The Unseen Thread: A Year of Meditation (Week 33)

This week, life felt like being pushed into a new marathon. The pace of preparing applications left my brain almost no moment of rest, making meditation my only true "vacation." When I sit down in the morning, even just one minute of focusing on bodily sensations allows the tight grip of rationality to loosen, letting emotions flow in quietly, like a clear stream seeping into parched land.

One moment stood out deeply: in a friend's simple suggestion, I suddenly admitted my true longing—to study and live in a fully English-speaking environment. This wish, neglected for years, was like a seed waiting in the darkness, gently illuminated and taking root again. Realizing that daring to say to myself, "What do I truly want?" is the starting point of changing life's trajectory.

This path has also led me to constantly reflect: Why pursue a PhD? Why choose this direction? As I pieced together fragments of over thirty years of life, a clear main thread emerged—returning to the heart. This made me understand that stories themselves are the manifestation of truth; they are not accessories but the tangible reflections of life's essence in concrete form.

In meditation, time takes on a new texture. As a child, a year felt endlessly long; now, it passes in the blink of an eye. Yet, the power of a year should not be underestimated: it can completely transform a person's circumstances. Daily practice is like laying bricks for that year—subtle, mundane, yet capable of building unexpected heights through repetition.

As preparations deepen, I feel a long-lost sense of calm for the first time. In past life transitions, I always rushed through with a mix of anxiety and drive, but this time, a steady composure arises within. Looking back on recent months—the liberation in April, the insight in May, the quiet rest in June, the inspiration in July—everything seems arranged by a greater hand. Many seemingly accidental fragments, when pieced together, form a sacred journey.

Of course, busyness brings fatigue. Thesis, literature, resumes, exams, travel… each day descends like a storm. But when I think of the theme of mindfulness and holistic education, an eager joy bubbles up inside. It is this passion that sustains me, pushing forward even in exhaustion. Perseverance isn’t about never wanting to quit, but learning, again and again, to move through the moments when I want to stop.

Over the weekend, I returned to my grandmother’s new home and meditated on the open-air balcony for the first time. The wind, birds, and human voices intertwined, scattering my senses. I realized that if the inner self isn’t truly stable, it’s easily dispersed by external noise. Moving indoors, the silent environment immediately deepened my practice. Just as surgery requires a sterile room, inner observation needs a relatively "clean" space. Cultivation is ultimately a dialogue with stillness.

This week has shown me: dreams require courage, truth reveals itself in stories, time enriches through persistence, and behind every process, there may be a greater hand guiding it all. Meditation is like an invisible thread, stringing these fragments together, allowing me to return to the heart amidst the chaos.