Walking Without Ego: A Personal Journey Through Zen
By Paul Duffy
Zen didn’t come to me in a monastery. It came through walking. Every day, I walked for miles. Breathing deeply. Watching my thoughts rise and fall like waves. With each step, I emptied my mind—not to escape life, but to meet it. To move with it. This became my meditation. My training.
It began with my cousin, an artist and mentor. He never lectured. He just lived without ego. That lesson stayed with me. No ego in art. No ego in business. No ego in how you treat people. It wasn’t about hiding yourself. It was about getting out of your own way—so something true could come through. As I walked, I noticed how stress softened. Life didn’t seem so hard when I wasn’t clinging to control. I read Zen Training, my first real encounter with Zen teachings. Later, a Northern Soul dancer—wise in movement and silence—recommended The Unfettered Mind. That book cracked something open in me. I started looking at things with more depth. Small moments became meaningful. I started writing. I started creating again. From emptiness came expression.
Zen made me better with people. Whether working with kids or demanding clients, I learned to listen more, react less. Let go of needing to win. No ego at work. No ego in meetings. Just clarity, presence, and connection. Bruce Lee’s words echoed in my mind: Be water. Adapt. Flow. The Japanese and Chinese Zen traditions taught me that freedom doesn’t come from avoiding stress—it comes from how we move through it. The mind can be still even in chaos. That’s where true strength lies.
I saw Zen in music too. In the soundscapes of artists, in the grooves that move us, in the spirit of soul dancers and DJs. That same no-ego energy. The kind that lets the music speak louder than the self behind it. Art without ego. Creation without force. And then came the hard years. No money. No sleep. Grief. Gaslighting neighbours. A daily grind that left me raw and exposed. Still, I walked. Still, I breathed. I practiced what I could. I didn’t always feel calm—but I stayed steady. And somehow, the work kept coming. Clients paid. I delivered. Zen held me up when nothing else could.
“All is vanity. Abide in nothing. Let the mind work.”
That line became a quiet companion. It reminded me not to grasp too tightly. Not to lose myself in the story of success or failure. To keep walking. Zen isn’t just something you do on a mountaintop. It’s something you carry with you—in the street, in the nightclub, in the meeting room, in the middle of suffering. It's presence under pressure. Grace in discomfort. It's the choice to respond rather than react. You don’t need incense or robes. You don’t need silence. You just need space in the mind. Zen is for everyone. For dancers. For teachers. For artists. For business owners. For anyone trying to live with a little more clarity and a little less fear. Sometimes, the nightclub is the temple. Sometimes, your breath is the only prayer you need.
Photography: Pexels