Beneath the noise, beneath the endless distractions, beneath even your fears, there exists a voice. It speaks in silence, yet you have trained yourself not to hear it. You drown it in cheap pleasures, scrolling endlessly, eating mindlessly, releasing your energy into nothingness. You call it boredom, but it is not boredom โ it is avoidance. The voice has always been there, whispering what you must do, yet you have buried it beneath layers of comfort.
You catch glimpses of it, sometimes. A quiet afternoon, a long walk, a moment of stillness before sleep. It speaks, yet weakly, so distant that you question whether it matters. "If this is my purpose, why does it not roar?" you wonder. "Why does it not shake me awake?"
Yet you already know the answer. It has not grown weak, you have. Your instincts have been dulled by easy pleasure, your will eroded by distraction. Purpose is not a fire that burns on its own, it is a flame that must be fed. You have fed yours nothing but noise and avoidance. Of course it flickers.
There exists a way back. Sit in silence, truly. Remove all distractions. No phone, no screens, no stimulation. Just you, your breath, and the void. It will be unbearable at first โ Deida calls it stewing in the pain of ignorance. The mind will scream for escape. Yet if you remain, unmoving, something else will arise.
At first, only discomfort, then a whisper, a pull, a certainty. The voice was never gone. It was only waiting for you to be still enough to listen.
And when you hear it, you will know: This is what I must do. And if you do not, the agony of not doing it will consume you.
So the choice remains simple: Continue running, or sit, listen, then act.