My Korean friend Bon made me think about that. We were talking of things, and he showed me a poem that you can’t even Google by a guy who’s name I can’t even remember. It’s called “Right This Moment,” and the first line is “Do not let this moment escape.” It goes on to say, “Do not spend this moment in vain. These moments pile up and become an entire life… You have to be joyful in the living of life.” How does a moment manage to capture the things I have wanted to tell people for so long? The fleeting arguments about who is right or wrong or stressing out over bullshit is quite simply a waste of time. Let it wash over your skin as the sea when you swim and do not think, only feel. The Korean translation of the English word “nature” is: “It has what it is.”
Ladies and gentlemen, there are things in life that require stability and consistency and constancy and so many other –ys, but unless you are involved in those things specifically, there is absolutely no reason to get caught up in them. Life is volatile no matter what you’re doing. I guess I don’t know where I’m going with this, and perhaps it doesn’t even really matter, because in this moment my fingers feel just so right wandering over their well-warn paths across the keyboard. Writing is a brain-out moment for me. There really is no thinking. It is just feeling and the feeling of the fingers flying and the brain on auto-pilot is like being on a drug. Don’t think, just be. When I am writing, there is nothing but the writing. It’s a little bit like daydreaming, except it’s more like actual dreaming when you’re awake. Something that feels so right is the quintessential sublime, and I’m beginning to think that the reason I so often feel like my religion would best be described as naturism is because there is so much of the sublime in nature, and there is a horrifying preciousness to it. It’s scary to sit and write and be only barely conscious of the fact that the brain is managing to work very hard.
One of the things I think I am most proud of is the ability to say that I do not miss the man or boy I used to be. (BTW: the smiths’ “There is a light that never goes out” just came up on random in iTunes, and I feel like it is so appropriate that it needs to be thrown in here…right this moment.) I appreciate what I used to be. When I was a child, the world I was in just didn’t seem to fit, but if it hadn’t been for that, I would not be what I am, and there’s something slightly unsettling about what I would be, or …
As much as I would like to finish this post, I have to go hiking with teacher Bone right this moment.
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