March 2025

We often think of money as a thing to be accumulated, stacked up in ledgers, bank accounts, vaults. The more we have, the safer we feel. But is that safety real, or is it an illusion?

Nature does not work like this. Energy flows. Water flows. Time moves forward. The second law of thermodynamics tells us that entropy—disorder, randomness—increases over time. Systems are meant to be dynamic, not static. When energy is hoarded, when flow is restricted, stagnation sets in. And stagnation is the slowest form of death.

Money, like energy, is meant to move. It is a facilitator, a current, a representation of exchange. When you hoard it—whether through greed, fear, or mere habit—you are trying to stop the natural flow of entropy. You are resisting what must happen, delaying the inevitable dispersal. And in doing so, you are also disrespecting the three great Devis.

Saraswati: The Hoarding of Knowledge

Saraswati is the Devi of wisdom, learning, and creativity. Knowledge, like money, is not meant to be locked away. It is meant to be shared, to inspire, to create new realities. When knowledge is hoarded, when access to it is restricted—whether by elite institutions, paywalls, or individuals who guard it for their own advantage—stagnation follows. Innovation dies. A society that does not circulate knowledge is like a body with blocked arteries.

Lakshmi: The Hoarding of Wealth

The second Devi we offend is Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, fortune, and prosperity. People assume that to honor Lakshmi, one must accumulate more and more. But Lakshmi does not stay with those who do not respect flow. She is fluid, dynamic, ever-moving. The wealth that is locked away, concentrated, and not shared with those who create value is a wealth that has lost its purpose. Lakshmi does not bless stagnation. She blesses movement, circulation, and wise reinvestment.

Durga: The Hoarding of Power

The third and often overlooked aspect of hoarding is the hoarding of power itself—Durga’s domain. Durga represents strength, the ability to act, to protect, to lead. But when power is hoarded, when control is kept in the hands of the few at the cost of the many, oppression follows. Whether it is political power, corporate dominance, or even influence in social circles, the refusal to distribute power is a direct insult to Durga. True power is about empowering others. A hoarded sword rusts; a used sword defends.

Entropy and the Illusion of Control

Hoarding wealth, knowledge, or power may feel like control, but it is an illusion. Just as the universe expands, just as rivers carve new paths, entropy will find a way. If not voluntarily, then violently. Every empire that has hoarded resources at the cost of flow has eventually crumbled. Wealth that is not circulated leads to collapse, whether economic or social.

The Alternative: Conscious Circulation

This does not mean reckless spending, nor does it mean charity for its own sake. It means conscious flow. Invest in people. Share knowledge freely. Decentralize power. Be a river, not a dam.

To hoard is to fight entropy. To circulate is to align with it. The choice is yours.

We are trapped between two illusions.

On one side, the illusion that small things don’t matter. That the hurried goodbye, the unspoken word, the extra second before sending a message—these things are trivial. We assume their weight is negligible because we can’t see the chain reaction they trigger.

On the other side, the illusion that big things do matter. That empires, careers, legacy, and human ambition have some kind of permanence. We build, we fight, we conquer, only to be reminded—slowly at first, then all at once—that entropy is the final ruler.

Douglas Adams understood this. The Total Perspective Vortex didn’t kill people by force; it did something worse. It revealed the truth. It showed them the infinite vastness of the universe and their microscopic, irrelevant existence within it. The weight of that insignificance crushed them.

Except for Zaphod Beeblebrox. Because he believed he was important enough to matter in the infinite.

And yet, Asimov went a step further. In The Last Question, the AI across eons kept trying to solve the ultimate paradox: how to reverse entropy, how to make things permanent. Time and time again, the answer was just out of reach—until the end of everything.

Until only one thing remained.

And in that final moment, the AI whispered, “Let there be light.”

Maybe that’s the answer.

Maybe the secret isn’t in how big or small things are, but in what we choose to do with them. Maybe knowing the universe is vast and we are small isn’t the end of meaning, but the beginning of it.

The Total Perspective Vortex doesn’t break you if you decide—like Zaphod—to matter anyway.

The Last Question isn’t hopeless if you choose, in the face of entropy, to create something new.

Big and small are illusions. The only real choice is whether we keep asking the question.

The first breath is free.

Then, the addiction begins.

We spend our lives inhaling, exhaling, never questioning the system. We think we are in control. We think we are the ones consuming. But perhaps, we are the ones being consumed.

Oxygen is the greatest scam ever pulled. It promises life, yet guarantees death. It sustains us, yet slowly corrodes us. Every breath fuels the body, and every breath moves it one step closer to expiration.

And the plants?

They are patient. They give us oxygen, ensuring we keep moving, keep building, keep breathing. They watch us chase ambition, wealth, love, and meaning—knowing that, in the end, we return to the soil.

They farm us, not the other way around.

The trees stand tall, unwavering, indifferent to our struggles, our triumphs, our illusions of control. They absorb what we exhale. They consume what we leave behind.

And so the cycle continues.

You can reject this idea. Call it absurd. But rejection does not liberate you from the truth. The truth doesn’t need you to believe in it.

You will breathe.

You will decay.

And one day, the trees will collect.

Most people choose to be parrots. Some, pigeons.

Few dare to be eagles.

Parrots talk too much. They repeat what they hear. They stay in their comfort zone, inside a cage, entertaining others but never choosing their own flight path. Pigeons? They move in flocks, following the crowd, always looking for crumbs, never daring to take on the sky alone.

Eagles are different.

They fly alone at high altitudes, where only the bold dare to go. Small birds don’t bother them, and neither do the distractions of the world below. Eagles choose their own course.

They have long vision—spotting their target from five kilometers away. While others are flapping around in confusion, the eagle locks on, undistracted by the noise or the obstacles in between. It doesn’t change course because of a few clouds.

Eagles are fearless. They never surrender to the size or strength of their prey. If an eagle wants something, it goes for it—whether it’s reclaiming its territory or taking down a challenge twice its size. It doesn’t hesitate. It doesn’t cower. It faces every problem head-on.

And when storms come? Parrots hide. Pigeons scatter.

But the eagle loves the storm. It embraces the wild winds, using them to soar even higher, gliding effortlessly where others struggle. It turns adversity into altitude.

An eagle never scavenges the past. It doesn’t feed on dead things. It kills its own prey—focused only on what’s alive, fresh, and worth pursuing. A pigeon will settle for leftovers. A parrot will wait to be fed. An eagle? It hunts.

Even in its own growth, an eagle prepares. It trains its young by making the nest uncomfortable, forcing them to fly. No easy exits. No pampering. No endless coddling. The only way is up.

And when the eagle grows old, when its feathers weaken and its claws dull, it does what most would never dare—it destroys itself to rebuild itself. It flies to the mountains, breaks its own beak, sheds its weak feathers, and embraces the pain of renewal. It becomes weak to become strong again.

A parrot remains a parrot. A pigeon remains a pigeon.

An eagle chooses to be an eagle—every single day.

So ask yourself—are you repeating the world’s words, scavenging off yesterday, hiding from storms?

Or are you flying alone, facing your prey, and preparing for your next rebirth?

Capital isn’t just money.

If we reduce everything to financial capital—the money in the bank, the assets on a balance sheet—we miss the entire web of value that makes societies and economies function. This is where most economic models fall short. They take a narrow view of capital and then act surprised when the world refuses to behave according to their equations.

But capital exists in multiple forms:

1. Financial Capital – The most obvious kind. Money, assets, investments.
2. Human Capital – Skills, knowledge, talent. A country with educated workers has more human capital.
3. Social Capital – Networks, relationships, trust. A well-connected entrepreneur often has more access to opportunities than someone with just money.
4. Cultural Capital – The shared knowledge, art, and ideas that shape how people interact and create value.
5. Political Capital – Influence, ability to mobilize people, access to power structures.
6. Natural Capital – The environment, raw materials, and biodiversity that underlie everything else.
7. Technological Capital – The tools, infrastructure, and innovations that amplify productivity.

These forms of capital don’t exist in isolation. They interact in complex ways, and yet, when we try to mix economic systems like socialism and capitalism, we tend to reduce everything to financial capital. That’s where the problems begin.

The Temptation to Simplify

Both socialism and capitalism, at their extremes, try to impose a single logic onto the entire system.

• Pure Capitalism optimizes for financial capital, assuming that if money moves efficiently, everything else will take care of itself. It undervalues social, cultural, and natural capital—treating them as externalities or as things that will “somehow” adjust.
• Pure Socialism optimizes for social capital (and sometimes human capital), assuming that if resources are evenly distributed and planning is done rationally, everything else will follow. It often underestimates the role of financial and technological capital in driving innovation and long-term sustainability.

Neither system holds the full picture, and yet the real world demands a balance. Most modern economies attempt some form of mixed capitalism—welfare states with market-driven economies—but the balance is fragile.

Why the Mix Fails: People Can’t Hold Complexity for Long

The biggest challenge in mixing socialism and capitalism isn’t the theory. It’s the fact that people don’t like to hold multiple, conflicting truths in their minds for long periods.

It’s cognitively exhausting to acknowledge that:

• Markets work—but also need regulation to prevent abuse.
• Welfare programs are essential—but too much redistribution can stifle innovation.
• Public goods need government support—but too much state control can kill incentives.
• Inequality is a problem—but some level of it drives ambition and progress.

Instead of embracing this tension, people (and policymakers) tend to simplify:

• Socialists start advocating for “free everything”, ignoring the fact that resources are limited.
• Capitalists start pushing for “cut all taxes”, ignoring the fact that societies need infrastructure, safety nets, and public investment.

The complexity of managing multiple forms of capital gets lost in ideological battles where both sides pretend the world is simpler than it really is.

The Real Challenge: Thinking in Systems

If we want to create a functioning economic model that works in the long term, we need to:

1. Acknowledge that multiple forms of capital exist and are interdependent.
2. Accept that no single model—pure capitalism or pure socialism—can optimize for all of them at once.
3. Stay comfortable with contradictions. The real world doesn’t fit into simple categories, and successful policies often require trade-offs.

The hardest thing about governing, building businesses, or even just thinking deeply about society isn’t coming up with solutions. It’s resisting the urge to simplify too quickly.

Holding complexity in your head for long periods is uncomfortable—but it’s the only way to make sense of the world.

In physics, entropy is a measure of disorder. Left unchecked, all systems tend toward higher entropy—greater disorder, randomness, and stagnation. The natural state of the universe is decay. It takes work, energy, and structure to fight against this trend.

The same principle applies to economies and societies. If left to themselves, they will naturally devolve into inefficiency, stagnation, or chaos. High entropy requires no effort; it happens on its own. But building something great—whether it’s a thriving economy, a successful company, or an advanced civilization—requires constant effort to maintain low entropy.

Why Billionaires Matter: Wealth Concentration as Low Entropy

Consider the Sun. It’s a highly concentrated, low-entropy energy source for Earth. It enables movement, growth, and life. Without it, everything on Earth would become a cold, high-entropy wasteland.

Now think about money. When wealth is evenly distributed with no concentrations, there’s no financial force to drive innovation. If everyone has the same amount of money, no one has the capital to take big risks, fund ambitious projects, or drive progress. That’s economic heat death—a lifeless system where everything is static.

Billionaires and wealth concentrations act like financial low-entropy zones. They create the potential for movement. Their investments fund new industries, their companies generate employment, and their risk-taking enables progress. If you eliminate billionaires in the name of fairness, you also eliminate the engine that moves society forward.

The Effort to Maintain Low Entropy

A successful economy, like a well-functioning machine, requires constant effort to resist the pull of entropy. In capitalism, entrepreneurs, investors, and innovators continuously work to create new opportunities, optimize resources, and push the boundaries of what’s possible. This takes immense energy, discipline, and intelligence.

High entropy—disorder, decay, inefficiency—happens on its own. In economic terms, this means:

• Without effort, businesses collapse.
• Without innovation, industries stagnate.
• Without investment, progress slows.
• Without discipline, markets become wasteful.

Communism, by forcing an artificial state of equal wealth distribution, removes the mechanisms that fight entropy. The economy becomes like a room where heat is evenly spread—there’s no temperature difference to drive movement. Without the natural drive of incentives, ambition, and financial gradients, stagnation is inevitable.

Preserve the Dynamics, Don’t Kill Them

Good things—wealth creation, innovation, prosperity—require effort. Bad things—collapse, stagnation, economic decay—happen by default. If a system is left to itself, entropy will increase. Progress requires active, intentional work to maintain order, structure, and movement.

A world without billionaires might seem fair, but it would also be stagnant. Instead of eliminating wealth concentrations, we should focus on keeping them dynamic—ensuring money flows through investment, risk-taking, and innovation, just like the Sun radiates energy to sustain life.

Because when the system stops moving, everything dies.

Everything today is fast. Opinions, reactions, outrage—all delivered in real time. There’s no need to pause, no incentive to reflect.

So people don’t.

Instead, they latch onto convenient truths—facts that align with their worldview, validate their emotions, and require no deeper inspection. The problem isn’t just misinformation. It’s the refusal to unpack information at all.

Because unpacking is hard. It requires effort, doubt, and worst of all—time.

And time is in short supply when the world runs on speed.

• Why sit with an idea when you can skim a thread?
• Why debate when you can dismiss?
• Why question when you can double down?

Social media doesn’t just encourage this behavior—it rewards it. The algorithm favors certainty, not nuance. It amplifies conviction, not curiosity. So, ideological positions become rigid, perspectives become tribal, and conversations turn into battles where the only goal is to win, not to understand.

And when unpacking dies, long-term thinking dies with it.

The Tyranny of Now

Long-term thinking requires reflection. It demands patience. It forces you to zoom out and see the bigger picture. But that’s a luxury in a world optimized for short-term wins.

Everywhere you look, the future is sacrificed for the present:

• Politics. Performative gestures over structural change.
• Business. Quarterly targets over sustainable growth.
• Personal lives. Clout over character. Engagement over wisdom.

When you stop unpacking, you stop planning. You start reacting. And reactionary thinking leads to quick fixes, not real solutions.

A society that refuses to unpack and refuses to think long-term doesn’t just stagnate—it regresses.

And worst of all? It doesn’t even realize it. Because self-awareness requires introspection. And who has time for that?