There are days when the body moves easily.
Walking happens.
Breath settles.
Chanting carries itself.
Time loosens its grip.
Nothing is being achieved, and yet something feels complete.
And then there is work.
The same body tightens.
The same mind becomes loud.
Time turns heavy again.
It is strange how life flows everywhere —
except where earning is involved.
I’ve noticed this not only in myself, but in others too.
People who are sincere.
People who are disciplined.
People who try to live carefully.
They are not idle.
They are not reckless.
They are not avoiding life.
And yet, when it comes to work, something refuses to move.
Often, the question underneath is not spoken.
It sits quietly:
Am I failing in my duty if I am not earning?
Even when food is there.
Even when the family is kind.
Even when life is held.
The question does not leave.
When this question stays unanswered for long, people find ways to soften it.
Some soften it with noise.
Some with intoxication.
Some with endless conversation.
Some with pleasure.
Others choose quieter ways.
Long walks.
Spiritual talks.
Meditation.
Cinema.
Intimacy.
Nothing wrong with any of these.
They allow the mind to rest —
especially from the constant remembering that money has not arrived.
What I’ve come to see is this:
The problem is not work.
And it is not effort.
The problem is that work has become a place where one stands alone.
No shared rhythm.
No visible trust.
Only outcomes waiting to be proved.
So the body withdraws.
Not in rebellion —
but in self-preservation.
There are moments when writing happens like this too.
Words come.
Design forms itself.
An image settles.
No one is watching.
No one is asking for results.
It feels complete —
until the thought appears:
But no one pays for this.
That thought changes everything.
Perhaps the world does not always pay for presence.
It pays for contracts.
For timelines.
For certainty.
Presence does not hurry to meet those demands.
It waits.
I don’t have a solution here.
Only an observation.
That many people are not avoiding responsibility —
they are avoiding fragmentation.
They are not afraid of work —
they are afraid of losing the quiet aliveness they have touched elsewhere.
Presence doesn’t ask for attention.
It settles.
And sometimes, slowly,
life rearranges itself around that settling.