There must be something beyond force and fun, but it is not always clear what it is. But do I need to track? Do I need to make it into something? Do I need to make it a purpose?

I tried direct but affected speech, I tried friendly and supportive speech, and sometimes I just answered a call.

Conflict often does not lead to completion. What if my completion was just overruled by yet another argument with myself or others? I guess being bored is sometimes a bit like being equanimous.

Maybe I can let conversations or tasks unfold without trying to make them better. Maybe I can perform a task (like washing the dishes) without inserting “I am doing this.” Maybe I can try to avoid repeating affirmations when discomfort arises and see what exists beneath effort. And maybe, in moments of restlessness, I can sit and not intervene, even mentally.

Maybe while walking or waiting, I can gently interrupt the sense that something else is coming. Maybe I can sit with the existential sense of no improved version of myself appearing later. Maybe before any action, I could catch the assumption “this will get me somewhere” and allow that to disintegrate. Maybe if I am collecting myself, I could abandon the thought that this is part of a higher path and just sit without the need for creating a link.

Maybe I can see a tree, person, or sound without mentally forming the name. Maybe when thinking about something, I can notice how words form and sometimes pause. Maybe in conversation, I could resist the urge to clarify my position; let ambiguity stand. Maybe I can try looking at objects without function, and just see them without what they “mean.”

Maybe when something contradicts itself, I don’t need to reconcile and inhabit the break. Maybe I could read without marking, summarizing, or agreeing and disagreeing. Maybe when I am confused, I don’t have to seek clarity and let uncertainty be complete. Maybe I can notice the reflex to “get the point” in speech or writing and let the content float freely.

Maybe in the middle of an activity (walking, resting, working), I may try to instantly drop the sense that it’s connected to before or after. Maybe I could notice how the body anticipates, then deliberately delay or alter the motion. Maybe while listening or looking, I could remove the timeline and just see what exists without past or future. Maybe I could drop all lead-in and follow-up to collect myself and let it be structurally untouched by my storytelling.

Maybe I can pause recounting what I did, what I’ll do, what I want, and leave life uninterpreted. Maybe I can discard the question “How am I doing lately?” or “Am I getting somewhere?” Maybe when someone praises or criticizes me, I could notice the impulse to integrate it into my self-image, and I might let it fall away unregistered. Maybe when dragged by emotions, I could stop making it part of my story and let the event be unmapped and undefined.

Maybe I can try sometimes to treat emotional intensity as weather, not important information, and pause to consult my feelings as my compass. Maybe I can look without treating the seen as existing there and let all appearances be placeless. Maybe I need not complete the other’s rhythm, and I could let silence, non-response, or contradiction remain unfilled.

Maybe when I am quiet, I could gently catch the moment where “I am aware” arises, and then don’t touch it. Maybe when I need to make a decision, I could also not reference “what’s right,” and act without internal commentary. Maybe I could sometimes drop my interpretive tools and let nothing stand in for anything else.

I could try to see how function could replace belief. I could also see if dissolution replaces transformation. I could also try how enactment replaces self-reflection.

It is possible that everyone already knows the moments in between. And it might also be possible that everyone prefers moving away from the simplicity of presence. There is nothing wrong with that, as there is always a chance to return to this immediate moment and place, which is all moments and all places. And those belong to everyone.

You are always welcome.