Well, I have been having so much trouble in life the last few months, and it always comes back down to the same overarching topic -- am I putting my energy into my calling? Which turns into a thousand tiny voices asking a thousand tiny questions about whether I'm fulfilling this and that and doing the right thing and offering help when someone is hurt and actively trying to shake people out of their comfort levels and doing art and writing enough and listening and asking questions and teaching and not being selfish and loving myself and holding myself to high standards and no basing my standards on anyone but myself and using my mind and not letting myself rot and not causing suffering and forgiving others for hurting me and thinking things through and being spontaneous and
and
I've been so incredibly self critical. I was already trying to refresh myself from a lot of pain last summer, and it just didn't work, it just turned into more problems and weird situations that I swear other people don't run into. Last summer, when I was going to go to the Ocean and give it prayers and positive energy and meet others doing the same...I didn't even make it off the West coast. I mean, I got as far as Reno NV. I got a tattoo in Truckee. I ended up getting massively side-tracked, losing my money on helping someone out of gas drive back to Oregon, and I ended up back in Eugene, at something resembling the Manson house meets a 60s commune meets West coast suburbia. I learned a lot. Does anyone want to hear my tale of last Summer? It's a good one... maybe next time.
But back to my present moment. Just, trust that I got a taste of hell. Not really the worst hell possible, but a version of it, like a fucked up Alice in Wonderland bad dream, where difficult things keep happening faster than a person can make them go away, like megatons of dirt collapsing on little you with a little shovel, as you pathetically try to throw it off your new shiny garden. Because, honestly, I was *really* inspired about life in my own way as usual, and I wanted to do something really collaborative this time, so we (my room mate, my brother, my ex boyfriend and I) all decided to rent a shit hole commercial/residential building that needed work but could double as a home/art studio. And it didn't work. Literally, it didn't have working electricity (well, it had an outlet) and no hot water. So I spent part of winter very cold, writing term papers in two coats all night and desperately searching craigslist for a better place.
And this is a much better place. I love our new home. But moving twice in a month is no joke. And other things happened, more personal -- an end to a relationship, an end to a pregnancy, a total wave of exhaustion came over me so that I was grateful for school for just giving me a place to go everyday and tune out the fact that humanity is fucked.
So, in a desperate attempt to find some sane advice in a mad world, I wrote a four-page letter to Mumia Abu-Jamal, political prisoner who has been on death row for the past 30 years (check out his sunday series on prisonradio, btw). Basically, it was a self-lesson on refocusing my energy from my own insides to a person who has more pain than I do, and I decided, if he writes back, I need to believe every word he says.
Well, he did. I'd like to quote him, because this is the advice that every person on this planet needs to hear and embrace, and it is coming straight from the source. Imagine maintaining hope in a (r)evolution while waiting to be executed by the state. Imagine.
"I tell you this, life is far too short to waste your time doing something that doesn't move you profoundly. Do what you love and it won't seem like work; it's like play. So, listen to your Spirit. All wisdom resides there!"
And this is why I am not really allowed to complain anymore. My recent cynicism, which is really more a sadness that life is surprisingly un-beautiful sometimes, will go away as this Oregon rain goes away: slowly. But it's true, as long as I'm here, I need to listen to my heart and do what moves me.
