from March 3rd, 2025
7:29am
Keeping the mind open to see the imagination of the unknown- or welcome the space for creative uncertainty, where the process encourages natural solutions to unfold. From out of what is broken, comes growth. The mind is busy searching for meaning, when the mind has a hard time letting go. The answers will never cease to stop. Even on repeat, you might ask, over and over again- what is for breakfast? Mind over matter, is really a thing. Matter of fact. The mind controls, when the mind is- thinking. What are you thinking about? Answers. Questions. Reasons. Ideas. Is there a simpler way. The minds main function is to- function. Or, keep us functioning. The idea, which we give it, anatomically becomes the bodies motor boat. Where is your captain? Have you giving him a name? If the brain is running the system, the action of thought will follow. Essentially being the reaction to what? Our feelings. Our judgements. Our fears. Our passions. Our purpose. It might be stranger, but true- we all have one- a reason for living. Not that we were giving life, and meaning- but rather, we have a life, so therefore we should have meaning. What is the meaning of life? In simplicity, to live. If I were a bird, would this make life easier? Probably. My day would be like this- feel the morning, gently wake. Sing with the rising sun. I might be hungry. I search for food. Feeling. Action. I might be cold. I search for warmth. Feeling action. I might be thirsty. I search for water. I might need to take care of my babies. Protect. Feed. Be. A bird doesn’t have to think, like we do. A bird, just does. If I am hungry, I tend to go in and ask this next- hmmm, what do I want? Rather than simply- picking up an apple. My analytics take over. I think about what time of day it is. I think about what I might have already eaten. Or, what I might be eating later. I consider my consumption diet, over the last few days. If I had birds for brains, I’d simply find a bug. If there were no bugs, I’d find a seed. If there were no seeds, I’d sit still on a branch. Perched. And, singing.
