The Seed That Waited

I did not use my leisure time to escape.I used it to wait.Inside my mind, there was a seed so small it could be mistaken for nothing. It made no sound. It demanded no attention.

While the world rushed toward noise, I sat with that seed and did nothing. That was the hardest part.Television flickered nearby like a restless crowd, but I turned away. The seed did not grow in light borrowed from others. It needed darkness. It needed space. It needed time without interference.

Each day, I returned to the same inner ground. I did not dig. I did not check progress. I only breathed and stayed. Doubts came, whispering that nothing was happening. Thoughts tried to pull me back into movement. I let them pass. Seeds break when disturbed.

Leisure became a quiet discipline. Not sleep. Not pleasure. Just presence. I watered the seed with silence, protected it from impatience, and allowed boredom to settle like dust. Slowly, the dust became stillness.Something changed without warning.One moment, there was waiting.The next, there was pressure.Not chaos—pressure.

The kind that comes before creation.The seed did not explode outward. It cracked inward. The noise did not increase; it vanished. Thoughts that once attacked found no surface. Fear knocked and found the door missing.

The mind, once crowded, became hollow—and strong.I understood then: leisure was never meant to distract me. It was meant to ripen me.The seed had waited long enough.Not to become loud.Not to become visible.But to become unshakable.And from that day on, every moment of stillness carried power, the kind that only comes from a seed that knew how to wait.