Today I happened to be sorting through some old sketch books and found this gem hidden in one of my first sketch books when I began college. It was summer 2003 when I was taking summer courses between my freshman and sophomore year. During that year I experimented with a variety of different diets and at the time of the above “drawing” my diet consisted largely of bananas, honey, sprouts and nuts.
I had stomach aches a lot at that time. It was probably done when I was having a stomach ache. Now I think about it, the stomach aches perhaps were not from the bananas, most likely they were from stress.
Fast forward 8 years to this past couple of months. Something similar came up.
Yes, I’ve been experimenting with mental diet. Swami, meditation, the Tao, the Secret, the Hero’s Journey, After the Honey Moon, the Mother Fucker’s Deep End, what have you. At some point, we need to put down the books, shove away the masters and teachers, cover the mouths of friends and families and just trust ourselves.
“I feel so bad because I can’t trust myself. That’s why I need the books, the audio tapes, the workshops, the healing sessions.” At one point that’s how I felt. But I slowly realized that nobody knows any shit about what life is about. They particularly don’t know what MY life is about. That is for ME to figure out.
But I can’t figure it out and I’m just as confused as when I was born. There is no answer to any of life’s big questions and there will only be more and more of them. It’s like swimming laps in a pool while there are more and more beach balls being thrown at you in your aisle.Â Some hit you in the head and make you choke, some just floating on the side.
“Why are they throwing these beach balls at me?” “Why do they look this color and this shape?” “Why do I have this many and that guy doesn’t have quite as many?” No matter what, it is important to wade through all the balls. Push them aside, keep swimming forward. It’s okay not to know why and how the beach balls get in your face. Although sometimes I really want to just drown, just fall down to the bottom. But for some reason, I have a built-in floatation device, perhaps my mother gave me, or dare I say, God, that helps me float when I’m drowning.
That’s right, that’s where I’m at now. I’m floating by the built-in floatation device. It feels so effortless yet so dangerous. Can I really not swim so hard and be okay? I don’t need to learn new techniques to get rid of the beach balls in my aisle. I would just float forward and when the balls hit me, my head will be like a ice breaker ship that would part a way for me to float through.
It must be this way.