Sosan’s verses point again and again to the mind’s habit of splitting reality into opposites and then suffering inside those divisions. In daily life this can be approached by gently noticing how quickly experience is labeled as “good” or “bad,” “me” or “you,” and allowing those judgments to soften. Instead of clinging to a single, fixed viewpoint, one can regard any perspective as just that—a partial view within a larger field. This loosening of rigid positions does not deny differences, but it prevents them from hardening into conflict and alienation. In conversation or disagreement, it becomes possible to recognize that each side is an interdependent aspect of one shared situation, rather than two separate and opposing worlds.

A central thread in Sosan’s teaching is the relaxation of preference and grasping. This does not mean abandoning discernment, but seeing preferences as functional rather than as identity. Enjoyment of one thing over another can remain, while the insistence that reality conform to those likes and dislikes is gradually released. In practice, this appears as equanimity toward both pleasant and unpleasant experiences, and a willingness to let desired outcomes come and go without excessive inner turmoil. Such equanimity is closely related to acceptance: instead of fighting what is already present—an emotion, a circumstance, a mistake—one acknowledges it without harsh judgment, which creates the space for a more skillful response.

Sosan’s vision also invites a more direct, unadorned way of living ordinary moments. Simple activities such as washing dishes, walking, or answering a message can be carried out with attentive awareness of sensations, movements, and sounds, without being constantly pulled into commentary and mental storytelling. Thoughts and emotions are then observed as passing phenomena, neither suppressed nor indulged, and the struggle with them begins to ease. This simplification of mental activity—less compulsive planning, less revisiting of the past—allows a more immediate contact with what is actually present. Over time, such present-moment awareness supports a natural spontaneity, in which responses arise more from clarity than from habit.

Finally, Sosan’s teaching encourages trust in the mind’s own depth rather than in endless analysis or self-improvement projects. Instead of chasing a distant, special enlightenment, attention can rest in this very moment, with all its imperfections. Action then tends to become more “effortless,” not in the sense of passivity, but in the sense of arising from a quieter, less divided mind. When life is approached in this way—preferences held lightly, judgments softened, experiences accepted as they are—there is a gradual alignment with what Sosan calls the Great Way: a way in which nothing needs to be added or subtracted for the mind to be at peace.