“How could you reach the pearl by looking at the sea? If you seek the pearl, be a diver.” Rumi
After writing so many stories for so many years, the thought of ever repeating myself is a waste of energy. In addition, I am equally as certain, contradictions abound. God knows, I’ve written enough about change that I plead guilty, without even being accused. On top of that, there is no question that each story affects the next. I think I’m about to cover all three right here.
I definitely remember sharing that when I wake up at least an hour before I roll out of bed, having nothing to do, the mind starts running its own race. The only way to win is to let it get tired and shut the fuck up. By the way, this is also the secret to meditation, letting the mind run out of gas.
In that special hour, I thought about the last story I wrote and how difficult it was for me, because it was not a happy one. Even ending it with the love thing felt inadequate. With the covers still up to my neck, I started thinking about actually being happy and changing the end of that story, knowing the ink is indelible, so another story is the only way, kind of the contradiction thing.
As I have also frequently mentioned, I take the bed head to the cushion, where I attempt to sit still, turning the mind loose, until it loses authority to the next breath. The idea of happiness or nirvana, in cushion language, is portrayed as a kind of passive activity that comes over you, with time and patience. It struck me as horse shit and that is where we begin today.
I stayed with idea for a couple of days, letting it percolate within, until it became an internal force that needed to come out. I’ll bet you think I am automatically going to align it with a bodily function, but you’re wrong, just this once. One, it is too easy. Two, it is coming out of the other end, because I have given it a lot of thought, primarily because I think it has been mistakenly portrayed. In chakra terms, I am going for #7 and not #1.
Very often, I concoct a title, before I have any idea how I am going to write a single thought and make it into a story. I did it this time, thinking about any life being a string of pearls, a lot of shit on a string, occasionally connecting to a perfect pearl of joy. Listen, I am no genius, so I bang a couple of words into the machine and end it with “photo”. Very often, the image starts writing my story and it absolutely did in this case.
I have always loved finding a quote, never more than a sentence or two. I always look for the author to feed my story. Talking about feelings is Rumi’s turf and it fit the image, which fit the title. If I am fortunate to get to this point, I am screwed, because now I have to write a story that attempts to measure up to title, image and quote.
The title usually bursts forth from good intention and little else, like a slogan. The image and the quote create the boundaries for me to work within. The oyster keeps its mouth shut for two years, making that pearl. If you ask me, that’s a lot of work to create something perfect, with no help, but the environment it lives within. Are we feeling an analogy here?
It is nature’s perfection, but leave it to us to pry it open and remove its purest creation. We do it, because it is deemed to be valuable and owning them makes us happy. We appreciate it no more than we appreciate the diamond that takes life times and inhuman pressure to be created. We don’t value the effort with an ounce of gratitude for how they came to be.
Like the pearl, joy takes work and single minded dedication. That is where I screwed the ending of my last story and many others that have ended with love as the magical antidote for all that ails us. You don’t have to get dirty and work through all the shit in your own life and the world around you. I apologize for giving that impression, because it is wrong, dangerously wrong.
You actually have to work to be happy. It takes effort and fortitude, because of what the world does to us. I think we look for things outside ourselves, like a new job, a new shirt, new haircut, anything new, for that matter. I don’t think there is some kind of road map we can all follow to get there.
You really have to make up your mind and never forget that is why you are actually here, on this planet. If you can think of a better reason, let me know. Joy and happiness are not some platitudes that happen to you. I guess it bothered me that I refer to it as some state that is just waiting for us. You actually have to find it and sometimes it can be a bitch to find, because it gets buried in the day to day details of our lives.
It is what really bothered me about the last story. We are living in very difficult times and so many of us have lost hope. Suicide rates, especially amongst the young have skyrocketed. I do not pretend to have a simple answer for that one either. You really need time to think about why you are here and kids just don’t have that opportunity. I know it might sound kind of stupid and narrow minded, but that’s what hit me that early morning this week. Without swimming toward that goal of being happy, the world will drown you.
I like to think my purpose behind all these words I’ve been laying down all these years, is to leave you with just a little bit more of yourself, then before you started. No, I don’t think for a minute I can make you happy, but maybe I can get you to think about it just a little more. It really takes work, especially now, but it is worth it when you get there. I am working on it, just like you.