We're living in the Groundhog Day movie.
The day never fundamentally changes. Yes, the sun appears to rise and set giving us light and dark and the illusion of days ending and beginning but, in reality, the essence of a day always stays the same. Nothing changes except the scenery.
(The sun doesn't rise and set even, that's also an optical illusion. It's always shining, in its own kind of Groundhog Day.)
Once you start realizing this, the desire to do becomes much less. It's like realizing you've been a gerbil going around on a wheel. Constantly in motion — doing — but absolutely going nowhere.
Why work so hard? Where is there to go? Then you hop off the wheel and relax into the now that you can't (but have been trying) to escape from.
Now you are more in a being place. More merged with reality and the way of things. To our thinking minds, it is a kind of hell, as it means the eventual end of thinking too... at least, the kind of thinking we're used to. Incessant. Controlling. Loud.
If there is nothing really to do, there is no need to think. Being has its own intelligence, the same that makes it rain at exactly the right time in the season without a calendar. All you have "to do" is listen and allow yourself to be moved.
It takes courage to enter into this place. It is like stripping down naked. Removing all the masks, distractions, and diversions you've been using to try and hide and escape from what is right in front of you.
It is recognizing your utter and sheer powerlessness (which is a kind of power).
It is a letting go of the divided life between you and the world and becoming whole.
It is a death. The death of the personal you.
It is the birth of the Real You. The one you've been waiting for.
The doing takes us there because of how exhausting it is, and ultimately frustrating. See? Everything has its rightful place. Which means even more reason not do anything about it.