Much of your effort feeds a hunger that returns the moment it is fed. You reach for the next thing, the next arrival, the next reassurance, certain that this one will finally settle you, and for a breath it does, and then the wanting begins again. This is the food that perishes. It is not wrong to eat it, but it was never going to fill the deeper emptiness, because that emptiness is not a lack of anything you can hold.
What endures is not out ahead of you to be earned by more labour. It is the awareness in which all your hungers come and go, already whole, asking nothing of the future. When your attention rests there instead of chasing the next morsel, you taste something that does not spoil. You are fed from within, by simply being here, and the frantic reaching loosens its grip. This is the nourishment that was always being offered, waiting only for you to stop long enough to receive it.