Maq Masi Blog

Life is beautiful. I often think of this simple truth, though its edges are not always soft. We all emerged from nature — from soil, water, sunlight — and one day we will return, mingling again with the quiet earth. Yet somewhere between these two mysteries, we live out a tangled story.

The nature we grow up in shapes us. It builds our instincts, teaches our hearts to listen for certain rhythms, forms the lenses through which we first see the world. But then the outer world, vast and persuasive, begins to peer back at us. It challenges our local truths. Slowly, it seeps in and rewires us. In time, we not only shape ourselves under its influence, we alter our locality in return. It is a complex, two-way web: the global and the local, the external and the inner, endlessly moulding each other.

Many forces now crowd this web. The world has become a race — of economies, ideologies, desires — each striving to imprint us with its urgency. In that rush, we often lose our ancestral footing. We forget the original life from which we sprang, the basic conditions that once quietly defined survival. The outer world is like sunlight: it dazzles, overwhelms, sometimes bleaching out the gentler glow of our own moonlight.

So we live in ways that our hearts would not have chosen on their own. Our minds, ever suggestible, are coaxed and persuaded by society’s structures, by the state’s regulations, by the relentless chatter of media. Here lies one of our greatest challenges: we lose sight of what is truly good for our bodies, minds, and spirits. The peaceful life, the small happinesses, the slow success that aligns with our natural being — these are pushed aside.

To me, this forgetting is most tragic in how we neglect our prime needs. Breath. How lightly we treat it, though without it we have no moment left to ponder anything at all. How often do we notice what breath gives us — calm, clarity, oxygen that feeds every cell?

Then water. Have we ever truly felt its importance, beyond the convenience of turning a tap? How many days could we live without it? And why, then, do we so easily replace it with manufactured drinks?

Food follows. For countless generations our ancestors thrived on simple, natural fare. Now we fill ourselves with factory-made concoctions, far removed from the living sources that once sustained us. And what of movement? When we first stood upright, it was an act of bold evolution. Walking and running were vital — for foraging, for fleeing, for joy. How little we consider what happens to our physiology when we trade steps for vehicles.

We no longer see what is worth seeing, or listen to what is worth hearing. Our senses are crowded by noise and spectacle, leaving little room for what quietly sustains us.

Even our minds, once freely wandering, are now corralled by unseen hands. Think of tribal communities who still live close to the land. Without constant fear or stress, their minds dwell in the present. Contrast this with our own distracted existence, steered by businesses, technology, and mass communication.

Are we still thinking for ourselves? What is the meaning of this life we’re so busy living? Is there a meaning at all? If so, what shape does it take — and if not, what does that absence imply?

Perhaps meaning is not a grand secret, but something humble and immediate: to breathe deeply, to drink water gratefully, to eat foods that remember the sun, to walk and let our bodies remember their purpose, to keep our minds less burdened by distant battles. Maybe it is to live simply enough that when nature calls us back, we do not feel entirely estranged.

Before you go, I’d be curious to hear from you. Do you pause to breathe deeply, drink enough water, choose natural foods, walk or run, and give your mind moments of quiet from the noise? How much of this feels relevant to your own life? Share your thoughts in the comments — I’d love to know how you’re finding your own way back to what truly matters.

How much of this still finds a place in your own life?