If we look at our daily lives, we can notice something very common in almost all forms of suffering. Whether it is stress, fear, anxiety, procrastination or inner restlessness, there is often a kind of pressure lurking in the background. This pressure is not always dramatic or intense. Sometimes it’s very subtle, like a faint tension in the background, a feeling that something isn’t right or that things should be different.
This pressure can take many forms. It can be fear of the future, a sense of responsibility weighing on us, inner restlessness for no clear reason, or simply an uncomfortable silence that we feel is necessary. Sometimes it manifests as stress in the body, and other times as a constant stream of thoughts that prompts us to think, analyze, or worry. Regardless of its form, it has one thing in common: it is experienced by the mind as something to be avoided or resolved.
Because of this, we spend most of our time reacting to this pressure. When it arises, we try to do something about it: reduce it, run away from it, or control it. We find ourselves in constant motion between different strategies – we seek safety, we distract ourselves, we think, we plan or we procrastinate. We rarely stop and look at the pressure itself.
When we start to observe more closely, we see that the same process is at work in procrastination. The task itself is not necessarily the problem. The problem is the feeling about it. This feeling comes in the form of pressure—an uncomfortable tension that the mind wants to release as quickly as possible. So we look for escape, most often somewhere easy and immediately accessible.
We often reach for our phones. We check messages, open social media, read the news or watch videos. For a moment, the tension seems to have eased. But he’ll be back soon. The task remains, and the feeling that we must meet it. This creates a vicious cycle: task, pressure, escape, guilt, more pressure.
If we observe this throughout the lens of dhammait becomes clear that the pressure itself is not the real problem. The problem is our relationship with it. What does the pressure demand of us? How do we react, right? Most people think that the pressure should be released immediately. The pressure is uncomfortable. And when discomfort arises, we think we need to remove it or subdue it. In both cases, we are already in conflict with him.
The pressure itself is not the real problem. The problem is our relationship with it. What does the pressure demand of us?
But there is a third possibility. He neither succumbs to pressure nor fights against it. Pressure is acceptable.
In the Buddhist tradition, the forces that draw the mind toward attachment and away from unpleasantness often described as Maraa kind of symbolic tempter or inner ‘demon’. Mara doesn’t have to be dramatic or mythological. It often appears in quite mundane forms: a desire for instant gratification, a resistance to uncomfortable work, or an urge to escape into distraction.
When Mara appeared before the Buddha, the Buddha did not try to destroy him. He didn’t fight him. He simply recognized it. The following sentence remains in the canonical texts: “I see you, Mara”. This simple answer reflects deep understanding. Buddha recognized the presence of pressure but did not identify with it.
We can learn to observe the same process in our daily lives. When an impulse strikes—be it fear, desire, restlessness, or the urge to flee—something happens very quickly. First there is pressure, then action follows almost immediately. But when we start to observe more closely, we see that there is a space between the two. First comes the pressure. Then comes the decision. And only then comes the action.
Most people ignore this space. When an impulse strikes, action feels inevitable. But in reality, pressure itself is not action. It is simply a phenomenon in the mind.
Once this becomes clear, practice can begin. When pressure is created, we can observe it. No need to remove it. No need to analyze. You don’t have to submit to him. We can simply acknowledge its presence.
Here’s the pressure. That’s all.
At first, this may feel uncomfortable. The mind is used to immediately dismissing anything unpleasant. This can make it seem like the feeling is getting stronger. But if we really observe, we notice something interesting. The feeling is unpleasant, but still tolerable. It won’t destroy us. It does not completely take over our body or mind.
It’s like a wave. It rises, builds up, and then gradually subsides.
This can also be illustrated with a story taken from the film A beautiful mindwhich is based on the life of John Nash. At a certain point in his life, he began to experience very convincing hallucinations. He saw people that others couldn’t see, talked to them, and believed that he was involved in important secret missions. These experiences were very real to him and had a strong impact on his life.
Later, he gradually began to realize that these numbers were not real in the usual sense. However, they did not disappear. He could still see them. They were still present in his perception. The most important turning point was not that he eliminated them, but that he learned not to engage with them. When they appeared, he saw them without reacting. He no longer spoke to them or followed their ‘instructions’. They were there, but they no longer controlled his behavior.
This example helps us understand something important about our own minds. The pressures we experience—be they desire, fear, restlessness, or urge—work in a similar way. When it arises, it seems compelling and demands our attention. It seems we have to obey it or deal with it. But, as in this case, it is not necessary for the pressure to cease in order to live freely. It is enough to recognize it as something arising and learn that we do not have to follow it.
Over time, it becomes clear that the real problem is not the feeling itself, but our fear of the feeling. Because we think the pressure is dangerous or unbearable, we try to stop it immediately. But it is precisely this constant struggle that causes further tension.
Over time, it becomes clear that the real problem is not the feeling itself, but our fear of the feeling.
When the mind learns to simply observe the pressure without immediate reaction, something begins to change. Impulses may still arise, but they lose their power. Pressure appears, but no longer automatically leads to action.
True freedom begins to emerge—not as the complete absence of impulses, but as the ability to face without immediate identification. The mind begins to understand that pressure is not necessarily a command to be obeyed. It is simply a phenomenon that comes and goes.
This shift in understanding can gradually dissolve many forms of inner suffering—not just procrastination, but also stress, anxiety, and fear. Tasks continue to arise, life remains unpredictable, feelings come and go. But our relationship with them will be different.
And it is precisely in this quiet observation that a deeper aspect of the dhamma begins to reveal itself: Freedom does not arise when all pressures are removed, but when we stop seeing it as something that should control us.
