Ceaseless thinking is a kind of morbidity. It’s like a dead frog electrified.
Consider the body as a tricked-out truck. It’s great. We love the options. But after a while it wears out, breaks down or becomes too costly to maintain. So we let it go.
“Why are you troubled?”
Not by anything that happens but by my thoughts about what happens.
It’s just that, isn’t it? My difficulty is I cannot look at anything without thinking about it.
No one has power to ruin my life. Am I ruined? Then I ruined myself. This is the realization that allowed Socrates to say, “You can kill me but you cannot hurt me.”
Everything that is prefixed by “my” (my career, my life, my wardrobe) is being withdrawn, passing away, going back to where it came from. I alone remain.