People – Stillness Awaits

2025-07-09

The Absurdity of “Earning a Living”

From the moment we’re born, a subtle program begins to install itself into our consciousness. It’s not malicious, but it is insidious — a quiet mantra whispered into our upbringing, our schooling, our societal roles: You must earn a living. Say it aloud, and you might not even flinch. It’s so normal, so accepted, so woven into the tapestry of our modern existence that we rarely stop to ask, Wait… earn what?

Let’s pause. Take those three words apart: earning a living.

Isn’t it strange — absurd even — that we must earn the right to live? That our mere existence isn’t enough, but must be justified by effort, output, productivity, and performance? That we must do something in order to be granted what is already ours by nature?

A bird does not earn the right to sing at sunrise.
A tree does not file taxes to keep growing towards the sky.
A river does not justify its flow.

And yet, humans — the only species with such complex cognition — have created a system where life itself is something we must pay for. Food, shelter, water, healthcare, time — all fundamental components of life — are placed behind invisible gates, locked with wages, degrees, and hours worked. Somehow, we’ve agreed to this arrangement. Worse, we rarely question it.

We call it “normal.”

But imagine explaining this to a child — not one already conditioned by society, but one fresh, curious, untainted. You’d have to say, “Yes, sweetheart, I know you were born with lungs that breathe air and a heart that beats without effort, but in order to keep doing that — to have a place to sleep, food to eat, and moments of joy — you must labor, sacrifice, and prove your worth every step of the way.” It sounds cruel, doesn’t it?

And yet, we wear it as a badge of honor. “I work hard to earn a living.” We bond over burnout, pride ourselves on long hours, sacrifice our health, time, and passions just to stay afloat — all while the world spins, the sun rises for free, and the earth continues to provide more than enough for all of us… if only we didn’t gate it with made-up systems and scarcity mindsets.

This isn’t to say work is bad. Meaningful work, contribution, creativity, and service — these are beautiful, human things. But work to survive? That’s a prison dressed up as purpose. There’s a vast difference between working to express life and working to earn the right to live it.

We’ve mistaken survival for success.
We’ve glorified struggle.
We’ve turned life into a transaction.

The real question is: what if we stopped chasing the concept of earning life and started experiencing it? What if we returned to the truth that our worth is not tied to our output? That our value is not measured in productivity? That to be alive is already the miracle — and we’ve already earned it just by being here.

So the next time someone says, “I’m just trying to earn a living,” maybe pause for a moment and let the absurdity of that statement sink in. Then smile, because you’ve seen the joke that humanity’s been playing on itself for generations.

And maybe, just maybe, you’ll stop trying so hard to earn life — and start living it instead.

2025-07-09

The Invisible Cage: How Labels Limit Our Reality

“You are not a label. You are not even a name. You are a living, breathing mystery trying to define the infinite with a few borrowed words.”

We live in a world wrapped in labels — neatly packaged, easily understood, and socially accepted. From the moment we are born, we are given names, identities, genders, roles, diagnoses, beliefs, and affiliations. These labels give us a sense of belonging, structure, and even safety. But as comforting as they seem, they often become the very cages that confine our reality.

The Illusion of Definition

Labels attempt to define something that is in constant motion: you. When we say “I’m an introvert” or “I’m bad at math” or “I’m spiritual but not religious,” we are drawing lines around who we think we are. But identity, like nature, is not a fixed point. It’s a flowing river. The moment you define it, you stop watching it move.

A label is a map, not the territory. It’s a symbol, not the substance. And when we mistake the map for the land, we stop exploring what’s actually out there.

The Cost of Certainty

The more we cling to labels, the more we limit our perception of what is possible — for ourselves and others.

A child labeled as “shy” may never be encouraged to speak up.
A man labeled as “strong” may never feel safe to cry.
A person labeled with a diagnosis may begin to live only within the parameters of that condition.
A spiritual seeker who labels themselves as “enlightened” may no longer allow themselves to grow.

Labels feed our desire for certainty in an uncertain world. But the need for certainty often sacrifices curiosity, and without curiosity, transformation becomes impossible.

Realizing the Trap

The first step to liberation is awareness. Notice how often you use labels in your thoughts and speech. Ask yourself:

Am I using this label to understand something, or to avoid deeper inquiry?
Is this label freeing me or confining me?
Who was I before I believed this about myself?

The more you catch yourself in the act of labeling, the more you realize how reflexive and unconscious it has become. We don’t label reality because it’s true — we label it because it’s easier.

Expanding the Limits of Thought

To move beyond the limits of labels is to become deeply present to what is — without rushing to name it. This is where mindfulness becomes a radical act. When we observe our experiences without categorizing them, something shifts: the world becomes more alive, more mysterious, more fluid.

Here are some ways to begin:

Replace Labels with Observations
Instead of “She’s rude,” say “She interrupted me during a conversation.” Notice how it feels more open, less reactive.
Practice Beginner’s Mind
Approach people, places, even your own emotions as if you’ve never encountered them before. Drop the story. Watch what arises.
Use Language Lightly
Understand that words are just tools. Use them with humility, knowing they can never fully capture the infinite.
Let Yourself Be Unlabeled
You don’t have to be consistent. You can be strong one moment and vulnerable the next. You can love something today and outgrow it tomorrow. That’s not hypocrisy — it’s being alive.
Hold Paradox
True freedom comes when we allow contradictory things to exist within us. You can be both gentle and fierce, grounded and free, logical and mystical. Labels can’t hold paradox, but your soul can.

In the End

Reality does not need to be labeled to be real. It just is. And the more we release ourselves from the grip of definition, the more space we create for possibility. Life doesn’t ask you to be anything — it only asks you to show up, raw and real.

You are not your name.
You are not your roles.
You are not your past.
You are the space where all of that arises.

The question is:
Can you live without a label long enough to find out who you truly are?

2025-07-07

The Paradox of Being Human

We often hold others to a standard of unwavering consistency. When someone goes against their word, changes their stance, or contradicts themselves, we’re quick to label them as unreliable, hypocritical, or two-faced. But if we’re honest — brutally honest — we must admit that we, too, contain contradictions.

To be human is to be paradoxical.
We carry within us both the desire to be understood and the tendency to hide.
We long for stability, yet we are constantly evolving.
We value truth, yet we sometimes lie — even if just to ourselves.
We hold morals, yet we falter.
We make vows, and yet we forget, shift, change.

These aren’t moral failings; they are thresholds of awareness.
When we see someone break their word, it hurts — not just because they broke it, but because we, too, know what it means to feel split between two truths.
It is only by recognizing the paradox within ourselves that we can offer grace to others.

Contradiction isn’t always hypocrisy. Sometimes it’s growth.
Sometimes, to realize the value of honesty, you must feel the weight of a lie.
To know loyalty, you must encounter betrayal — whether your own or someone else’s.
We can’t understand the light unless we’ve stood in the dark.

So next time someone shows you their inconsistency, look inward.
Not to excuse, but to remember:
We are all learning to become whole — one paradox at a time.

2025-07-05

What Alan Watts Would Call a Happening

There are certain moments in life that seem to unfold without effort.

Not because you planned for them.

Not because you earned them.

Not even because you were ready.

They just… happen.

Alan Watts called these moments “happenings.”

They are not tasks.

They are not lessons.

They are not punishments or rewards.

A happening isn’t done to you, nor is it for you.

It simply is.

Like a breeze rustling through the leaves.

Like the tide coming in.

Like laughter erupting in the middle of silence.

The happening is life moving through form—without permission, without apology, and without agenda.

But here’s the subtle grace of it:

While a happening doesn’t revolve around you, something remarkable occurs when you begin to resonate with it.

Not resist it.

Not analyze it.

Not control it.

But meet it.

You and the happening begin to merge, not as two separate entities, but as one synchronized expression of presence.

Like a musician becoming indistinguishable from the music.

Like a dancer being danced.

When resonance occurs, the happening is no longer “out there.”

It is not “yours,” yet it is you.

It becomes the unfolding of your being in perfect rhythm with the cosmos.

This is the beauty.

Not that something happened to you.

Not that something happened for you.

But that you were in harmony with the happening itself.

That you were available enough, quiet enough, alive enough to notice:

Life is not something you control. It is something you meet.

And when you meet it with stillness and wonder,

with humility and presence,

the happening becomes a sacred echo of your own nature.

You weren’t chasing the moment.

You were the moment.

Just… happening.

2025-07-04

Parenting Through Observation: Lessons From the Other Side of the Fence

I’m not a parent. Okay…I lied, maybe towards our two amazing cats…but to human kids, no…not a parent by any means!

Let me start there, not as a disclaimer, but as a grounding truth. I haven’t stayed up all night with a crying infant, navigated toddler tantrums in grocery store aisles, or had to find the right words to explain a heartbreak to a teenager. But I have been parented. I have spent years observing the quiet heroism of parents around me—neighbors, friends, strangers at the park. And I do care deeply about how we raise the next generation.

This isn’t a list of dos and don’ts. I’m not here to tell anyone how to raise their child. Instead, I want to share what I’ve learned by being the child, by watching what works and what seems to hurt, and by carrying a deep devotion to kindness and compassion for every little soul that enters this world.

The Power of Presence

Some of the most powerful moments in my childhood came from quiet, consistent presence. Not the grand gestures, not the big rewards, but the feeling of being seen. A parent who looked me in the eye when I spoke. Who put the phone down. Who didn’t try to fix everything right away, but simply listened. Children remember presence more than perfection.

Words Are Seeds

The way we speak to children becomes the voice they carry in their heads. I remember praise that felt sincere—not for achievement, but for effort. I also remember the sting of words said in frustration, echoing far longer than intended. What if we planted seeds of encouragement, curiosity, and safety with our words? What if we slowed down, even in discipline, to speak with dignity?

Curiosity Over Control

One parenting style I’ve observed with admiration is when adults stay curious—about their child’s feelings, questions, or behaviors—rather than rushing to control them. When a kid acts out, instead of punishment, what if we asked, “What are you feeling?” or “What do you need right now?” That kind of approach doesn’t just raise obedient children—it raises emotionally intelligent ones.

Repair Is More Powerful Than Perfection

We all make mistakes. What matters is whether we repair them. I’ve seen parents apologize to their kids. I’ve seen them get down to eye level, say “I was wrong,” and model humility and growth. As a child, that felt revolutionary. It said: You matter. We can grow together.

Community as a Mirror

I’ve learned just as much by watching how other parents treat their kids in everyday moments—how a father gently adjusts his son’s helmet before going out to bat on the baseball field, how a mother beams while her daughter tells a story through her movement on the dance floor. These glimpses remind me that parenting isn’t about getting it all right—it’s about showing up, again and again, with love.

I may never have the full experience of being a parent, but I do have a heart that watches with reverence. And maybe, that’s worth something.

This reflection doesn’t come from a place of critique, but from love. From the hope that each child gets to feel safe, valued, and loved. From the belief that the way we parent shapes not just individuals, but the soul of our communities.

To every parent out there trying their best—you are seen. And to every child out there—may you always feel worthy, exactly as you are.

2025-07-01

Softness is My Strength Now: A New Way to Shine

For a long time, I believed that being strong meant being untouchable. I thought I had to hide my softness, my sensitivity, and my struggles in order to be respected—perhaps even to survive. Vulnerability, I was taught, was a liability. And so I armored up.

But over time, I began to feel the weight of that armor. It didn’t protect my peace—it held it hostage. The walls I built to seem strong also kept love, presence, and connection out. And maybe, like me, you’ve realized that in trying to be invulnerable, we become invisible… even to ourselves.

So today, I’m choosing something radical.

I’m choosing to be soft.

For the world.

For the people around me.

For myself.

Because softness is not weakness. It is the quiet courage to stay open. It’s the power to feel deeply and still stand tall. It’s choosing peace over performance and truth over image.

Why Softness Matters

Softness brings peace. Hiding parts of ourselves creates tension. Softness is the great exhale. It’s the moment you allow your shoulders to drop and say, “This is who I am.” Softness deepens connection. When we let others see our hearts, we create space for real intimacy. Our vulnerability invites others to be real too. Softness is human. We weren’t made to be machines. We were made to feel. Our tenderness is part of what makes us whole.

Practicing Softness: Where to Start

This isn’t about becoming someone new—it’s about remembering who you were before the world told you to hide. Here are a few ways to begin:

Name what you feel. Pause in the middle of your day and say to yourself, “Right now, I feel…” There’s no right or wrong answer—just notice. Speak one small truth. It could be “I’m overwhelmed” or “I really needed that hug.” Let someone see a piece of your inner world. Protect your softness. Being soft doesn’t mean saying yes to everything. Boundaries are what keep your tenderness safe. Saying “no” when you need to is an act of self-honor.

Softness is a quiet revolution. And it begins inside. Not everyone will understand your softness at first—some may see it as strange or even inconvenient. But stay with it. This is your truth unfolding. This is how peace returns.

Because when you stop hiding, you begin shining.

2025-06-30

The Price We Pay to Keep the Peace

We’ve all done it.

Held our tongue. Softened our truth. Smiled when we wanted to cry.
Not because we were weak, but because we were trying to keep the peace.

In families, friendships, workplaces, and even romantic partnerships — there’s often an unspoken rule that peace is more important than truth. But what happens when keeping the peace comes at the cost of losing ourselves?

We pay the price quietly.
And it adds up over time.

The Cost of Silencing Ourselves

We abandon parts of our true nature.
That wild spark, that deep knowing, the part of us that wants to roar with aliveness—gets tucked away.
We create an inner split.
There’s the “us” we show the world, and the “us” that watches from the shadows, wondering when it will be safe to come out.
We feel unseen, even in love.
Because how can others truly see us if we’re hiding behind politeness and performance?
We become tired in ways rest can’t fix.
Because suppression is exhausting. It takes energy to pretend, to hold it all in.

Why We Do It

We keep the peace because it feels safer.
We’ve learned that honesty might lead to rejection. That truth might provoke conflict.
And for many, especially those who’ve experienced trauma, rejection or disapproval can feel like death to the nervous system.

So we trade authenticity for approval.
We shrink so others don’t feel uncomfortable.

But There’s Another Kind of Peace

There is a peace that doesn’t ask us to shrink.
It doesn’t demand our silence.
It welcomes our wholeness—the wild and the tender, the clear and the confused.

That peace starts from within.

It’s the kind of peace that emerges when we’re fully aligned with who we are. When we say, with compassion but without apology:

“This is who I am. This is what I feel. And I can’t keep abandoning myself for the sake of harmony.”

Because if peace costs you your truth—it’s not peace.
It’s quiet resentment.
It’s spiritual suffocation.

2025-06-20

Without the Need to Fall

I wasn’t searching.
Not for love,
not for saving,
not for someone to make sense of the noise.

I had made peace with the quiet.
The kind that doesn’t ache anymore—
just hums low in the bones,
like the sound of wind through old trees.

I needed nothing.
No fixing.
No thrill.
No fireworks to wake me up.
I was already awake.
Already whole.

And then…
there you were.

No entrance music.
No grand design.
You didn’t fill a void—
you revealed a room I didn’t know was there.

You didn’t complete me.
You just made me softer.
Wider.
Still.

You didn’t rush in.
You appeared.
Like the last line of a poem
that had been writing itself
since before I was born.

I didn’t fall in love with you—
because there was nothing to fall into.
You were already there.
In the air.
In the stillness between my thoughts.
In the calm I had built around myself.

And yet somehow—
you fit.
Not as a missing piece,
but as a secret layer
beneath everything I thought I understood.

So no,
I never fell in love with you.
I met you
when I was already standing.
Already whole.
Already free.

And that’s what made it real.
You were not what I needed.
You were what I never knew
was possible
once I needed nothing.

2025-06-18

Stacks of Resentment

Resentment does not thunder in—
It tiptoes in on quiet sighs,
A single word left unexplained,
A glance that looked away, not wise.

It starts as something barely there,
A flicker lost behind the eyes—
A moment when we needed care
But silence answered hurt with lies.

It stacks, not loud, but layer-thin:
A favor missed, a thought unheard,
A burden carried once again
Without the grace of kindest word.

Each layer pressed, not smoothed or seen,
Becomes a brick without release.
The wall builds up, emotion-dense,
And blocks the path to inner peace.

Resentment is not rage, not fire—
It’s cooler than the surface shows.
It is the weight of unmet needs,
The ache of what one never knows.

But pause—breathe in, and speak it out.
Unstack the pain with gentle hands.
Let anger name its softer core,
And truth arise where silence stands.

For when we seek to understand
The roots that tangled in the past,
We find resentment starts to melt—
And love, at last, can hold us fast.

2025-05-22

When Cancer Isn’t the Enemy, but a Messenger

As we get closer to death, I’ve come to see something differently: maybe cancer isn’t a mistake, a curse, or something to be feared — maybe it’s a signal. A signal that the body, in its deep intelligence, is preparing to break down, to return to the cycle of nature from which it came.

But this brings up a deeper question:
Why are we, as humans, so determined to prevent such things?

The War Against Death

In modern culture, especially in the West, death is often seen as a failure — the thing we must postpone at all costs. We don’t talk about it openly. We hide it in hospitals, behind sterilized curtains and silent grief. We’ve pathologized the natural process of dying, calling it something to be cured, rather than a sacred transition to be honored.

Our Dual Instincts

There’s a paradox at play. On one hand, we resist death because we’re afraid of it. On the other, we fight to live because we love life so deeply. And maybe both are valid.

We intervene medically not just out of fear, but out of love — love for one more day, one more smile, one more breath with those we cherish. Medicine, in many ways, is a form of devotion.

Beyond the Diagnosis

Not all cancer is terminal. Sometimes, treating it gives us more time — not just time on a clock, but time that’s rich with meaning. Moments that matter. Healing isn’t always about preventing death. Sometimes, it’s about how we live while we’re still here.

Reframing the Narrative

But perhaps the greatest healing lies not in defeating death, but in making peace with it. What if cancer is not a curse, but a whisper? What if it’s the body’s way of saying, “It’s time to begin letting go”?

This doesn’t mean we stop caring or give up on people we love. It means we start honoring the process — not as an enemy to conquer, but as a passage to walk through with reverence.

If we listened more closely, maybe we’d stop fearing death — and start understanding it.