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The Trojan Horse of the Mind

The modern world—an endless buffet of information, a ceaseless tide of stimulus. The mind, restless as a monkey swinging from branch to branch, clings to every new scrap of data, every fleeting sensation, convinced that to stop would be to die. And so, we do not stop. We press forward, consuming information like a starving man at a feast, never questioning the quality of the meal.

And when exhaustion sets in—when the mind begs for rest—what do we do? Do we sit in the silence of our own being, allowing the world to settle around us? No. Instead, we pick up another screen, another drip of dopamine disguised as "rest." A Trojan Horse of relaxation, we say. “This is not distraction; this is education. This is the news. I must stay informed! I must not be an ignorant fool!”

And yet, the anxiety lingers. The distrust festers. We wonder, “What is wrong with them?” But rarely do we turn the lens inward, to ask: What am I feeding my mind? Who is the chef in my kitchen? Who decides what I consume?

Fear, you see, is the sugar in the modern diet of the mind. It is slipped into every bite, disguised, hidden, unexamined. And like a man who eats ever-spicier food, we do not notice the heat until we stop. Until the burn sets in. So we eat faster, consume more, keep the fire going—not because we love the food, but because we fear the pause. The pause would mean feeling. The pause would mean seeing.

But I say to you: STOP.

Not to slow down, but to digest.
Not to retreat, but to reclaim.
Not to rest, but to be.

Picture your mind as a snow globe, shaken and shaken again, each flurry of thought clouding the view. Yet the tragedy is not the shaking—it is the endless addition of more snow. So much so that the landscape within, the very essence of your being, is lost beneath the storm. You cannot see yourself anymore.

So, let it settle. Watch, without adding more. Only when the snow has fallen can you decide: Shall I build something? Shall I clear a path? Or shall I simply stand in the stillness, feeling the quiet beauty of the world around me?

You see, the mind, unchecked, will slip in deception after deception, whispering stories that go unnoticed until they take hold. But there is a practice for this: Noting. Meditation, not to escape, but to observe. To catch the Trojan Horses as they arrive, to see through the illusion before it takes root.

So I say again: STOP.

Not as an act of weakness, but as an act of profound resourcefulness. The burn will last only a moment, and then, for the first time in a long time, you will be in control. Stop trying to control the world when your own mind has slipped from your grasp. Sit. Watch. Breathe. See.

And in that space, where the storm settles and the noise fades, you may find something astonishing—yourself.



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