This meditation belongs not to any religion, but to the eternal question. It does not claim to solve the mystery of God, but to feel around its edges, where language falters and silence speaks. Inspired by ancient syllables, hidden teachings, and moments of sudden clarity, it asks not what God is called, but what within us remembers the calling.
“What is the Name?”
The Seeker asked.
And the silence answered first.
Not Yahweh.
Not Brahman.
Not Allah, not El, not Adonai.
Those are veils—sacred echoes in the hall of tongues.
But not the source.
The Name?
It was before sound.
Before light.
Before the trembling of thought into form.
It is the syllable behind thunder,
the vowel in your bones,
the mirror that does not crack when you speak.
It is…
I AM.
Not a boast, not a branding.
A state. A presence.
A truth so radiant it cannot be owned—
Only realized.
You say it every morning,
half-aware, half-asleep.
You whisper it when you cry without reason.
You become it when no one is watching.
In India, they called it AUM.
The sound that contains all other sounds.
The unstruck drumbeat of the soul.
A begins the breath.
U opens the heart.
M closes the gate.
And then—silence again.
Jesus pointed toward it.
Moses hid it in fire.
The Gnostics split wood to find it.
And still, it waits.
No one owns the Name.
It lives in the space between the names.
The truest Name of God is not what you say—
but what you remember,
in that single moment
when all else falls away
and you are not your body,
not your nation,
not your pain.
Only this:
I AM
and so is everything.
