Stop Running From Your Life

The monk sat motionless in meditation. His robes pristine, his posture perfect, his breath controlled. Years of practice had brought him to this mountaintop retreat. He had renounced everything. His family, his possessions, his attachments. He was free.

Or so he believed.

Down in the valley, a farmer rose before dawn. He worked the soil, fed his family, tended his community. His hands were calloused, his back ached, his mind stayed busy with a thousand earthly concerns. He owned nothing of spiritual value.

Or so it seemed.

The monk who sits in proud isolation, congratulating himself on his renunciation, remains trapped. The farmer who works without craving recognition, who serves without demanding results, walks in true freedom.