Can you keep on dancing after the music stops.
Can you palliate the thirst for happiness when the sorrows of the world swept over the horizon closing in on you.
And if you can, would you be able to tell a story versed on the valleys of your demise. Would you be able to glance over the peaks of your heartcontentedness and tell the story as it is, with the lows and the highs and the flow of the seasons colliding sometimes together and leaving a vortex of misery behind. Would such a story be in your biography.
Would you conjure the spell of your mortality –your cosmic insignificance– to the table of the gods where we’re all sitting, naked, raw, in front of the cosmic mirror, judging each others on the metrics that we imposed on others, out of cold heartedness.
Can you keep on dancing when it all goes down and you lost $500k. Can you.
Can you burn the heap of the wood that turned dead by the blight at the core of your quest to make it, to be it, to be the king that walked through a palace while ignoring the suffering of the peasants that cried for help as to get to a thrown built on a paradigm of separation, of annihilation, of desperation.
Can you make it to the place that is placelessness that the Carse and Macy and Jensen and the Christ and JD of this world preached.
Can you even introduce your younger self to your older self when the arc of your life slowly goes back to its original point.
I hope you do.
For we don’t live for happiness.
We live for meaning and dignity.
And there’s meaning in failure, just like there is in success, and there's in indignity.
Cause at the end of the day –at the end of the road, the lonely place where you will say your mea culpa as the angels immanentize the eschaton on your behalf–, yes, at the end of that day, nobility of character and invincibility of the soul will be the only metric that will weight more than your bundle of used energy on the cosmic karmic balance.
Eddies of uncertainties might drown you and compel you to lower the sword and bow down to a life of normalcy – and I’m the messenger to tell you to rise, and to pick yourself up again, and to go create the most beautiful world that could ever be.
The night of the thousand sorrows is the dawn of a bright new world.
I’m at such a moment, too.
And maybe there's only myself tonight in the church, bouncing thoughts in the high ceiling of my shattered ego.
The vivid hues of a brand new chapter are getting applied to the canvas of my inner and louder thoughts on the wall of my discontentment too. And if anyone is looking for a fierce warrior – I’m in. Getting treated like a dog by a psychopathic boss is over. Effective as of today.
Dignity is the kingpin of humanity, and humanity is what I need right now.
Give me a story, I'll pack up my raft and join you on the creative ocean, and maybe we ought to make a few waves and wake up those who sleep, those who live without a story to tell.
Out.
JP
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