His parents believed creation was the path to salvation.

Artists living in New York City. The kind that made it—prolific, popular, respected.

And yet he never resonated with the ethos. They didn't reflect an aura of nirvana after all. They were caught in a hustle of their own.

Even outside the grip of economic value—the compulsion to create profit or become rich—they were still searching for an oasis.

From one creation to the next. This one will save me. Mirage after mirage in the desert.

The thirst never quenched.

It made me wonder: even if you're freed from the bindings of capitalism, when all you have to do is create and have fun—are you still lost in the desert?

If you keep seeking, will you ever find it? That relief from ennui? That sense that there must be something more to life?

Zen says: there is no more. This is all there is.

We are not the painting.
We are the living.

Whatever you are experiencing is the now. Chasing is a way of running from it.

The bad news is: there’s no arriving.
The good news is: you’re already here.