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...

When one sets out to visualize their ideal future, it often begins with an enchanting tapestry woven from the threads of desire. We paint pictures in our minds of a sprawling estate, a successful business, a perfect relationship, or the accolades of admiration. These visions are enticing, like glittering baubles that lure our attention. Yet, in our fixation on these images, we often miss the essence of what visualization is truly about. It is not the image itself that holds the power—it is the feeling behind it. The Trap of Symbols Every vision we conjure is, in essence, a symbol. A house is not merely a house; it represents stability, accomplishment, or perhaps security. A luxury car is not about four wheels; it’s about freedom, speed, or recognition. The trouble is that these symbols can become rigid. By clinging to the picture, we confine the vast possibilities of the universe to a narrow corridor of what we think is best. Consider for a moment that your vision may not be the grande...

 There once was a man who loved his dog more deeply than words could express. She had been his angel, his companion, a source of endless joy and love. A symbol of unconditional love. But as she grew older, the burdens of her care began to weigh on him and his family. The dog, once a boundless source of happiness, now required constant attention. She pooped in the house frequently, leading to frustrations and arguments over who would clean up. Joyful family events were cut short, laughter replaced by logistical debates about her care. One night, in the freezing cold at 3 a.m., like every night, the dog needed to go out. The man, sleep-deprived stomped out into the darkness. Anger swirled within him—not just at the dog but at himself for feeling this way. What kind of man, he wondered, could grow to resent the being that had loved him unconditionally her entire life? The guilt gnawed at him, creating a self-propelling storm of negative thoughts that rippled into his family life, stra...

There once was a woman named Clara, a tireless champion for her community. She spent her days volunteering at shelters, organizing fundraisers, and lending an ear to those in need. To all who saw her, she was the epitome of selflessness, a person who seemed to exist solely for the betterment of others. But within the private pages of her journal, Clara's thoughts told a different story. “I give and give,” she wrote one evening, her pen pressing into the paper with frustration, “but why does it feel like no one sees me? They take what I offer, yet I’m left empty.” In these moments, Clara found herself judging those she helped—their choices, their seeming ingratitude, their inability to give back. Her inner voice would reprimand her harshly: Why can't they see how much I've sacrificed? Why do I feel so unappreciated? Clara’s life was consumed by a belief that her happiness lay in the future—some far-off day when the world might finally recognize her contributions, when the lo...

Once upon a time, there was a tech entrepreneur whose groundbreaking app was unexpectedly removed from a major app store. That evening, all of his peers and colleagues reached out to express their sympathy. They said, “We are so sorry to hear your app was removed. This is most unfortunate.” The entrepreneur simply replied, “Maybe.” The next day, a media outlet picked up the story, turning the app’s removal into a viral sensation. Overnight, millions of people heard about the app, and users flocked to the website to download it directly. His colleagues came back and exclaimed, “What incredible luck! Your app is more popular than ever!” The entrepreneur responded, “Maybe.” The following week, one of the servers hosting the app crashed under the unexpected surge in traffic, rendering the service temporarily unavailable. His peers called again, saying, “This is terrible. Your servers went down!” The entrepreneur calmly replied, “Maybe.” A few days later, a prominent investor noticed the ou...

 There was once a little boy who loved art with all his heart. He spent hours reading about the greatest artists in history, imagining their strokes of genius, and daydreaming about the colors and forms that must have filled their works. Yet, he had never seen a real masterpiece—only descriptions in books, secondhand whispers of their glory. One day, his teacher announced an extraordinary field trip: a visit to a museum showcasing the greatest artworks of all time. This was his chance to see the beauty he had only imagined, to experience it firsthand. The boy could hardly contain his excitement. The trip was today. But just as the children lined up to board the bus, the teacher called out: "Permission slips, please." The boy froze. He didn’t have one. Maybe he’d been sick that day? Maybe it was left on his desk, forgotten? He watched as his classmates handed over their slips, each slightly different, but they all granted a seat on the bus. He explained to the teacher, panic r...

Success is not a destination; it is a way of being, a relationship with your higher self that flows through every choice you make. Your higher self speaks to you constantly, not in words but in feelings—those moments of joy, excitement, and deep inner peace. This positive feedback loop is your compass, guiding you toward your truest path. When you follow that inner guidance, you live in heaven. And let me be clear: heaven is not some distant realm; it is right here, on this very Earth where food grows on trees and rivers sing their timeless songs. Heaven is the state of alignment with your higher self, where life unfolds with ease and grace, and everything feels as it should. But for many, decisions are driven not by joy but by fear—fear of failure, fear of judgment, fear of lack. This creates a different kind of world: a self-made hell. And hell, too, is not some far-off place of torment; it is here, on this same Earth, where life feels heavy, choices feel forced, and every step feels...

 Now imagine, that you are deep into the journey of an Ironman triathlon. It is not simply a race of the body, though your legs scream with every step, your arms ache with every stroke, and your breath becomes a labor. No—this is a race of the mind. And, like life itself, it does not yield to those who resist it; it rewards those who dissolve into it.  There comes a point, as the fatigue turns from a whisper to a roar, when you begin to wonder if you can go on at all. You think of the miles ahead—20, maybe more—and suddenly they appear as an impossible chasm, a task too monstrous for your finite strength. The voice in your mind, that old and familiar trickster, begins to whisper: “You can’t do this.” But here’s where the magic begins. Instead of answering that voice, instead of entertaining its protests, you laugh as you let go. You stop trying to defeat the pain, stop trying to fight it. You join it. You become it. You dissolve, like a wave disappearing into the ocean. After ...

A seeker, burdened by their thoughts has a conversation with their higher self during a dream.  Seeker: I am plagued by anxiety. It clutches at my chest, makes my breath shallow. I can hardly face the world without feeling its grip. Higher Self: Anxiety, you say? Well, congratulations—you don’t have a problem with anxiety at all. Seeker: I don’t? Higher Self:  Of course not. You’ve got having anxiety down perfect. You’ve mastered it, refined it, and honed it into an art. Truly impressive. The question is, what are you going to do about it? Seeker: That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to feel this way anymore. Higher Self:  Ah, so you’ve grown tired of your masterpiece? Good. Let’s examine it, then. What is anxiety, truly? Seeker: It feels like fear. A deep, restless fear of what might go wrong, of what others might think of me. Higher Self: And yet, could it not be something else? Could this “fear” not simply be energy, knocking at the doors of your consciousness, ...

 Imagine, for a moment, that every conversation, every conflict, is a house—and when someone brings up an issue they are having with you, they are inviting you into their home. You see, they are the host. The environment has been crafted by them, for them, and they hold the higher frame. To misunderstand this, to charge in with solutions, arguments, or defenses, is as ill-mannered as rearranging the furniture in someone else’s living room. In such instances, your job is not to redecorate. Your job is to listen. Fully. To acknowledge them as the host and let them know they have been heard. When you do this, when you allow your awareness to become a river through which their words flow—rather than a dam that resists and fights—something extraordinary happens: the issue dissolves. No action is necessary because, in many cases, the grievance was never truly about action to begin with. It was about being seen, being felt. Their turbulence is washed away by the gentle current of your pre...

When a storm approaches, cows instinctively run away from it, trying to avoid it. However, because they are slower than the storm, the storm eventually catches up to them, and by continuing to run with it, they actually prolong their time in the storm, enduring more suffering. Bulls, on the other hand, do something remarkable. Instead of running away, they charge directly into the storm. By facing it head-on, they pass through it more quickly, spending less time in the chaos and discomfort. What conversations are you putting off to "keep the peace?" What storms are you running from? What dragons are you feeding? To fully digest the lessons behind this story: Recalibrate your thinking. A problem, in life and this ancient tale metaphorically described as a storm, is neither truly a storm nor a problem. There are no such things as problems. What we perceive as problems are actually invitations to experience life in its fullness. Perhaps experiences you selected prior to growin...

No one can help you... At least, not in the way you think. The words others speak, though they may seem to make sense, are not yours to follow as they are. For instance, my journey is not your journey, and my path is not your path. Even if the destination we seek is the same, how we reach it will always be different. Consider this: If I wish to go to New York City, I might take Interstate 26 East to Interstate 40 East, connect to Interstate 81 North, then Interstate 78 East, and finally follow the New Jersey Turnpike to the Lincoln Tunnel into Manhattan. A very specific set of roads. But you, my friend, wherever you are, will have to take a completely different route. Your starting point, your circumstances, your obstacles, are all unique to you. The map that guides you is not the same as mine. So, even if we have the same destination, the roads you must travel will be very different from the ones I take. One may be smooth and straight; the other, filled with mountains or snowy roads, ...

Imagine the universe is extending an invitation, a grand calling that lands directly in front of you. Each invitation is unique, a custom-made opportunity meant specifically for you. Some of these invitations are small, like a ripple in a pond—pleasant to acknowledge, easy to accept. Others, though, are vast and wild, like waves crashing against the shore. They call us out of our comfort, asking us to venture into deep, uncharted waters. And these—these are the invitations that truly matter, the ones that open us to growth, that demand our courage, our resilience, our full engagement in life’s beautiful mystery. Take, for example, the journey of Marie Curie. She received an invitation that was as profound as it was challenging. She was called not merely to observe the world but to delve into a mystery that defied the understanding of her time. Her invitation asked her to peer into the invisible forces of radioactivity, a territory unknown, one that would eventually reveal wonders to hu...

Imagine a little girl, no older than seven, who is asked to go to her room to fetch her jacket. As she steps through the doorway, her eyes catch sight of a toy—a bright, colorful object that invites her into the timeless world of play. For a moment, she forgets the jacket and gets lost in her own imagination. When she emerges from her room, jacketless, an adult looks at her and says, “What’s wrong with you? You’re so stupid! You let me down.” Pause for a moment. Imagine how that little girl might feel. Even if she tries to brush it off, something inside her would shrink. A spark of self-worth might dim. Now, imagine that you are the parent of that child, standing in the doorway, witnessing this exchange. You would almost certainly feel a surge of protectiveness, perhaps even anger toward the abuser. You might step in and say, “That’s no way to speak to her!” Yet, how often do we speak to ourselves or those we love in this very same way? Inside each of us lives a version of that little ...

The power of a question—a simple arrangement of words that can open doors, shift perspectives, and change the trajectory of an entire life. We often judge people by the answers they give, but in truth, the essence of a person is far better revealed by the questions they dare to ask. For a good question is not merely a request for information; it is an invitation to explore, to reflect, and ultimately, to transform. Language holds no greater power than the question. Yet, it is often misunderstood. When we tell someone what to do, resistance may arise. The ego balks at direction, at being controlled. But when we ask someone a question—when we gently guide them toward their own answers—they take ownership of the process. And with ownership comes action, for there is no greater motivator than discovering, “Ah, this was my idea all along.” Consider this: when life knocks you down, when failure looms large, the instinctual question we often ask ourselves is, “What’s wrong with me?” It’s a qu...

The answers. They were there, written down so neatly, every detail you needed, every truth you sought. But in a moment of carelessness, the paper slipped from your grasp, drifting down into the lake. The water, once calm, was now murky, the words hidden beneath a veil of swirling silt. You couldn’t leave it there. No, you had to find it. This was too important. So, you splashed into the water, searching, churning up more mud with every frantic movement. The lake grew darker. Still, you wouldn’t stop. You believed in action, in progress, in effort. Surely, the harder you worked, the sooner you’d recover what you had lost. But the answers remained hidden. The harder you tried, the farther they seemed. So you devised a plan. You gathered engineers, investors, and thinkers from across the world. Together, you built a machine—an extraordinary contraption to clear the water and retrieve the answers. It was massive, complex, and required constant maintenance. People splashed and worked endles...

Ah, yes, my friend. Sleep is not something you fall into—it is something you go into, deliberately, gracefully, like entering a vast, mysterious cathedral. We spend over a third of our lives in this state, yet rarely are we taught how to approach it with intention. When approached thoughtfully, the dream state can become a playground for the soul, a workshop for the mind, and a place of rest for the body. Let us begin, then, with the most basic instruction on how to go to sleep. Step 1: Melt into the Bed Lie flat on your back and allow your body to surrender to gravity. Imagine yourself as warm, heavy, wet spaghetti—no form, just a delicious heap melting into the bed. Begin at your toes, and with each breath, feel them grow heavier, warmer, and softer. Slowly move this sensation up your legs, through your torso, arms, and finally to the crown of your head. You are not a body; you are simply warmth and weight. Step 2: Breathe with Intention Gently drink the air through your nose—slowly,...

 Imagine, if you will, that life is a grand play, a cosmic dance, and in this theater, you are both the actor and the audience. Now, what would happen if you pretended—fully and without reservation—that everything always works out for you? Not in the sense of blind optimism, mind you, but as a playful, willing suspension of disbelief. For when you choose to pretend, you aren’t deceiving yourself; rather, you’re giving yourself the freedom to explore life with an open heart, free from the shackles of doubt.  It is as if you are casting a spell upon yourself , a deliberate enchantment of your own mind, creating the reality you wish to experience. Pretending that all things work in your favor doesn’t mean you’re ignoring reality, but rather that you are, in a sense, creating it. You see, when you act as if everything will fall into place, you change your relationship to the present moment. You bring a lightness, a sense of possibility, and the courage to face whatever may come. T...

The curious dance of progress and hesitation. When one steps back and examines what is so often described as a "problem," it is striking how the weight of it is rarely inherent. It is not the mountain that stands before you, but the pebble in your shoe that becomes unbearable. I’ve noticed this peculiar truth when helping others confront what blocks their path. I ask them to slow down, to write—not the grand solution, but simply the first step toward it. And then, next to that step, to list every reason they have not yet taken it. It’s a simple exercise, but profound in its revelations. What emerges, more often than not, are reasons so small, so laughably insignificant, that one can’t help but chuckle. "This," they think, "is what’s keeping me from everything I want?" And in that moment, a crack appears in the armor of their resistance. Humor has that power; it loosens the tight grip of seriousness. But let me say this, with the clarity of one who has obse...