I once watched a scene where monks spent a month creating a sand mandala. Day after day, quietly. People passed by. No one stopped.
When it was finished, they erased it. Only then did everyone realize something was missing.
The truth is— what mattered was never the finished piece, but the road that existed before it became one.
Because once you reach the end, it immediately turns into another beginning. Freedom lives in the part of the journey that hasn’t been sealed into a result yet.
We often give all our attention to what we think matters most, and miss what was quietly present beside us.
You don’t miss it when it’s there. You only understand it after it’s gone.