The mind, dear friend, is no museum of dead relics, but a recycling factory—restless, relentless—melting yesterday’s scraps into tomorrow’s realities.
Some thoughts are refined into pure gold, paving radiant roads that carry you forward. Jagged and toxic others are hurled back upon your path—shards that cut, chains that bind.Every thought is raw material.
Attention is the furnace.
With awareness and self-care, you smelt chaos into clarity and confusion into a vessel strong enough to sail across storm and fire.
But live unconscious, reacting mindlessly, and the molten mass cools into shrapnel—wrecking your wheels, stalling your very ride.
And the tragedy?
Many of us wander, collecting junk and hoarding the worn-out remnants of past fears, reliving yesterday’s karma in today’s reality.
The awakened one sees: the factory is not your prison. It is your forge.
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