Somewhere along the way, we turned process into a goal, movement into possession. We have pushed the rhythm of life into the cold hands of efficiency, forgetting that the purpose of a process is not its own perpetuation but its completion. Not an endpoint, but a deep unfolding.
Work was never meant to be a machine churning endlessly in the name of productivity. Love was never meant to be optimized for compatibility. Evolution was never meant to race toward an endpoint. And yet, here we are—trapped in a system that values doing over being, speed over presence, results over meaning.
Efficiency is the great illusion. It promises freedom but tightens the chains. It reduces the richness of life to an equation: how fast, how much, how optimised?
But the deepest things—love, art, evolution—do not move in straight lines. They resist measurement. They require presence. They ask us not to conquer time but to dissolve into it.
We must return to practice. To the slow, deliberate engagement with process itself. The musician’s fingers on the worn strings. The writer’s hand moving across the page, unhurried. The deep, present breath of a conversation with no agenda. These are not means to an end. They are the thing itself.
What would it take to stop worshipping the tool and return to the craft? What would it take to stop measuring our worth by what we produce and begin valuing how we exist? What would it take to be present in the process, without rushing to possess its conclusion?
Not everything must be optimised. Some things must simply be lived. This poem is to remind us to live!
The Weight of Speed
We ran,chasing the shape of tomorrow,measuring the wind,counting the steps,forgetting the earth beneath our feet.We carved time into fractions,trimmed the silence,polished the pauses,as if life were a task to complete.But the river does not rush to the sea,the flame does not hurry to burn.What is real unfolds in its own rhythm,needing no reason,no measure,no name.Walk,walk not toward, but within.Not faster, but deeper.Not to arrive,but simply to be.You can download more poems in defiance of what rules us, to lit up our souls here. A renewal of old myths, old narratives and obsolete systems. What you choose the storm or the calm?
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