As we reclaim our attention, having learned to observe our thoughts without being swept away by them, a natural question arises: How should we live? The mind, conditioned by years of seeking quick answers, turns instinctively toward the practical, believing that life is about action, about doing what matters. But in this rush to find clarity, we often risk losing the focus we have worked so hard to cultivate.
It would be dangerously easy to compress these new observations into tidy conclusions, distilling them into mantras. Such rules would offer, at best, partial truths, and at worst, comfortable deceptions. The mind is too subtle and intricate to be reduced to formulas.
Take my own experience. After just one day of dispassionate observation, I found myself flooded with dozens of disparate thoughts. For an entire week, I tried to make sense of them, but only small themes emerged -- questions, mostly, like "What is truly real?" or "How can I earn the respect of others without compromising myself?" Some of these questions seemed trivial at first, but over time, they revealed deeper concerns: "What tiny fabrications do I use to gain approval?" or "What would it take to be so honestly good that I cannot be ignored?"
It took a month before I stumbled upon the first real internal conflict: the tension between self-respect and the desire for public recognition. Honesty offers a quiet form of respect, while posturing brings a louder, less genuine form. This realization did not come quickly, nor resolve itself easily. It emerged slowly, through repeated reflection, growing clearer as I sat with it.
All the while, the old question nagged at me: What should I focus on, now that I’ve made this space in my mind? It is tempting to think that with a cleared mind, we must hurry to fill it with answers. But any answer given too soon, I suspect, would be false. The urge to turn every insight into immediate action is strong, but premature action usually clouds our deeper understanding.
In fact, the questioning process is the next step in the journey. When we argue with ourselves, not about the content of a thought but about whether a thought has been settled, we engage in a more nuanced level of introspection. This self-inquiry is not a failure to decide, but rather a signal that the mind is growing more observant and precise.
Emphasize the "growing" there. We are conditioned to expect that everything we learn should immediately translate to a new action or activity. The idea of expanding our perception and understanding, in ways that help us to solve problems that we haven't encountered yet, falls short of the common conception that all learnings should be immediately useful.
Maybe it is not about rushing to conclusions or grasping at rules, continuing to observe. By allowing the question to unfold, giving them time to mature, actions will suggest themselves easily and simply when the time comes. In that space, simplicity begins to take shape not as a set of rules, but as a way of being.