Writer's block

Don’t accept writer’s block. There’s always more to talk about, even if it doesn’t feel important to you. That’s ego speaking, trying to judge what’s arising as being not as sacred or valuable in that moment. Every moment passes and most of our existence we’re silent, we’re compost, we’re Earth. For less than 1% of our time on this planet do we exist as conscious life forms. All thoughts are unique in that they form the stitching of our life-quilts. To judge the lines on the map is as foolish as arguing with the weather. The lines represent the landscape. The map is not the territory. Whatever thoughts course through, represent the territory. To embrace, explore, elevate those thoughts as ornaments on our Hidden Bodhi Tree is to hug our entire life from the final breath. Ultimately stoicism is about learning how to die well. The purpose of a life is a life well lived. We can chase or we can rest but in either case we’re grinding down our gears or smiling at our destruction. To pursue with excellence and fervor, to rest as a genuine savoring of peace, respite, especially after creation, earning, solving is to be fully present in our journey. Rest is a time for rebuilding and the neurogenesis, when novel tracks become digested. That’s why it feels best when earned. Exhaustion after purpose, function is the sign of self-achievement. We breathe what the great whole breathes. Egos die, whether in individuals or ideologies or civilizations and every system of thoughts is a ephemeral reflection, a soap bubble, visions huddled so as to give aid, live and play for another day. Everything flows back to the way, the hidden, the Tao