Lumi Liu. Art

The Trap of the Powerful

If you’re someone who holds a certain level of power—for example, the owner of a sole-proprietorship where everything is ultimately decided by you—you should reasonably suspect that the people beneath you, or even at your level, may not tell you the truth. Instead, they may intentionally flatter you. In such situations, it becomes very easy to make poor judgments, because without real feedback you can’t see yourself clearly. You may mistake wrong decisions for the right ones, and you may fail to distinguish who is a true friend and who is merely catering to you.

You might even enjoy this trap, because on the surface everyone appears kind, gentle, and respectful. But occasionally you’ll catch a glimpse of sharp fangs. Foolish people ignore these fangs to deceive themselves into believing in that false version of themselves—and that is dangerous. A world built on “untrustworthiness” is bound to collapse.

There is, however, a very simple way to obtain relatively truthful information: listen to what you think of as your “enemies.” Almost everything that comes from an enemy’s mouth is the truth. The version of you that your enemies describe is often more real and reliable than the version described by the people around you.

“Credible Elements” as the Foundation of Logical Constructions — On Belief

In the process of logical thinking, becoming aware of the crucial—and foundational—role of “credible elements” is essential. Starting from any primitive cognition, we can mentally simulate what kind of subsequent world might unfold from it. One can experience this in life, or simply observe it in the world. A person’s system of thought is built upon some of their most fundamental beliefs; and that system of thought, in turn, constructs the external world—companies, groups, institutions, societies, nations. All of these outward structures are “logical constructions,” formed spontaneously based on certain doctrines or credos that serve as their foundation.

Thus, when facing these immense and seemingly intangible structures, the most important task is to identify the core credo that underpins them. If that credo is closed and negative, the logical construction built upon it will not be healthy and will inevitably collapse. Only positive and open credos can create large-scale logical constructions that are stable, healthy, and able to keep developing.

On this point, I am aligned with Fukuyama’s view in Trust. Fukuyama discusses trust as the basis for building large-scale private enterprises. That is correct—trust is indeed the foundation of human cooperation. But I believe trust itself is the result of relationships that arise from a person’s most fundamental beliefs. Trust is not the most basic unit. The original credo that a person chooses to believe is the true foundation.

Human beings can accomplish countless seemingly impossible things because of “belief”—for example, the architectural, artistic, and cultural achievements within religions. I think all of these are deeply connected to “faith.” Science operates in the same way: scientific progress happens because some scientists maintain an open mindset and dedicate themselves to exploration and verification. This process is essentially a search for the “credible element” in their minds. Once a scientist finds their own credible element, they gain a sense of conviction or faith. Ultimately, faith has nothing to do with religion—it is simply the result of choosing to believe in a particular sentence, principle, or credo.

Therefore, choosing one's beliefs—and choosing one’s “credible elements”—must be done with great care. When we are not yet certain, we should avoid easily adopting closed credos such as “I can’t do it,” “I’m incapable,” or “I don’t have the ability.” This aligns with neuroscientific research on neural networks: a healthy neural network must remain open, continuously learning and updating. Otherwise, it will eventually lead to mental breakdown, premature aging, and a wide range of human health problems associated with decline.

In this sense, logical constructions are like abstract organisms. They are not dead—they must remain alive in order to continue.

A Poem

Imagine I am a jellyfish,
breathing the way a jellyfish drifts through the sea
contracting                                                  contracting,
unhurried,
unforced.

Such calm lets me empathize with
the moment of dying:
the body slowly loosening,
letting go, muscle by muscle,
until there is no tension left—
only an overwhelming peace,
a bliss beyond measure,
and in the ocean,
no fear at all.

The Ability to Do Things Without Repeated Checking

I’ve realized that many people are extremely unreliable when they work—they simply cannot get things right in one go. This may be related to exams and schooling. In school, we are always told to check our test papers again and again. When people treat their work tasks as if they were exam papers, they subconsciously assume that making mistakes the first time is normal, and that discovering and correcting them later is acceptable.

But in reality, doing things is part of the process of living. Life does not offer extra time for re-checking and correcting. Once something has passed, it is gone. Sometimes mistakes cannot be repaired. If it is something we choose to do, then we should follow the requirements of life—not the requirements of an exam. Life is not about completing tasks.

We should aim to get things right the first time, succeed the first time, express ourselves accurately the first time. Prepare in advance, foresee the problems that may arise—this is the way life works, the way of “no second chances.” Only with such an attitude can one achieve something real; it is inevitable.

And certainly, one should never treat work as something to just get done and out of the way. Do every task as if it were the only time you will ever do it. Pursuing efficiency does not lead to success; pursuing efficiency only leads to self-indulgence. Repeated checking is nothing more than a guilty patch for having been careless in the first place.

Words

I am shaped by my opponent, and I am also shaping my

opponent. Unless I transcend the

opposition, l am essentially the

same person as my opponent.

Cultivating Bodily Sensitivity — Understanding the Fascia

Over the past few years, my daily practice has been to bring my awareness back to my body at all times. But I’ve only been paying attention to fascia for about a year. At first my awareness was limited to local areas; now I’ve started to sense it as if it were an invisible, elastic, full-body bodysuit. I can feel its presence much more clearly—not only in my limbs and torso, but extending deep into my internal organs, my eyes, nose, and ears.

When a sheet of fascia is overly tight—for example, the line from my right waist to my right heel—if my right heel “steps on the fascia” the way you might step on the hem of a garment, my knee becomes restricted and tense, my right waist pulls tight, and a straight indentation appears along the right side of my abdomen. That “single strand” inside the body becomes extremely tight and short, running all the way up to my right shoulder and even my right ear. Some areas, like around the ankle, tighten into a small ball, as if an external hand were gripping one corner of the membrane.

I believe fascia, chakras, and meridians/acupoints are different understandings of the same underlying structure. Fascia is connected to the body’s hydration, intertwined with vitality itself, and involved in the transmission of temperature sensations like cold and heat. People who feel chronically cold likely have dysfunctional fascia—fascia that has lost moisture, lost elasticity, and become “dead.” Their bodily sensitivity also decreases. The areas of my body where fascia is problematic feel noticeably colder to the touch.

Fascia does not need to be “released.” Passive release—massage tools, fascia guns, and the like—cannot truly help because the fascia still lacks the support of conscious awareness. What genuinely improves fascia is the ability of consciousness to reach that part of the body smoothly.

There are several basic understandings of the body that are crucial for health. First, the body is a manifestation of life—it grows. Second, illness is the outer sign that growth has been obstructed; self-healing becomes impossible because something is blocking it. We should not judge the body by appearances. Third, exercising the body means training consciousness to maintain awareness of the body at every moment, not letting the body move mechanically without awareness.

That’s all I’ll share for now.

New Insights on Practicing Instruments

When I used to practice drums, I always thought that playing fast required force—that practice was about training the relevant muscles. But now I suddenly realize that practice is actually about training the neural pathways. It’s about transmitting consciousness to the specific parts of the body. The wider the bandwidth of that transmission, the stronger the control. And this kind of practice cannot involve muscle tension—you must be completely relaxed.

If I reach a speed where a certain muscle starts to tense up, that simply means my conscious control has reached its current limit. At that point, I can try to notice where the tension appears, relax that area, and see whether there’s room for progress. If not, then that’s where practice should stop for the day. Give the nervous system time to strengthen on its own.

It’s like a plant: once it receives the necessary information, it grows by itself. But if you push it too aggressively, you’ll “kill” it. Many musicians develop occupational injuries precisely because of this impatience. Allowing the body to grow naturally actually leads to much faster improvement. Haste makes waste.

This may explain why children improve so quickly when learning an instrument while adults often struggle: children practice without strong goals, loose and relaxed, and that works better. Adults, however, are too goal-driven and impatient.

So the new insight is this: one must have patience, because many things in life cannot be controlled by sheer will. A lack of patience toward things is really a lack of patience toward oneself—at its core, a kind of violence against the self.

Truly believe

You need faith

You need courage 

You need to think deeply 

You need space

You need less information 

You need to hear carefully 

You need to trust feelings

You need to face fears 

You need to walk away from the crowd