I built my house with the words of Zeno of Citum, Marcus Aurelius, Seneca and Epictetus.
I built my house with the words of Zeno of Citum, Marcus Aurelius, Seneca and Epictetus.
I forged my mind with their echoes of stillness and temperance.
I dance with their ancient philosophy, sit with it as I meditate, Pull it over me like a blanket and look into it like a mirror.
Stoicism is the home I return to for refuge, respite and resolution.
On good days, bad days and all the in between days.
It's a gentle honesty that keeps me breathing as I dive into the depths of myself.
It sharpens my will, it comforts and corrects.
Reminds me of my mortality and the importance of noble indifference to all
things that do not matter.
It hardens my discipline and deepens my empathy. It is both powerful and graceful.
It has become so deeply ingrained in my being that my body has learned patience;
to breathe before reacting, to not act out emotionally.
To keep a level head and a steady hand.
My cells remain stable, my feet planted.
And if I am ever weary, this is where I lay my head and rest awhile,
on the words of my forefathers.