The sun was reflected on the Lake. Some birds flew by.

Bodhilama flicked through his journal.
On one page he saw an old table that divided the day into sections.
It looked like one of these timetables they used to have in at school.
He had drawn it a few weeks ago to organize his day and be disciplined.

He divided the day into morning, afternoon, evening.
Then he wrote down some times and for each time an activity that he wanted to do during that time.

"It is interesting. I don't stick to this schedule.
I don't do meditation at 5:45 in the morning.
I don't always take a break during my working hours.
I even work more than that, or at other times of the day.
Very often I go to bed later than 9:30 pm.
Still, it is good that I've taken the time to create this schedule.
It gives me an idea of my day.
It gives clarity and some structure.
Even if I don't look at it that often.
It just helps me to have an idea of the day.
I am not lost."

He looked up from his journal and gazed across the water.

"When I look at it, I can see that something has changed in me over the years.
I remember that I usually force myself to stick to my schedules 100% of the time.
Yet, it doesn't work for me.
I get more and more overwhelmed.
and I get hard with myself that I couldn't follow it.
Now I say: it is fine."

He wrote down his insights.
But as he was writing, he didn't like what he was writing.
Something felt off. What he was writing felt so forced.
The words didn't come easily.
And each letter felt like squeezing the last bits out of a toothpaste tube.
He read again what he had just written.

"I don't like my writings.
It sounds so stupid & boring,
so obvious & unimportant.
And my writing style today is so bad.
No one will like it, let alone find it interesting.”

Some clouds were gathering in the distance.

And doubts began to spread again.
Why is validation from others so important to him?
What is in him that he gave it so much weight?
And why is he so hard on himself?
He knew his framework. Not to be so hard on himself.
To be kind to himself and just write. Nothing matters.
Yet today his critic was very loud in his head.
He couldn't help it, but his creativity wasn't flourishing.

"Every sentence feels so hard to write. Not like a river, but like a...
...Yeah like what?
I don't even have a good comparison for it.

He looked at the water again.
A small breeze came up.
He saw the clouds in the distance.
Slowly, they were moving.
He took a deep breath.

From the bottom to the top.
From the top to the bottom.

"I think it is like that sometimes:
Every day is different.
Every day I feel different.
Every day I think differently.
Life is not a straight line but more like a wave.
Up & down. Left & Right.
Depth & Surface. Dancing & Standing.
It is like a herd of sheep.
They run everywhere. Some bathe in the sun.
Others eat their grass and others playing.
They run around aaaaand..."
*yaaaaawwwn*

Bodhilama just slept off.

Birds flew across the sky. Sheep ran over the field.

"Zzzzzzzzzzzz."

Two hours passed.
The world was in motion.
But Bodhilama was asleep.

"Zzzzzzzz."

When he woke up, he was confused.

"Holy cow Where am I?
Whaaaaat did happened?
*Yaaaaawwwn*

His eyes skimmed over what he had written down earlier.

"A Herd of Sheep? Life? Dancing?
Dude, what is this?
What did I want to say?
I have no fucking clue.
The only thing I see is,
that I should not take a long break when I am writing, I guess.
I need to finish it in one go.
Now, I am just kicked out of the flow.
I don't know how to catch the end of my last lines
and carry on.
I'm just out. Creativity is gone.
Fuck it. I will make myself some food."

The sky was blue again. Some sheep were grazing in the field.

From a distracted mind,
Bodihlama

These are the Letters of Bodhilama, a guy who lives in a time of transformation.
A guy who felt the urge to write, because nothing else made any sense.
A guy who is a student, teacher & creator of (wild)Planet108.
A solar punk finding his way on the game's journey of life.
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