When something begins out of restlessness, it cannot lead to peace. The same energy that starts it runs through the whole thing. Even when the goal is reached, the restlessness remains — only taking a new shape. What begins with the need to prove or become cannot end in calm. If you write books on peace while you are restless, you will still be restless once the books are out.
The work can itself be the reward. Ask the writer, the painter, or the musician — they know those rare moments when everything else fades, when the act itself becomes silent and complete. There are moments of total absorption when the doer disappears, and only the doing remains. But does that stillness stay when the work ends? Does that silence remain when one is not performing?
Perhaps not. The silence fades when the act ends, because the mind quickly returns to its old movements — seeking, comparing, becoming. But those glimpses are not lost; they show what is possible.
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