Do you ever feel inadequate, dear reader? Not inadequate at something but generally inadequate...? Incomprehensibly so. Like a bicycle that doesn't know how to move its wheels? I feel sometimes... like I can't function or the way I know how to function doesn't work. I know it's my imagination. I think it's not so much that I can't move my wheels but the people looking on... they make me suspect that I can't. I can't tell if they are people who don't understand bicycles or people who do and I am not running quite right...

I have been thinking about cultivating more silence in my life. Seems odd even as I write this because I speak quite little on a day to day because I hardly interact with people these days. But I don't mean silence as mere spoken words—or written words because I am pretty prolific on that count. But silence in place of objectifying my thinking in a given situation. It comes naturally to me this externalising my thinking... but I wonder if there's merit in moulding this attitude inward. I say moulding it as if I am as malleable as clay when I am quite the contrary! But as a thought experiment... I am thinking about what that would mean. Usually when confronted with an opinion/question in real life or virtual my tendency is to project my thinking. It's faster than a flash. I myself am not aware of any processing taking place. I wonder what would happen if I chewed on what is thrown my way on the inside? I wonder if there's more peace in not crowding myself in the external world? Inside, you are you, you are understood, you needn't justify, you needn't prove your intentions... outside feels chaotic, like noise, like cacophony... drowning the purity of thoughts and making it something grotesque in the bargain.

I don't know though how to shift my focus from the chaos, the noise, the chimera of outside... to serenity, peace, sublimity, silence of the inside. I wonder if the key lies in listening rather than speaking...  reflecting rather than reacting... being more in communion with myself than the trivialities of the outside? Maybe it also lies in a sort of general detachment... the more I am attached, the more I care, the more I want to be seen as someone who knows how to move her wheels, the more I seem to hang on the outside, cling to it like I might fall off a cliff if it didn't hold me. I suppose if I wasn't attached to it at all, if I saw it with faint amusement as one not involved in it at all, it would have no power over me? Because I have inside, there I am who I am and what I am, no one can take it away from me. It is rock solid and plentiful in itself... It is where I am truly free.