in the silence of the monastery, a typewriter sits, a testament to unuttered words that linger in the air like the scent of incense. it reminds us that to give the cold shoulder to the preexplosive thoughts within us is not to our benefit. instead, we should embrace a protocol of reflection, allowing these silent seeds to rebegin their journey towards expression. each clack of the typewriter keys is a meditation, a step closer to articulating the soul's deepest whispers.