If you’re someone who reads before sleeping, whose brain has become a battlefield of “what if” scenarios that won’t end until you fall asleep—and then begin again when you wake—the word “Hermeticism” might sound like something from an old book. But what I want to share with you is practical. Grounded. Something real.
I began reading The Kybalion during one of my most anxious periods, and the book itself was only about a hundred pages long. What struck me wasn’t that it offered answers—it offered principles. Principles that had been handed down through generations. Twelve principles in total. And I found myself returning to three in particular, because they became my daily medicine for the anxiety that had become so familiar I’d stopped noticing how heavy it was.
The Principle of Mentalism—that “the All is Mind.” The universe is mental. What this means practically: when you notice your mind racing through worst-case scenarios, understand something important. That same power that built galaxies can also build a calmer inner world. This isn’t mystical talk. It’s a call to become active in shaping your own experience rather than being passive against it.
The Principle of Vibration—everything is always moving, everything vibrates at different frequencies—and this principle alone shifted something for me. When anxiety rises and I can’t quiet my thoughts, I think about vibration instead. Anxiety isn’t bad; it’s just high-frequency energy. Rather than fighting against it, the question becomes: how do I raise my own frequency? Movement helps. Connection with other people who are genuinely warm. Reading poetry or music that resonates in a way that feels true—anything that shifts me from where I am to somewhere higher.
And then there’s The Principle of Rhythm—the rise and fall, the swing. If you’ve ever felt completely overwhelmed one moment and deeply peaceful another without knowing why, this is what happens. Nothing stays at peak intensity forever. This principle alone has been more comforting than any technique: when everything feels like it’s falling apart, something I’d call “this too” becomes my first response instead of panic.
The thing about studying The Kybalion for an entire year was that each principle took time to actually inhabit rather than just read. I spent months reading the same few pages, noticing how different things showed up depending on which season I was in or what was happening in my life at that moment.
What stayed with me wasn’t a new set of beliefs but a way of being. Because here’s what I’ve come to understand: when anxiety comes—and it does, daily now as it did for me—I don’t need to fix everything right away. I just need to notice which principle applies in this moment and let that guide me toward the next movement.
If you’re someone reading this who recognizes yourself—someone whose mind has become both sanctuary and battlefield simultaneously—maybe this is worth considering too. Because what The Kybalion gave me was a language for my own experience, something I could carry with me into any day regardless of what was happening around me.













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