I’ve realized that my biggest obstacle in practice was never a lack of kindness, it was wanting to help too much.

When I saw a friend wearing torn clothes, my first thought wasn’t, “Do they like it?” It was, “This isn’t good, is it?” When I saw them eating cold food on the Winter Solstice, using a chipped bowl, my mind instantly launched a full lecture: Yin energy, health, energy flow, consequences.

Everything I said was logical. Well-structured. Well-intended. And yet, their expression hardened. The air grew cold.

That was the moment I realized, I wasn’t caring. I was interfering.

Then there was the blue tin of cookies. I’d watched documentaries. I knew what lay behind that elegant Danish label. I didn’t want the elderly to eat with unease, so I told her.

She replied with just one sentence: “But it says Made in Denmark.” And suddenly, I understood. She didn’t want the truth. She wanted belief.

And I lifted the tablecloth and pointed out the crack beneath the cake. So I became the buzzkill. The one who talks too much. The “for your own good” person who somehow makes people unhappy.

That’s when I truly understood this line: Not everyone wants to be saved. Some people just want to be maintained.

To maintain a familiar world, one that doesn’t require recalculating, rethinking, or starting over.

What drained me most in the past was trying to force “awakening” into a life that simply wanted to continue as usual.

Now I’ve learned to stop. Not because I’ve grown cold, but because I finally understand— Every kindness imposed can look like an invasion from the outside.

Rather than wasting fire to light the eyes of those who don’t want to open them, I’d rather place the fire on the ground and tend it myself.

No explaining. No proving. No saving. The fire will burn on its own. Those who need it will come when they’re ready.



—— XC Scribbles · 陸拾肆 LXIV 🔥