The pulse of abundance
Sometimes I think that if I could draw my life not as a straight line but as a sine wave of well-being , I would feel less guilty about the downturns, less anxious about the pauses, less harsh toward myself on those days when nothing grows, nothing opens, nothing bears fruit. It is as if a secret intuition has long lived within me—that abundance is not a state but a movement, not a possession but a rhythm, not a guarantee but a pulse—it comes, withdraws, returns again, like the breath, like the waves, like prayer, which is sometimes spoken aloud and sometimes remains only as silence. Today I am trying to write down this feeling not as a theory, but as a diary confession—because I carry it in my body, in my fatigue, in that strange sense of guilt that appears when I am not productive, when I am not “giving,” when I am not in bloom. Psychoanalysis would say that this is my internal superego—strict, insatiable, always demanding more, always dissatisfied with the pause. The spiritua...
