Fishing Lessons

Ah, the entrepreneurial spirit—a force so potent, so magnetic, that it can both create and consume. It is the whisper in the ear, the gleam in the eye, the drive that stirs one to create something from nothing. But like all powerful forces, it is a double-edged sword, a dance with the devil and the divine. You see, the spirit of entrepreneurship is neither good nor bad; it simply is . It is energy, a vibration, a frequency of movement. It is the will to build, to expand, to conquer the unknown. But whether it liberates or enslaves depends entirely on the one who wields it—or, more accurately, the one who is possessed by it. Are you born with it? Ah, now there’s the question. Some come into this world with that unmistakable glint in their eye, a spark that refuses to be dimmed. Others find it along the way, attracted by the promise of power, wealth, and influence. It can be summoned, cultivated, but it is never truly yours. No, it is a spirit—a force that you can dance with but never fu...

Once upon a time, there was a knight—a fierce warrior adorned in gleaming armor, sword always at the ready. His life was defined by battle, by conquest, by the thrill of victory and the fear of defeat. He knew who he was because the world around him constantly reflected his identity back to him: the clash of swords, the cheers of the crowd, the weight of the armor on his shoulders. But there came a day when his sword grew heavy, not because of the battles fought, but because of the battles no longer to come. His armor, once shining with purpose, now felt like a cage. They called it retirement—that word which implies an end, a finish line. And so, like many knights before him, he hung up his sword, expecting to find peace. But peace did not come. What came instead was a haunting—a ghost that wandered the empty halls of his castle, a whisper of who he once was. He had retired from his role, but he had not retired from himself. There was no funeral for the warrior he used to be, no mourni...

We are always in a hurry, aren’t we? Rushing from task to task, from meeting to meeting, forever seeking the next accomplishment, the next checkmark on the list. The businessman, the go-getter, perpetually leaning forward, anxiously awaiting the last note of this symphony called life. But, of course, the last note is silence. The final rest is the end. Why are we in such a hurry to get there? Learning an instrument is a dance with time. It teaches us the art of lingering, of savoring the subtlety between each note. In the spaces between the sounds, in the quiet moments of anticipation, lies the music itself. Have you ever heard a great song played too quickly? The romance evaporates, the beauty collapses, and all that remains is a hurried mess—an anxious rush to the end. But music, like life, is not about the end. It is about the journey through each sound, each moment. Take the song Blackbird by The Beatles. Listen to its gentle melody, the way each note reaches out and touches the ne...

Ah, yes, the allure of the altered state, the enchanting echo of ecstasy that seems just out of reach without the aid of a substance. You must understand, it is not wrong to crave this feeling. In fact, it is entirely human. You are drawn to it because it is a whisper of the divine, a glimpse of the infinite joy that resides within you. But, like the scent of a flower carried on the breeze, it is meant to guide you, not to be bottled and inhaled on demand. The experience that drugs provide is but a fleeting window into the boundless freedom that is your true nature. They crack the shell, let in a beam of light, and for a moment, you see beyond the illusion of separation. You feel whole, complete, united with all that is. But do not mistake the key for the treasure, nor the map for the territory. Psychedelics are signposts pointing toward the kingdom of heaven, but they are not the kingdom itself. Imagine a dog being given a scent, the fragrance of something deeply desired. The dog is s...

Life, you see, is much like a walk toward the sun. In the dawn of youth, the light is in front of you, a brilliant, enticing, a promise of warmth and wonder. You stride eagerly toward it, oblivious to the fact that behind you, stretching long and dark, lies your shadow. It is there, whether you choose to see it or not, quietly accompanying you. At this age, the shadow is merely a whisper, an echo of your being. You are too absorbed in chasing the light to notice the darkness that follows. You are busy constructing identities, conjuring futures, and building castles of ambition. The shadow is an idea you’ve heard of, perhaps glimpsed in others, but never acknowledged as your own. Then, inevitably, you reach midday, the symbolic age of 40 the so-called mid-life crisis, but truly, it is a mid-life realization. At noon, the sun is directly above, and there is nowhere for your shadow to hide. There it is, underneath you, intimately connected to your very being. In this moment, you confron...