On Consumption

Teacher:

Mindless eating. Mindless consumption. It is simply the default mode of modern man.

The mind is constantly seeking. It wants novelty, excitement, distraction—anything to pull it out of its own boredom, out of its own emptiness. And so it reaches for food without thought, for consumption without need. This is why a man eats things that offer no nourishment, watches things that give him nothing, buys things he does not need, and says things that have no meaning.

Understand that mindlessness is not an accident; it is the path of least resistance. When a man is uncomfortable with himself, he reaches for distraction. He engages in consumption to silence his own dissatisfaction with life. He seeks to fill his emptiness with things. It is a survival mechanism, a cheap attempt at self-soothing.

If one were truly awake, if one lived with awareness, there would be no mindless consumption. Every action would come from a place of necessity or genuine desire—not from an unconscious reflex to numb or fill the void.

Student:

Does this also relate to, or rather how does endlessly listening to educational podcasts relate to this? Never letting the mind quiet.

Teacher:

Yes, endlessly listening to educational podcasts, constantly feeding the mind information, is another form of consumption—perhaps more sophisticated, more culturally celebrated, but still consumption.

When a man listens to endless streams of information, it often serves the same purpose as other forms of mindless consumption: to avoid silence, to avoid being alone with himself, to avoid facing what’s really there. He tells himself he’s “learning,” that he’s “being productive.” But in truth, much of this so-called learning is a distraction, a way to feel busy without real engagement or understanding. There is a difference between learning and simply occupying the mind.

True learning is rare. It requires depth. It requires integration. When a man truly learns something, it changes him. It strips away falsehood, it disrupts his comfort. But most people don’t want to be changed. They want to be distracted. They want to feel good about filling their heads with knowledge, yet they rarely pause to ask why, or to reflect deeply on what it means.

To constantly occupy the mind is to avoid meeting oneself. And the fear of silence, of emptiness, of being alone with one’s thoughts, is precisely what drives this endless consumption—even of “knowledge.” If one cannot be silent, if one cannot face the void, then one remains a prisoner, addicted to input, enslaved by distraction, no matter how noble it may appear.

Student:

I know you do not believe in “practice”, but what about the “practice” of sitting in silence to encounter the emptiness?

Teacher:

The idea of practicing silence is already a kind of contradiction. Silence isn’t something to achieve. It isn’t a technique. If a man sits with the intention of “practicing” silence, he has already filled his mind with an agenda, with a goal. The very notion of practicing silence carries with it the implication that silence is a skill he must acquire, that he can become “better” at it. This only adds more layers of mental activity, more noise.

Sitting in silence without seeking an outcome—that is something else entirely. But few can bear it. Few can truly be alone, without attempting to escape, without expecting results. When you sit in silence and expect nothing—no enlightenment, no peace, no insight—only then do you begin to encounter the emptiness. And this emptiness is not something to conquer or fill. It is something to confront, without the shield of ideas or practices.

The moment a man truly faces emptiness, he will see that it is not a void to be filled or an experience to master. It is simply what is. It is neither positive nor negative. But it is a reality he has spent his life avoiding. This “practice,” if one insists on calling it that, is only to sit without expectation, without agenda, without attempting to transform the silence into anything other than itself. Only then does he confront himself. Only then does he perhaps discover what he has been running from all along.

Student:

Is that distraction the same as when at work I cannot face emptiness, but constantly distract myself with the email inbox etc.

Teacher:

Yes, it is exactly the same. The inbox, the notifications, the endless tasks—these are all distractions masquerading as productivity. They are a way to avoid the discomfort of facing one’s own restlessness, one’s own dissatisfaction, even one’s own doubts about the purpose of what he’s doing.

The mind that compulsively checks emails, that seeks out small tasks, that fills itself with busyness—is the same mind that cannot sit in silence. It is the same mind that reaches for the next podcast, the next piece of information, the next scroll on the screen. These actions are not about work, they are about escape. They are ways to avoid the present moment, to avoid oneself, to avoid the confrontation with the emptiness that sits quietly beneath all the activity.

What would happen if you simply stopped? If you let the inbox sit there, let the tasks remain unfinished? A deep discomfort would arise, perhaps even fear. A feeling of inadequacy, maybe a loss of identity. That discomfort is precisely what you are running from.

The mind endlessly moves because it cannot bear stillness. And the endless checking of emails, the little tasks, the false sense of productivity—it’s all part of the same movement. When one can see this, when one truly understands this, there is a chance to move beyond it. There is a chance to simply be present with the discomfort instead of running from it. Only in that stillness does something real emerge. Only in that confrontation with emptiness does one perhaps glimpse the truth of why he fills his life with distractions.

Student:

How is this related to an awareness, or rather true understanding of death?

Teacher:

It is deeply related. For the man who has not genuinely confronted death, there is a false sense of continuity. He lives as if there is always more time, always another day, another meal, another purchase, another moment to escape himself. And so, he spends his days filling the void—avoiding the truth, avoiding death.

But when a man truly understands death—not as a concept but as an undeniable, impending reality—he realizes the absurdity of wasting time in mindless pursuits. Death is the great clarifier. If he truly knows that his time is limited, that everything he does matters because it is finite, then there can be no room for the trivial, for the unconscious distractions. Death makes mindless consumption seem like a foolish luxury he can no longer afford.

Awareness of death creates a stripping away of the unnecessary. When one truly faces death, he sees clearly what matters and what does not. Consumption for the sake of filling emptiness becomes irrelevant, because he now understands that nothing can truly fill that emptiness—except perhaps an honest confrontation with life itself.

In the end, if a man understands death, he begins to live deliberately. And in that deliberate living, the need for mindless consumption disappears.