Wherever you are, be there totally. If you find your here and now

Host:
The night air hung heavy with the quiet hum of the city — a mixture of exhaust, streetlight, and rain beginning to fall in faint, silver threads. The rooftop café was almost empty at this hour, perched above a restless avenue that never seemed to sleep. Below, the world moved in fragments — headlights cutting through mist, footsteps splashing through puddles, neon reflections trembling in the water like the heartbeat of a dream.

Jack sat near the edge of the terrace, a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers. His eyes were distant — not tired, but unanchored — watching the chaos below as if it were a film that had forgotten its ending. Across from him sat Jeeny, hands wrapped around a cup of tea, steam rising like a quiet sermon between them.

The rain began to patter on the canopy above, soft and rhythmic, as if marking time for something inevitable.

Jeeny: softly “Eckhart Tolle once said, ‘Wherever you are, be there totally. If you find your here and now intolerable and it makes you unhappy, you have three options: remove yourself from the situation, change it, or accept it totally. If you want to take responsibility for your life, you must choose one of those three options, and you must choose now. Then accept the consequences.’”

Jack: quietly “That’s a brutal kind of wisdom.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Because it leaves no room for blame.”

Jack: taking a drag from his cigarette “Yeah. It’s like he’s saying — suffering’s a choice, but so is courage.”

Jeeny: softly “And indecision is still a decision.”

Jack: looking out over the city “Most people live between the three — too afraid to leave, too powerless to change, too proud to accept.”

Jeeny: nodding slowly “So they stay, calling it endurance when it’s really avoidance.”

Host: The wind shifted, carrying the smell of rain and iron from the street below. The city lights flickered faintly, blurring into soft halos. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed — not urgent, just constant, like the sound of the world remembering its own wounds.

Jeeny: quietly “You ever feel like you’ve been stuck between those three?”

Jack: smiling faintly “I think that’s been my permanent address.”

Jeeny: gently “And tonight?”

Jack: after a pause “Tonight I’m in the neighborhood of acceptance — but only visiting.”

Jeeny: softly “You can’t half-accept something, Jack.”

Jack: quietly “Sure you can. That’s what most people call peace.”

Jeeny: sighing “That’s not peace. That’s sedation.”

Host: The rain began to thicken, the sound on the awning like applause for a performance no one was watching. Jack crushed out his cigarette, the ember glowing briefly before drowning in its own ash.

Jeeny: after a pause “You know what I love about that quote? It’s mercilessly simple. There’s no philosophy to hide behind — no excuses. Three doors. Pick one.”

Jack: smiling bitterly “Yeah, but every door costs something. Leave, and you lose comfort. Change, and you lose control. Accept, and you lose your pride.”

Jeeny: softly “So the real question isn’t which choice you make — it’s which loss you can live with.”

Jack: quietly “And most of us choose the one that hurts slowest.”

Jeeny: nodding “Because slow pain feels like safety.”

Host: The rain shifted directions, blown sideways now, droplets catching in the amber light. The city blurred into impressionism — edges gone, details softened, everything both beautiful and vague.

Jack: after a silence “You ever notice how people romanticize pain? Like it’s noble to stay where you’re suffering — as long as you call it love, or loyalty, or faith.”

Jeeny: softly “Because it’s easier to name pain than to face change. Pain is familiar. Change is chaos.”

Jack: quietly “But chaos is honest. It tells you something’s not working.”

Jeeny: nodding “And that’s why Tolle says responsibility starts with choice — because choice is the first act of consciousness.”

Jack: smiling faintly “You make it sound like free will is a spiritual revolution.”

Jeeny: smiling back “It is. Especially when you stop outsourcing your misery.”

Host: The rain softened again, turning into a mist that clung to the air like breath. The hum of traffic faded into the distance, and for a brief, impossible moment, the city felt suspended — neither alive nor asleep, just present.

Jack: after a pause “You ever tried to do what he says? To be there totally?”

Jeeny: softly “Yes. Once. After my mother died. Everyone wanted me to move on, to fill the space. But I stayed in it — the silence, the ache, the absence. I didn’t run, didn’t numb it. I just stayed. It was unbearable for a while. But then it stopped being suffering. It became… clarity.”

Jack: quietly “You mean you stopped resisting.”

Jeeny: nodding “Exactly. Acceptance isn’t surrender. It’s truth without resistance.”

Jack: softly “And truth without resistance is freedom.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Even when it hurts.”

Host: A car horn echoed below — impatient, fleeting — and then disappeared into the night. The sound reminded them both that the world kept moving whether you joined it or not.

Jack: quietly “You know, I think people get scared of ‘now’ because it’s too naked. There’s nowhere to hide in it.”

Jeeny: softly “Yes. The present is a mirror. And most of us can’t stand what it reflects.”

Jack: nodding “So we fill it with distraction. Phones, plans, noise.”

Jeeny: smiling sadly “Anything but silence. Silence makes you accountable.”

Jack: quietly “Maybe that’s why he says you must choose now. Because the longer you wait, the heavier the lie becomes.”

Jeeny: softly “And the smaller the truth feels.”

Host: The city’s lights shimmered on the surface of a puddle nearby, fractured by the ripples of falling rain — a perfect metaphor for consciousness, Jack thought: broken reflections of the same light, scattered but still belonging to one source.

Jeeny: after a silence “So, Jack — if this was your ‘now,’ and you had to choose — remove, change, or accept — what would you do?”

Jack: after a long pause, voice low “I think I’d stop waiting for permission to be at peace.”

Jeeny: softly “Then that’s acceptance.”

Jack: shaking his head slightly “No. That’s responsibility.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Same thing.”

Host: The rain had stopped now, leaving behind only the scent of wet earth and ozone. The clouds thinned, revealing slivers of moonlight cutting through — cold, clean, absolute.

Jack: quietly “You know, Tolle makes it sound easy — three options, simple math. But real life doesn’t divide neatly like that.”

Jeeny: softly “No, it doesn’t. But clarity isn’t about simplicity. It’s about honesty. The courage to stop lying about where you are.”

Jack: nodding slowly “So presence isn’t a place. It’s an act.”

Jeeny: quietly “And responsibility is the cost of consciousness.”

Host: The city below began to stir again — a new pulse emerging as rainwater drained off the streets. The night no longer felt heavy; it felt awake.

And as they sat in that rooftop silence — two small silhouettes against the vast hum of existence — Eckhart Tolle’s words seemed to take form between them, not as instruction but as invitation:

That the present moment is not a refuge,
but a reckoning —
a demand to be fully awake in the only life that exists.

That unhappiness, when left unexamined,
becomes its own kind of escape.

That responsibility is not punishment,
but freedom’s first breath —
the act of choosing clarity over comfort,
truth over delay.

And that peace,
that elusive state everyone keeps chasing,
is not found in fleeing the moment,
but in standing completely inside it,
unarmed, unguarded, and unafraid
to say,
“This is where I am.”

Fade out.