Fifteen centuries before the smartphone, the monks of Egypt named a spiritual illness that strikes hardest in summer heat. Their diagnosis is uncomfortably accurate.
It comes in the middle of the day, in the heat. The monk in his cell feels a creeping restlessness—an inability to stay, to pray, to work, to read. He looks out the window. He looks again. He decides he would do more good somewhere else. He begins to feel that his cell is uniquely unsuitable for spiritual progress, that his situation is exceptional, that moving would solve everything. He does not move.
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