I think I think too much. Maybe that’s one of the reasons why we all are born – to think of the reasons why we are born at all. I start my day wondering about what I’ll make of it, and end it thinking what I made of it.
In these thoughts, I end up making nothing of my time. I am not my thoughts.
Don’t you get sick of it? Your voice repeatedly telling what this could be and what that was. How this works? Why does it work? What works and what does not? There is no control to what we think. And, perhaps there never will be in a world so sane. It’s impossible for one to not think. It’s almost as if one would stop breathing.
You breathe, you think.
Breath is all it takes to solve this. You are not your thoughts. You are the breath, you repeat your rhythm. Your thoughts are only but a perspective of a dimension so cleanly not possible by me to describe. I’ve been meditating now and then. It’s hard to not only get rid of the bad habits for me – but also to cultivate good ones.
What is your meditation? Your time writing something. Your dance. Your ride to the mountain peak. Your breath.