovery, is fundamentally reexamined. In moments of deep fear, or when pain exceeds its threshold, the body does not consult the mind or weigh alternatives. It moves directly into the logic of survival. In such moments, the voice of thought recedes, and impulse takes the foreground, like a frightened child instinctively searching for shelter.

A person may break their promises, not out of disregard or moral weakness, but because pain arrives before the capacity to choose, and what is activated is not a conscious decision but a bodily memory, woven from earlier experiences of fear, deprivation, or inner fracture.

From this perspective, it becomes evident that willpower is ineffective against what has been etched into the memory of the body. Addiction does not originate in the field of conscious awareness, but in a deeper layer where survival responses were laid down before language took shape and before logical thinking emerged. Here, commands and vows carry little weight, because when the nervous system senses threat, it does not heed the mind’s discourse. It does not ask, “What is right?” but rather, “What will ease the pain now?”

Addiction Through the Lenses of Neuroscience and Psychology

Neuroscience and psychology understand addiction as closely linked to how the brain responds to stress and discomfort. When a person feels threatened or uneasy, the amygdala reacts first, sending a rapid alarm through the body before conscious thought has time to engage. The frontal lobe then intervenes to interpret the situation and attempt to regulate behavior. For this reason, many modern treatments emphasize strengthening cognition, self-control, and behavioral redirection.

In the context of addiction, however, this strategy can inadvertently reinforce the very loop it seeks to undo. Discomfort is rapidly absorbed into thinking, where the mind bargains with pain and justifies the addictive act as necessary relief. In doing so, regulation is mistaken for resolution, and the cycle tightens instead of loosening.

The Siddha Approach to Healing

Higher Practices Revealed Within the Siddha Lineage: Restoring Inner Connection

“Siddhas are beings of Nature. They are comfortable in the wilderness.”, PalPandian

In these few words, my teacher Palpandian disclosed not a philosophy, but a mode of existence, an intimacy with life so complete that even the wilderness, outer and inner, ceased to be feared. Siddhas, as he lived and taught, are not those who withdraw from life, but those who belong to it so fully that disorder, uncertainty, and rawness no longer estrange them from themselves. Their knowing does not retreat into abstraction; it remains rooted where life is most exposed, where the human being is stripped of assurances and must stand naked before what is.

Though my journeys to India offered many lessons, the greatest grace I received on this path with the Siddhas was a quiet, gradual initiation into a Siddha practice, entrusted to me through him. This practice did not arrive as an addition, nor as a refinement of what I already knew. It came as a quiet undoing, an unlearning more than a learning, a gentle return to a simplicity that had never been lost, only obscured by accumulation.

This higher practice became a daily ritual, practiced with a presence that preserves what is alive and sheds what is not. Through it, the soul gently releases its residues, as the face is washed each morning of the dust of attachment, and is returned to its clarity and simplicity.

This discipline was not a technique for controlling thought or sharpening concentration, but a grace that gently returns the human being to their primordial stillness, the ground where one removes their sandals and steps into the sacred valley of the soul. Simple in form yet profound in its effects, it restores balance and the natural flow of the whole being. From this lived intimacy, true listening is born: an attunement to the stillness hidden in the depths of the soul, which becomes a quiet sustenance, an intelligence older than thought, wiser than effort.

Unraveling the Mechanics of Addiction

From direct experience, a clearer understanding of how addiction takes hold begins to emerge. It becomes evident that the space between stimulus and response is not governed by willpower or self-control, but by the degree of presence and inner stillness available in the moment. When this presence is absent, response collapses into automatic reaction, driven by fear and habit. It is here that conscious choice gives way to loss of control.

When the being is rooted in silence, however, the same stimulus no longer triggers compulsion. Response arises from awareness rather than reflex, and from connection to innate intelligence rather than escape from pain. Behavior then becomes a conscious response instead of a conditioned reaction. From this ground, the Siddha approach gently loosens the mechanics of addiction rather than confronting them by force.

Adaptation: The Law of Life

To understand this mechanism more deeply, one must return to a broader law that governs all of life: growth does not arise from the preservation of comfort. Muscles strengthen through resistance, immunity matures through exposure, and the brain reorganizes itself through challenge and uncertainty. Remaining within a narrow zone of safety merely preserves existing patterns, even distorted ones, and confines the being to a rigid form of balance, or homeostasis, that may feel comfortable yet gradually drains vitality.

Transformation, by contrast, requires a temporary departure from this fixed balance, followed by integration at a deeper level and the emergence of a more organic, living equilibrium.

Discomfort as the Threshold of Transformation

Within this law, the meaning of discomfort is radically redefined. Discomfort is not an enemy to be avoided, but a signal that one has reached a threshold in the process of change. In the context of addiction, this discomfort emerges when a familiar craving arises and the habitual behavior the body relies on is no longer enacted, when one feels the urge to smoke and does not light the cigarette, or senses the pull toward compulsive scrolling and does not reach for the phone.

The pain here does not arise from the absence of the object itself, but from the nervous system’s conditioning to use it as a means of regulation.

This uneasy sensation is often misinterpreted as relapse or weakness, prompting a swift return to the behavior in order to silence it. When that happens, nothing changes and the cycle continues uninterrupted. But when discomfort is allowed to be experienced with awareness, without escape or suppression, something altogether different begins to unfold. For the first time, the nervous system learns to remain present with sensation without resorting to its old refuge. And in this staying, even if only for seconds or minutes, a new form of regulation begins to take shape from within.

When this presence is absent, response collapses into automatic reaction, driven by fear and habit. It is precisely here that the boundary between conscious action and loss of control is crossed. When the being is rooted in silence, however, action no longer arises from compulsive impulse, but from a living contact with presence and a vital connection to innate intelligence. Behavior then becomes a conscious response rather than an attempt to escape pain. From this ground, the Siddha approach gently dismantles the mechanics of addiction.

What Is Meant by Presence?

Presence is a steady attention rooted in the body, an awareness that stays with experience as it is, without rushing to escape and without collapsing into automatic reaction. It is not an attempt to eliminate discomfort or to reframe it, but the capacity to remain with it for a moment longer than usual. Through presence, discomfort does not disappear; its meaning changes. Instead of being perceived as a threat that must be silenced immediately, it becomes a sensation that can be listened to and understood.

Presence soothes the nervous system, interrupts impulsive discharge, and allows emotional responses to reorganize. Put simply: without presence, discomfort is noise that drives reaction; with presence, it becomes information that guides response.

With presence, discomfort is no longer a shock that demands escape, but information that can be understood and integrated, restoring the human capacity to choose. At this point, psychological knots begin to loosen rather than tighten. Incomplete experiences find a path toward resolution, craving loses its compulsive grip, and the nervous system learns safety without flight. This is not forced endurance of pain, but conscious presence.

Action Flowing from Innate Intelligence

At this turning point, the meaning of action itself changes. It is no longer a reaction compelled by pressure, but a spontaneous movement arising from within, born of living presence. It is action not constructed in the mind nor driven by coercion, but one that emerges naturally, sometimes before the mind intervenes, and sometimes beyond its noise. In this way, the body’s innate intelligence quietly resumes the lead, allowing the whole being to move in genuine harmony, without strain or pretense.

Here, true liberation begins, not as the suppression of behavior, but as the natural consequence of a deeper inner shift. When action arises from a settled field of silence and embodied presence, patiently cultivated through practice until it becomes a stable ground for inhabiting the body, the nervous system no longer chases relief, but begins to regulate itself from within. Comfort ceases to be a goal; adaptability takes its place. The body becomes capable of meeting intensity as it is, without resistance or escape, because safety now arises internally rather than being conditioned upon flight.

Stepping Out of Hijacked Equilibrium

In this way, change does not remain limited to outward behavior, but reaches the deeper inner system that had been directing it. In the Siddha view, adaptability does not try to control or correct action itself; it transforms the underlying system that depended on addiction to maintain balance, a hijacked equilibrium, a false stability built around addiction as a way of managing pain and fear.

Each time the nervous system learns to stay present with sensation, without collapsing or escaping, the role of addiction naturally diminishes. This does not happen through prohibition or suppression, but through the restoration of connection. Instead of continually seeking “more,” the being becomes attuned to a broader sense of presence and meaning. When this connection is restored, the urge for more fades, because what was being sought is now available from within.

Adaptability, then, becomes the bridge by which the nervous system moves from a hijacked equilibrium into a more organic and resilient balance, not suddenly, but gradually, through repeated experiences of safety, sufficiency, and the return of embodied intelligence to its rightful role.

From Separation to Non-Duality

As this practice ripens, the deepest effect of the discipline becomes apparent. Through it, energy within the human being is gently realigned and allowed to flow freely once more, and the sense of separation gradually dissolves. Mind and body no longer appear as opposing domains, but return to their original non-dual harmony, where perception and action arise from a single, integrated field, innate intelligence itself.

Acceptance and Surrender: The Way Back to Essence

At this depth, the practice ceases to be a technique or exercise and is revealed instead as a sacred meeting. It becomes a patient attunement of the heart to the will of the Creator, whereby one learns first to listen inwardly to the stillness beneath thoughts. From this listening, trust begins to form: a confidence in the quiet guidance that arises not through effort, but through intimacy with presence. As trust deepens, yielding follows naturally, not as submission or strain, but as a soft release of resistance. In this yielding, movement no longer needs to be forced; life is met in harmony, and the individual learns to flow with its current rather than against it.

Here, acceptance is no longer resignation, but a clear and living recognition, a quiet presence that emerges not through giving up, but through letting go. It settles as resistance softens, as the struggle eases, and the soul finally exhales what it has been carrying for too long.

At a deeper level, this Siddha practice is revealed not as effort, but as a practice of release, of shedding what has accumulated and adhered to the human being yet does not belong to their sacred essence. What falls away is not life, but distortion; what remains is what is authentic, aligned with the quiet call from within.

In this letting go, a transformation unfolds that is both gentle and decisive: a passage from duality into non-duality. The inner split between doer and observer gradually softens, and as this division loosens, the energy that once dissipated through it returns to its source, no longer divided against itself.

Connection: The True Antidote to Addiction

The human being was not created to live in separation, but was woven to stand upon two vital bonds, without which life cannot truly endure: a horizontal connection that links us to others, and a vertical connection that anchors us in meaning, spirit, and purpose.

When either of these bonds fractures, the balance of the nervous system is disturbed. When both collapse, addiction finds fertile ground, sinking deep and taking hold.

Many patterns of addiction arise from a silent loss of connection. The first of these is vertical connection, the bond between the human being and innate intelligence, that inner source of meaning, purpose, and value. This connection is neither an idea nor a belief, but a state of inner rootedness. When it is alive, a person feels anchored from within; scattered parts begin to gather, and one stands with greater stability, less vulnerable to emptiness, confusion, or the impulse to escape.

From this inner rootedness, horizontal connection, the relationship between one human being and another, naturally takes shape. When a person is connected to their innate intelligence, they do not use relationships to compensate for an inner lack, but live them as spaces of presence and mutual support. When either of these connections weakens, susceptibility to addiction increases. If vertical connection is lost, one seeks meaning and comfort in substances or behaviors. If horizontal connection fractures, loneliness deepens and the pull toward addiction intensifies.

Healing, then, is not merely the cessation of a behavior, but the restoration of both pathways together: a return to inner rootedness and to genuine connection with others. When these bonds are restored, the need to compensate through addiction no longer arises.

And so the existential question remains open:

If addiction is the cry of a fragmented soul, and the remedy lies in restoring connection rather than battling behavior, how much of our pain was, in truth, a waiting for a meeting that never came?