January 5th 2019
Commitments are scary. To most, even a bit terrifying.
I’ve now committed that day in and day out, I will post one solid piece of content on Instagram every day of this year.
Even if my phone is dead, I must recoup.
The habit is what holds the power.
As I sit, and count my blessings yet again….
My mind wanders.
“you’ve got a business to start. Go text your woman. Write that letter to the editor. Get to cooking. Finish 100 books this year. Focus on only what you want.”
But isn’t that in and of itself, escapism?
Why have I not allowed myself the simplest pleasure of sitting down, being with myself, and attending well to my own thoughts?
Perhaps it is this.
I have been struck by the largest thing;
Idea, muse, spirit, what have you.
The point is, I’ve been running from my own power, my own potential, and letting “Resistance” block my path, and guard me from my own realization, responsibility and success.
I’ve come ever so far. From the days I lived out of a Ford Taurus, to where I now sit, in the drizzly, densely populated city of Seattle.
But from the magic in that achievement, that manifestation is gone. It is so sublty vanished.
The many voices I heard over the years, telling to me – you have so much potential.
I always asked, “for what.”
It was never, “why did you not tell me more about this?”
I’ve finally, after many years, seen the work. The meaningful things I get the privilege to bring to the community. And it’s very exciting.
But also, a bit terrifying and nerve wracking.
Who am I really? To go do these noble actions?
Who am I not to do this?
I see the duty I owe.
I have forced myself, of my own accord, in accordance with my environment, to be boxed up and left on a shelf.
2019 is a year of reckoning and reconciling. To see beyond my own masks, and to truly grasp ahold of a journey, to embark upon the ship that will sail the widest of seas.
Another moment I cannot waste. Another breath I cannot be mindful of. The persons of the earth are waiting for me to burst free of my mental, emotional,and financial cages. In order that I may best serve them, lead them, and bring them to the Promised Land.
What, ask you, is the Promised Land? Is it, in a most literal sense flowing with milk and honey? Or, is it something metaphoric, hyperbolic that calls to you as you absorb the energy from my written word?
The Promised Land, I perceive, is the place you create for yourself, with the cards you are dealt in this lifetime, that is the highest and most service oriented expression of yourself.
That’s all. You can turn the lights off, put the chalk down and drop the mitts.
Each day, I must take the vow to myself to produce, from my own heart and soul, no less than 500 words that will both allow me my ultimate freedom of expression, writing. And, for you, a glimpse at my growth, my mind, and how I am ever evolving changing, growing, and becoming the most potent expression of myself.
As I write this, I do not worry. Worry is of the utmost lowest and most worthless vibration to ever be pondered upon. Nay, I ask you all to immediately cut out worry from your life like you would cut out venom from a snake or animal bite. It is, and will forever remain useless to mankind in his present and future form. In the eternal words of Marley, “don’t worry, be happy now.” Place yourself in a state of happiness now. What is available to one is indeed available to all.
Perhaps something of this will turn out to be a book. Or an essay. Or something that is worth its digital weight in gold. I will not hesitate. I do not labor upon the page for an end result. No, I find the meaning in and through this work. The writing, the scribbling, the note taking, the jotting of parcels of ideas and thought forms produced by the ATP in my brain. It is both a merciless pleasure and a graceful pain. One may look upon this work and consider me talented or gifted. Damn right you are. I will never again squander my talent from heaven above or hell below. Wherever this gift or treasure hath come from, I will return it to its rightful place. The earth. My readers, to whom it rightfully belongs. It must emanate from me like water from a spring. My nature is to write. An write shall I.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither will the skills, the book, the journal or this blog. But brick by brick, a foundation and wall is being set.
Now that I take a second to ponder what has been written today, I see a subtle but also blatant realization.
The devil is in the distractions. Not to dismiss him/her in the details, as he or she lurks there as well. But in all awful truth, as Pressfield constantly hammers home: Distraction is simply death to the creative.
To me, writing is like breathing. If it isn’t done daily, I will suffocate, and die. Perhaps a harsh truth. But as the great philosophers of olden days have expressed, the truth need not be repeated twice.
Don’t get all excited, please. I am not writing for anyone but myself. These are lessons, ideas and thoughts that need to get out and be expressed. This is the fastest way in which for me to process the universe at large, through my hands and through writing and creating a visual process of thought. And I will not stop until I my eyes have closed for the last day of this incarnation. Now that I sit at 999 words, I think it wise I feed my body some nourishing morsels.
As of this writing, I weigh less than 9.9 stones. According to a gym manager that checked my body fat levels, I sit undeniably below 7% body fat. Another goal and task lay before me. To gain weight, but in a healthy manner. For my joints ache, and my muscles sustain damage and yet do not recover as hastily as they are able.
I have much to write, and shall continue this unconventional conversation soon. Now, I eat.