303

the primary concern is to make something out of nothing. we turn potential into actuality. capability into reality. investments into return.

but somewhere in the middle, life will turn your something back into nothing. the dough doesn’t rise. the machinery jams. the building collapses. and you fail. you lose. it’s public, it’s private; it doesn’t matter. if it’s public, now you have to move. if it’s private, you retreat. and this is when you do your life‘s work.

because now you have to turn your nothing into a different something. and it becomes your art, the next version of you, the second life you could not have architected alone. it’s the story you could not envision before you lived it. and all of a sudden, the same world looks different only because you are. the old drugs stop working and new layers appear beneath the everyday. your empty hands don’t look the same.

it’s not the end.

302

show me better.

“show me better,” you might say. “show me better than this that’s left and all that’s now gone.”

“show me better, for this is not what i want.”

and you’ll have to listen closely for the reply, barely a whisper in the quiet, an echo to your cry:

i’ll show you better, even as i tempt your worst.

but you’ll have to show me, first.

show me better than what you have left.

i can show you better. and you’ll have to go first.

301

three houses.

the first house is the one you escape. you live there in the danger, in the old roles, in the old circumstances, under the old rules—as the old you. the one that couldn’t do it. the one that hasn’t accomplished anything.

the second house is the one you are desperately trying to enter. it is the house of belonging. you become a shapeshifter for this house. it’s where you learn to please, to relate, to perform, and this time it’s on purpose. you do it to win.

but the third house is just home. there are no more houses after the third house. there are still places you visit, but then you come back home to the third house, which is where you live now—as you. where all the gravity is. it’s the home you don’t have to escape from. the home that doesn’t need you to be anyone other than who you’ve become.

300

after the earthquake.

the earthquake is not the problem. an earthquake continues a cycle. hidden movement against time revealing itself.

the problem is that your stuff is strewn about. the foundation has cracked. your home is in shambles. the problem is whether you can trust the ground you walk, not in general, but after the earthquake.

you accept that you are not dead. and this is your life now. at first, the rebuild is tentative, contingent. you get through the day and later, the week. after a year has passed, you put up your art.

the elements will visit you one at a time. eat the fruit. sink to your depths. emerge from the fire. listen for a song in the wind.

299

closing the ledger.

do you know what happens when you close the ledger? some connections will be short and some will be very long (as long as they have to be) but nothing has to be a relationship it’s not.

because when i don’t need you to be what i need and i don’t know why things are the way they are, then i can just focus on my business and you can be who you are. that’s what happens.

i stop tracking the credits and debits. and the only reason i stop tracking them is i get tired of the forever task of writing a story that sometimes feels good and sometimes feels bad. you can be you. and i can be me. you don’t need to stand next to the version of you i create in my mind. and i don’t need to be a version of me that i don’t like. nothing can make us grow closer and nothing can keep us apart.

298

old friends.

rachmaninoff. it's not going well, but beautifully. the clouds part and it's still winter, of course. it's always winter—the winter after christmas, usually. our heart is still broken but between ugly crying, beautiful memories.

chopin. reality narrates the existential crisis: back-to-back meetings "adding value" from the airport security line but also, best latte ever. i was having a terrible day but i think i've just fallen in love with a stranger this afternoon. i love life? yes, i know i just met you and we'll never see each other again. yes, i know we're at a funeral. yes, selfie! before we cry off our makeup and eat our lipstick. funerals are worthy of as much drama and redemption as the life preceding.

tchaikovsky. ballet. that is all. life is ballet.

liszt. my heart has always been broken. that doesn't stop women from being beautiful. but alas, i am still me. 

grieg. it is all glorious. did you know?!?!

ravel. enter the fairy mound. we must not touch, eat or drink anything. the fairy mound is not for consumption—for looking only! in which case, look!! also, the light is different here. not sure if you noticed. i'm pretty sure time is different here, too. but i wouldn't know because i haven't left. i haven't finished looking at everything—did you catch that?

satie. bed rot is perfectly legitimate. i'm not sure if anyone has told you. don't worry—the coffee shop reminds us how portable it is. we tend to forget that soft pants are also …pants.

beethoven. welcome aboard. this is your captain speaking. i hope you are enjoying first class. this is my plane and my airline and all the seats are first class. not sure if you knew, but it’s the only way to travel. we are important because we go places. you've made it this far. i do the rest. this is how it happens.

debussy. breathe with me. see with me. be with me. we can't stay so do not rush.

vivaldi. metal is cold in the mind but warm under the hand. did you know the heart is also a machine? there's an ecology inside the engine. all parts move together. 

schubert. have you ever contemplated all of this? there's actually so much and it cannot be grasped. let's not try. it actually makes me quite happy and sad at the same time. this is a documentary that explores with more melancholy than interest. 

bach. i've been commissioned to write the elevator music for heaven. also, the bridal entrance theme belongs to me, forever. i'm told not everyone in heaven is there to socialize but they do offer weekly concerts in place of sunday service.

mozart. what if we could fly? what do you think it would be like? sometimes scary? sometimes fun? always awesome? i think so, too. we would be able to see so much more from the sky. closer to God, amirite? and then we could smell the flowers like a bee or a bird, without trampling them.

elgar. we might still fall in love, you know.

haydn. what if we could be our best selves, but like, all the time? #yeswecan

mendelssohn. quiet dignity is not a stagnant energy. did you know that a caterpillar turns into goo before the butterfly emerges from the cocoon? let's do the time lapse. i'll show you. i can do a wedding one, too!

brahms. i sweep you off your feet and then you cry. you remember your heart. that is the movement. but for babies, it's not for crying. it's for sleep.

dvořák. world-building. that's it. that's what orchestra is for. nothing else.

verdi. you sing to it. but if you don't, it's pretty great, still.

wagner. it's great because it's literally for the greats. man is his own myth.

297

princess and the pea.

have you noticed that the fairy tales operate on incomplete information? cinderella doesn’t know the way out. shoes appear. sleeping beauty doesn’t know her identity. and destiny cannot be unwritten. snow white doesn’t know the duration of exile. a family appears. rapunzel doesn’t know who will come looking for her.

there’s even a princess whose entire experience is to have a terrible sleep. she doesn’t know there’s a pea hidden under 20 mattresses. she was caught in a storm and sought shelter for the night. she doesn’t know there’s someone looking for her on the other side of a test. there’s a prince everybody wanted and a test everyone else failed. her nervous system tells the truth and that reveals who she is.

296

end the bargain.

how do you end the bargain? the pain is local. so the first thing is to try to solve it. you look for the quickest, shortest, surest bridge. all the people, places and things will give plenty of opportunities to solve or numb or achieve. but the timeline doesn’t change.

so you reach for a story, a spirituality, a program, a propaganda. a narrative that reorganizes reality, promises transformation and offers a path. but maximal effort doesn’t seem to reliably transport you out of the old story. and the pain is still local. you’re still you. not fixed. not healed enough. the transaction isn’t going through. and what if it never does? what if “getting it right” just keeps pointing you back to a path that never ends or arrives? what if the path is just the path?

none of your psychology or spirituality or religion or step work can be optimized or perfected into a bargain. you end the bargain when you consent to your role in the dream. when “i don’t know” becomes your prayer instead of the problem.

295

realationship.

a relationship is not …

the shape of the connection,

duration of the conversation,

the gift of witness,

the gravity of your own longing,

being recognized,

a future you envision,

memory or premonition,

museum or monument,

routine or reflection,

care or kindness,

fear or fascination,

obligation or desire,

commitment or affection,

love or lust,

miles on the road or gas in the tank.

when you put energy into a relationship, it changes reality. reality reorganizes. that’s how you’d know.

294

the conversation.

you think your life happens only in the ring. or maybe only in those precious few moments you get to sit in your corner, letting the pit crew apply ice, ointment and water, reciting what you already knew. but it’s not.

it’s the whole thing. it’s getting hit in the face. it’s the bell that signals relief. it’s getting one in and watching it land. it’s keeping your hands up and staying on your feet, dancing the dance this round requires. it’s eventually becoming a different kind of fighter, because the curriculum is here and now. no technical knockout. you’re learning on the job, which means you keep going.

did you know that when you give a gift, the gift is the precious thing? but when you receive a gift, that you become the precious thing? witness makes real. recognition confers existence. the questions track continuity. this fight is what’s keeping you alive.

293

haunted house.

if your crops are invisible except for when your hands are in the dirt, then the month before harvest becomes a very scary time. all you have until then is the sweat on your brow and the miles that you’ve walked, knowing that your life’s work is already in those fields.

if your ghosts are invisible, then a haunted house looks just the same as a regular one. and you don’t know for how much longer you must be brave, or if you’ve been brave for long enough.

if your practice is in your bones and your memory is in your body, then you won’t know if you’re ready for the game. they line the field and sing the anthems but you don’t know anything until it begins.

there is an obvious faith in preparation but the last mile asks for something different. you know the fruits of your labor, and a match that goes your way, and a peace that you can live in do not belong to just you. that’s the real test. and it’s the scariest of all. because you have to know and not know at the same exact time without the truth getting stuck in your throat.

292

the nightmare ends.

they say everyone has two lives. and that the second one begins when you realize you only have one. sometimes you have to live in the old house for a long time, until you can move into the new house. sometimes the home is under active construction during renovation. the uninhabitable reality exists before the habitable one.

but how does the builder lay down her tools? how does the soldier lay down her sword? how does the actor release her role? how does the gardener receive what blooms? how do we trust a tide that has turned? how do you meet the dawn if the night has been too long? how would you even recognize the ship of theseus?

i’m not sure. but it eventually becomes obvious that you cannot change,

receive,

understand,

enjoy,

notice,

participate in,

figure out,

learn from

or live in

… a reality that you’re still running from.

291

the vase.

faith is the vase that holds

a centerpiece the same as rainwater,

sunshine the same as sorrow,

ephemera the same as the seasons,

love just the same as longing,

injury the same as the miracle,

recovery the same as rock bottom,

guilt the same as grace,

disappointment and humility,

the waiting with the arrival,

and tomorrow as gently as the past,

… because this is how we know its shape.

290

every country.

you think you’re here to travel the earth, imagine the stars and maybe visit planets outside of ours. you’re not. you’re here to discover every shore inside of you, to watch the seasons turn from inside your flyover states, to learn languages and dialects in the exact order they evolved. that’s what this is.

some voyages started out as explorations or vacations. there were things you wanted to know. but now you’ve arrived into paradise within days of the tsunami or torrential rain. the itinerary mapped ancient ruins and guided tours just before “the big one” shook everything up again. you packed swimsuits and beach reads for the exact week that drought and wind would transform the sunny side of your island into kindling. and just like that, your journey became a rescue mission.

it can’t end until the airports start letting people out again. you become a walking white blood cell (if you can help it) but your main job is to not make things worse, to let the community rebuild. and just as soon as you settle in, no longer counting the days, the ports open up. you’re on the first ship out, due west, finding that you are already home, now that you’ve been unexpectedly returned to yourself.

289

not indifferent.

the universe is not indifferent to you. what you have? you don’t have to have it; you have it because the universe desires it for you. this is where your gratitude can live.

in a reality that conspires in your favor, it would be easy enough to hold your blessings gently, with all the humility in the world. but what about the longing you grasp so tightly until it became malice, deprivation, betrayal? you hold your own desire until sweet turns to bitter and back to sweet again. sometimes that’s it. that’s the whole thing. sometimes, something blows in from the outside, after you’ve already reminded yourself that you’re still alive.

do you know how softly the sun rises? neither early nor late, at a different time each day. and when she’s done, she’s done. she retreats into a watery grave. we are reminded that her entire dance is a fight to the death. from first light to dusk to twilight, so many words to describe what came and went.

288

the sculptor.

do not let people, places and things convince you that you must suddenly become a michelangelo. while it may be true that he simply removed the excess from true form, this is because he recognized that things arrive as what they are. the mistake is to think we must then become the sculptor. the liberator, working her chisel against uncertainty, against the unknown. when the true artist is time. where only time can reveal. this certainty is what allows us to hold the art that emerges and to stop when it’s done.

287

identity.

each person has an elemental that protects them. fire burns, wind runs, water overwhelms and earth resists. fire hurts the other person and tortures itself. wind escapes and loses itself. water floods the other but submerges itself. earth delays change and refuses to cooperate. these are not the identity. they protect the “i am,” the true nature of the person inside.

each of us, we long for what is ours. for what belongs and for where we belong. just like fire wants the truth, wind wants possibility, water wants to flow and earth wants what will bloom. there are so many ways to seek and be distracted. but the crisis arrives when we cannot distinguish what belongs to us and what does not. when we want to belong to the person, place or idea that has disappeared or been destroyed or changed irrevocably. when we want the relationship between what we desire and the thing that’s ours to be that of identity.

and after decades of eating out of everyone else’s lunchbox, we’ve already had the first three bites of every cuisine, sampled cultures and food stories from around the world. but the hunger persists and now we just want what’s ours: what actually nourishes us, and does not turn our stomach. we want our own lunchbox. the one with our name printed clearly on it, black text on white, in all caps, with a label-maker. and our favorite flavor is vanilla. or chocolate. or strawberry. because we know what it is now.

286

which choices.

do you know which choices are available to you and not?

if you are a fighter, you do not choose whether you fight. if you’re a fighter, you will always fight. your assignment is battle. your only choice is how you will fight. because how you fight is who you become.

if you are a lover, you do not choose how or whether you love. if you are a lover, you will always love. your assignment is relationship. your only choice is who and what you love. because who you love is who you become.

if you are the witness, you do not choose what arrives. if you are the witness, you will always perceive. your assignment is reality. your only choice is how much, for how long and how far you will carry it. because what you carry is who you become.

if you are an engineer, you will make it work. your assignment is coherence. your only choice is what to solve. because what you fix is who you become.

if you are a healer, you do not choose who will find you. you will always know what is broken. your assignment is recovery. your only choice is who you claim. because whoever you heal is who you have always been.

if you are an artist, you do not choose whether to create. if you’re an artist, you will always make. your assignment is expression. your only choice is to allow what flows through you. because what you allow is who you become.

285

lesser desires.

when choosing your own loneliness becomes choosing the Beloved, the lesser desires have already exhausted themselves or worn us out or even manifested beautifully, leaving us now with the deeper ache. the oldest desire. the separation that wants union. the illusion that remembers the Beloved. the one that makes room for many, lesser beloveds, but holds space for the capital “B” Beloved, everywhere and nowhere. only to be felt, in fleeting glimpses, just out of reach.

choosing this loneliness contemplates an even worse fate, the possibility of losing the possibility. because fasting is a choice that honors the mystery. to starve is to acquiesce to famine. and that’s not what we want.

so we choose the loneliness. not starved and not desperate. in the place where all the vices and voices and distractions and obsessions and accomplishments set themselves aside. because there is plenty to do and be and seek—all the minor manifestations that don’t answer the purpose of your own manifestation.

but to choose the loneliness, to surrender into the movements that go nowhere and the silence that isn’t peace and the waiting with no relief, that’s where the Beloved will know to find you.

284

freedom knows.

freedom knows all the ways she was not free, for how long, and all the ways she may never be. freedom sees the cords on your wrists and the gag in your mouth. all the ways you are not free. and she does not have the key; she can only describe it. so if one day you happened to see it, you’d recognize it and choose it willingly.

freedom stands outside the prison yard. that’s why when it rains, it pours. and when the sun shines down, it burns. because nothing protects her anymore. there is no shelter when you become free. nothing but your own skin.

freedom means you now have to build your own house and live in it, too. freedom means figuring out and choosing the unknown, which is fine until you realize you won’t know what it costs until it’s time to pay. and even as the toll is exacted, the reward has yet to unfold. does this flower bloom now or later? is this a fruit that fails to ripen? you won’t know until you’re outside, on your own, close enough to wonder, now that it finally matters.

because it’s really hard to become free and stay free. even if you do everything you can, it still might not be enough. and even if it is, there are consequences. freedom is a lot. freedom can be heavier than chains.