The Realm of Daily Obligation.

In the realm of daily obligations, my life is tied to a particular task, a duty that acts as both the anchor and compass of my ephemeral existence. I navigate the currents of this singular obligation, a ritual that unfolds with each dawn, connecting me to a sense of purpose amid the unpredictable tides of the world.

In a few minutes, I'm about to accomplish this task. This duty should be a source of pleasure. Its results are healthy, lucrative, and refreshing. Yet, after all these years, it remains a burden. It is undeniably beneficial to take short breaks each day to recharge, engage in light exercise, socialize, or even earn money. I don't particularly want to go there, but I will do it anyway. This obligation, this duty carries with it not only the weight of routine but also the delicate threads of a fortune's capital. A capital that isn't measured in gold or silver, but in the currency of subsistence and survival. It's in this realm that the lines between necessity and desire blur, where every choice made for acquisition resonates with the echoes of a complex dance between immediate needs and the elusive pursuit of capital that extends beyond the tangible.

Very close to this café, there are people who devotedly accomplish their task. But I decide to be here with my thoughts. According to Zen Buddhism, thoughts are almost like the devil. They must be chased away. Only mental silence is sacred. Too much thinking is the opposite of spirituality. But I confer a special status to thoughts by ritualizing them through these journal entries rather than through prayer, meditation (or medication). Perhaps I am the Buddha or Muhammad of a new path. Perhaps thinking and writing is the path to paradise. But can paradise sometimes be depressing?