Im watching someone do what they were created for. Somehow this thing, this soft, powerful, vibrant, beautiful shining light happened. Lifetimes were lived to bring this to the present, right now for me to watch. I have a front row seat to observe the balancing act that is having passion fueling your ambition and being driven by a purpose that I humbly get to sit and watch. It’s madness, it must, it’s our onus. You can’t change the world if you act like the world, or think like the world, you must go somewhere else, something else happens, we all have it, and lose it, for the most part, or maybe I’m just late for the party and most people keep their self-intact. To see it when someone is actively in their shit and fucking doing it. Feeding it. It can be intense. Chaos is a spectacle to watch, I have always been intrigued by the things people do. I try and figure out why. “What am I doing here?” “What’s their name?” “Who’s that?” What group do I put you in to make the decision to engage or tune out? What’s going on here? Fuck It. Ill sit here and stare for a while. The madness wants what it is owed, you can’t hold the keys to a meaningful life, and it be without an antagonist, to not have forces working against you, to bring you back to the others, to be the crab in a bucket or the rat in a cage that looks like a life. The proof is everywhere, it’s everyone. Think of the thing you would do every day, all day, forever, for free, and it must serve a purpose to others. Sounds fucking looney. Most of us have no idea what that would be. It’s lost. THAT is what it is, call it what you will but it is not you. It is a gift given to you.
I want the world to commune in it, in hopes that if it is lost, we can find it. It doesn’t want to be alone it wants to be found, it is the purpose of our time here, the reason we have this body and this mind. To be used as one, for a purpose. Or maybe it was taken from us? Not by force but with our own free will. Another “thing” we can’t explain, the one that is fueled by power, greed, and Ego. Knowing the power that purpose holds, it takes it. Replaced it with a Costco membership and cell phone and called it a life. The only way I know how to do that is to try and write about it. I can’t draw, I live on an island and my wife is exhausted with me by now, so you guys are stuck with this. More experienced, practiced, and seasoned writers, painters, musicians, and critics have tried to do it since we discovered it. This thing that moves us, that decides for us what must be done. It can’t be kept to itself if it is to be used, it must be to the service of others, to be made for them, by you, with “it” making the decisions. Why is it harder to control in some? There is a level of defiance that directs you, some smirk and whisper while others stand and cheer, few ever switch from side to side, and that is it. The thing inside of us that makes the call for us on whether we do anything at all. To find something and take it. Fearlessly moving forward with something that you cannot, not do. I get to see this. I get to try and put it into words. To watch something is one thing, to explain it another, but to write about it makes it real, it removes it from fleeting to something that is tangible, something that must be put into an order and the structure be something that conveys the way I see it in my head. Painting a picture of what it is that I saw or felt a minute or a year ago but bringing it into me right now. I have no clue what that is or what I’m doing. What I do know is I wouldn’t change any of it.
