To keep alive the knowledge that Hillman inspired, I’ve reprinted here the verses read at the celebration of his life: The knowledge that can be taken from the verses is capable of touching us all.
Four Limitless Ones
May all sentient beings enjoy happiness and the root of happiness.
May they be free from suffering and the root of suffering.
May they not be separated from the great happiness devoid of suffering.
May they dwell in the great equanimity free from passion, aggression and prejudice.
Dedications of Merit
By this merit, may all attain omniscience.
May it defeat the enemy, wrongdoing.
From the storm waves of birth, old age, sickness, and death,
From the ocean of samsara, may I free all beings.
By the confidence of the golden sun of the great east,
May the lotus garden of the Rigden’s wisdom bloom.
May the dark ignorance of sentient beings be dispelled.
May all beings enjoy profound brilliant glory.
"In short, may I offer both directly and indirectly all joy and benefit to all beings, and may I myself secretly take on all of their hurt and suffering."
– from Eight Verses for Training the Mind
I attended a funeral service on Saturday for one of the kindest, most giving men I have known. Bob was an alcohol and drug addiction counselor and a therapist—certainly one of the best in this part of the world judging from the number of people he has helped and the number of lives he’s saved.
I brought my own thoughts about Bob to his service but I found my thoughts became universal—as again and again I heard others describe the same feelings I had. Those few who shared their stories at the Saugatuck Congregational church shared for the hundreds of others who came. And when each of us shed our tears because we missed Bob, it turned out that we all cried together.
I thought the closest, deepest sentiment anyone expressed was from someone whose life Bob had saved from the depths of depression caused by alcoholism. The man felt that he is the one who should have died—not Bob. The man’s point was that Bob was the one who had saved so many lives—so many of the lives in the church that day, that it seemed so unfair that he should be the one to die. But, paradoxically, the man whose life Bob saved was a living testament, including so many others, to Bob’s skill and grace and love.
Bob touched my family and me in the deepest possible way. So it is only fitting that I offer a tribute to honor him in a way that would mean something to him and to the work he dedicated his life to.
It is no co-incidence that I had just renewed my interest in studying non-violence. Just a few days ago I started to read Mahatma Gandhi again—after thirty years. At Bob’s service, one of his oldest friends and colleagues mentioned Bob’s love for Ahimsa.
For all the spiritual guides out there who can contribute to this discussion, I hereby invite you to join in...
To start, "In the Name of Hillman" I’ll begin by evoking some words I think he would’ve liked. These, most beautiful words, are from the Rig Veda:
"Peace be the earth, peaceful the ether, peaceful heaven, peaceful the waters, peaceful the herbs, peaceful the trees. May all Gods bring me peace. May there be peace through these invocations of peace. With these invocations of peace which appease everything, I render peaceful whatever here is terrible, whatever here is cruel, whatever here is sinful. Let it become auspicious, let everything be beneficial to us." —Atharva Veda: X. 191. 4
To change the direction in which the world is sliding at this time—towards war and hate—I invoke the following prayer in Bob’s name: "Let us have concord with our own people, and concord with people who are strangers to us; Asvins, create between us and the strangers a unity of hearts. May we unite in our midst, unite in our purposes, and not fight against the divine spirit within us. Let not the battle-cry rise amidst many slain, nor the arrows of the War-God fall with the break of day." —Atharva Veda
And this: "Let your aims be common, and your hearts be of one accord, and all of you be of one mind, so you may live well together." —Rig Veda X . 191
I can almost hear Bob repeating these words of Swami Muktananda out loud: "O lover of meditation, become pure and clean. Observe nonviolence in mind, speech and body. Never break another’s heart. Avoid wounding another’s feelings. Harm no one. Help all. Neither be afraid nor frighten others."
These words I give as a gift to Hillman: "We are all of the same race and religion. We are holy beings established in Divinity itself. This truth can be understood only by those who have grasped it through the magical charm of a life of dharma—not by other means. Because of that, sages have emphatically proclaimed again and again that it is necessary to love all existing lives as one's own." —Siva Yogaswami.
To me, in these words of Dr. S. Radhakrishnan, this is Bob Hillman: "The Hindu sage who sees the whole of life. If he does not fight, it is not because he rejects all fighting as futile, but because he has finished his fights. He has overcome all dissensions between himself and the world and is now at rest…"
I suddenly realized last night that writing my daily journal has changed me. It has made me feel like I am a character in a book. Strange but true. These past two months or so of writing my journal has helped me to see myself. It feels like I have opened a book and am looking at my life in between two hard covers. That’s it, exactly! Writing makes me feel that I am witnessing what is going on in my life. It’s like I’m watching it as it unfolds.
I am feeling more conscious than ever—more awake—and I know this is a result of the practice of writing things down. It’s part of the practice of keeping track, of noticing. And what I’ve noticed is this: it is the practice of writing down which creates the experience of witnessing. Where, before only the subject existed, now there is both the writer and his subject. So now, from my new-found perspective, I can keep an eye on myself. Watching what I’m doing, might be a better way to say it.
This is an amazing feeling! It is a feeling of no longer being connected to the body. There is me and there is Me. I am both. In actuality, I am truly only the Me with the capital "M". But, at the same time, there is also a great delight in seeing the other, small me, acting in his play—I say "his" because this life truly seems to be a play of his own making…but that’s another subject for another time.
Now, since this has started to happen, life is much more fun. It is even fun writing about it! This is because there is no longer attachment to actions. It’s as if I don’t care anymore. Strangely, I DO care—more than ever—about doing the right thing—but there is no attachment to what I’m doing, no feeling of worry about succeeding or not succeeding! I’m free of that. It’s more like play than work.
Suddenly, I see why I’ve been journalling steadily for these past couple of months—and, off and on, for my whole life. It is to see myself. It’s like holding up a mirror in front of my face. It’s a reminder of who I am. How cool is that? By sharing my thoughts with myself anyone can be sharing my experience. But that’s just an extra-added attraction. That experience is someone else, another human, connecting with my humanness. What is really happening here is me watching me be me!
Now I understand what Maharishi meant when he surveyed a room filled with two or three hundred people and laughed when he told us we were all enlightened. We were—we just didn’t know it yet.
I watched a news clip this morning where our President said the following: "Saddam must disarm himself or, for the sake of peace, we will disarm him." This is absolutely stupidly beautiful—threatening violence for the sake of peace!
The President’s words inspired me to read up on what Mahatma Gandhi, the most well respected practitioner of non violence of all time, had to say. Following my tour in Vietnam I read Gandhi’s books. Although I’ve since forgotten most of the details, I remember being inspired by his truth seeking and his struggle to try to always do what is right. Once again I am inspired to read Gandhi’s words. I have always wanted to understand the principles of non-violent behavior, which Gandhi discovered only by years of daily practice.
Gandhi said, "non-violence is the greatest force at the disposal of mankind. It is mightier than the mightiest weapon of destruction devised by the ingenuity of man. Destruction is not the law of the humans."
I think one of the reasons I’m interested in the idea of non-violence is because I have been an angry person myself. Lessening my anger is something I’ve worked on for more than a decade but even now I am nowhere near cured. Anger is something I have to deal with on a daily basis.
One of the things I like most about Gandhi is that he is so human; he admits his fallibility: "I am but a seeker after Truth. I claim to have found a way to it. I claim to be making a ceaseless effort to find it. But I admit that I have not yet found it. To find Truth completely is to realize oneself and one’s destiny, i.e., to become perfect. I am painfully conscious of my imperfections, and therein lies all the strength I possess, because it is a rare thing for a man to know his own limitations."
This is certainly not true of the people in charge of our government. I am very sure that some of them, like me, have a problem with anger. As a humble gift for our leaders, I will type out a few more of Mahatma Gandhi’s words: "It is non-violence only when we love those that hate us."
This is what President George Bush said about what Saddam is doing. For me, it describes what our president is doing. Watching our leader’s saber rattling is like watching an instant replay of what was happening in the early 1960’s when I was in high school and Lyndon Johnson was getting us into trouble in Vietnam.
What Bush is doing and the way he’s doing it reminds me of the "troublemaker" in class at the beginning of the year in junior high school. There’s a new teacher and the kid tests the teacher’s patience to see how much he can get away with.
This scenario might seem funny to me if I hadn’t been through Vietnam and experienced how deadly it was. Our situation, at the moment, seems to me to be far more serious than George Bush and his administration can imagine right now. I wonder how it is that they can be sanely contemplating what appears to be a full-scale build up of troops in the Middle East. The situation—the crazed dictator of a relatively small country threatening the United States of America—just doesn’t seem to warrant the amount of death and destruction that is likely to ensue if we follow Bush’s current course.
There must be a simpler, less lethal way. If many of the intelligent people of America will put our heads together now—before it’s too late—I’ll bet we can come up with another solution to contain Saddam Hussein that does not include sending our young men and women off to fight in the desert. What is unfortunate is that we, the people, have elected a President who appears to have a personal vendetta of some sort.
I was a soldier once—I have the Bronze Star to prove it—but what is going on now with my country is turning me into a pacifist. I will go on record right here, that I do not support the war in the Middle East—not given the way it is happening now—which seems to stem more from our President’s anger than from a genuine concern for the safety of our country.
It seems to me that the "bad movie being made right now" is one being written and directed by George Bush.
Sometimes, when I want to keep things very simple, I think about trees. I like conifers. I like the way they look. I like the way they smell. I like to draw pictures of them. In northern California, where we go in the summer, we take long walks along the dirt roads which weave throughout the ranch where my wife’s family lives. There are places long the side of the road where conifers have dropped some of their cones. The cones are huge—ranging between about six inches to a foot in length. When I was in the corporate world I used to have one on my desk and visitors would invariably ask for one. So I have brought boxes of them back east to give to friends. The cones are miracles of design—as beautiful in their own way as nautilus shells are in theirs.
But the trees—especially seen in their context—are awe-inspiring. I can think of one grove in particular which clings to the side of a steep hill just above my in-laws house. In the high-and-dry climate there, the trees grow to monumental heights. The trees on the ranch are not far from the redwood and sequoia forests—home to the oldest and largest living beings on earth. Whenever we hike up that road early on a summer morning before the sun makes the temperature too hot, I think about how timeless the trees are—how regal the they are with their uncomplaining natures. How quiet, yet how incredibly important.
They are important in a biological way, for the roles they play in the eco-system of the Northern California forest. But beyond that—way beyond that—the conifers fulfill a spiritual role that transcends the physical. These trees are some of the most inspiring beings on the planet. They bring not only a sense of hope for longevity, but they are the embodiment of courage in they way they stand so tall and fearless. This they do quietly without asking thanks or praise. They don’t complain. There is no self-consciousness involved at all. What they do is beyond a job or a duty, it is just what they do.
Some people might think trees do nothing but stand. In a way, that is true. But even in doing that, they seem so proud to me and, as I said, fearless, brave. These are all things conifers have to teach us. Before we cut them down and make them into lumber for our decks, we should stand beneath them, look up, and learn everything they have to teach us. They are our truest and most honest statues.
One of my favorite lines from one of my favorite people is one from Joseph Campbell in his "The Power of Myth" series with Bill Moyers. To paraphrase: "Can you imagine—some people actually work for money!" He let out a hearty laugh after he said the words, disbelieving that anyone could be so dumb. I didn’t get the joke at first. I thought, "what else would anyone work for?" But now, a few years after quitting my job, I understand what he meant.
Before I made the decision to be a writer, full-time, I had a job as Creative Director for a travel company. By almost any standards, people would consider it a great job. I was paid generously enough that I was able, for the first time in my life, to save for retirement.
But my problem was that the longer I worked at the job the more I was working for the money. My job had lost its original creative challenge and had become one of managing people—something I had no interest in. My department began to suffer and I began to suffer.
When the end was near, I found myself in England overseeing the printing of a brochure. I was holed up at the Britannia Hotel beside the American Embassy on Grosvenor Square waiting for the printer to put our job on press. But, as it turned out, each day there were delays. Major storms caused flooding that stopped the trains, which in turn prevented the paper from arriving. I am certain that God planned these series of events just so I would end up spending a week in London with lots of time to think.
One night I walked out into the square to get some air. I stood beneath the tall, well-lit statue of General Dwight Eisenhower that commands the square and read his words on the rear of the pedestal—words that inspire greatness. "Soldiers, Sailors, and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force: You are about to embark upon a great crusade… the hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you." —Order of the Day, June 6, 1944.
Reading the words sent a chill up my spine, because they elevated my thinking from the level of the individual to the universal. Perhaps because I’d been a soldier, I related to the idea of a common good—"hopes and prayers of…people everywhere." This is the level I aspired to live on. I knew some greatness lived somewhere within me—as it lives within us all. Eisenhower’s words had suddenly put me in touch with the possibility to live that greatness.
It then became a fairly easy decision to quit my job because my employer’s primary reason for being was merely to make money. If I was aspiring to something more, you can see the rub. As they would say it in "business speak," my relationship with my employer was no longer synergistic.
Leaving was one of the best and truest things I’d done in a long time. I was free at last—free of the bondage of money. My fear of financial insecurity has diminished greatly since those days, even though I now make far less money than I did. But how truly insignificant that is, compared with having saved my soul!
Lately, I’ve been learning this lesson even more deeply. After undergoing three heart procedures in two months I realize that, without a doubt, there is no time to be wasted. The dumbest thing I ever did was think of "saving" as in "saving for the future" because I’ve honestly learned that for any one of us there may be no future at all!
As idiotic as the idea of working for money is, the thought of saving money ought to be eliminated from our vocabulary as well. Instead of saving we need to spend what we have while we have it to spend. I have finally come to understand what Joseph Campbell meant. I also cherish his most well known words, which hang proudly on a sign above my desk: "Follow Your Bliss."
Writing is an inside job. It involves spending a lot of time inside your head—in a room filled with imaginary characters with made-up relationships. The people involved in the writing process are not real people. They cannot talk back or be belligerent. With made-up characters there is nothing to worry about—no need to interact with them.
The reason these thoughts come to mind, I think, is because ever since I can remember I’ve been shy. Shyness has a lot to do with why I became a writer in the first place. It was a place away from the world where I felt safe—where I could hide. Appearing at a book signing is an outside job. It means "being out there," being on display, being "on," having to meet people, smile at them, talk with them—you know, interact. It is something a shy person doesn’t generally like to do.
But, for the past couple of years I have been consciously practicing something on the outside, which has been effecting life on the inside…
Being open.
The process began more than ten years ago when I, finally, went to get help for the side effects of having been in Vietnam: bottling up feelings, hiding emotions by drinking too much, that sort of thing. Little by little, having become part of a group of vets, all of whom experienced similar side-effects, and having dealt with the drinking problem on a daily basis, I have found myself undergoing a major transformation. Whether I like it or not, and I do like it, I am becoming more open.
The shyness, although it is not completely gone, has been slowly disappearing—which is why I am happy to announce…
This writer will be appearing at a book signing, Sunday January 19th, 2:00pm, at Barnes & Noble in Westport. Hope to see you there.
"I’m feeling a little up in the air today. It’s like I don’t know what I’m feeling—it’s not bad or good or up or down, it just is what it is, ‘not being connected’ or something. But I’m making the decision right here, right now, not to judge my up in the air feeling. When you think about it, being up in the air—soaring like a bird—could definitely prove to be interesting. It could change my perspective on things. Actually, this thought brings back a memory from a couple of years ago…
"My wife and I were in Cancun. It was late in the afternoon and we were on the beach where we’d been watching tourists, one right after the other, be lifted up into the sky while strapped under a kite. ‘Parasailing’ is the fancy name.
"The operation we had been witnessing was anything but fancy. It consisted of three Mexicans with a speedboat, a piece of yellow nylon rope and the kite. It seemed that at this late hour, when the sun had moved behind the hotels at our backs, business for the guys had come to a halt. They were driving the boat back and forth in front of the beach trying to attract one more customer before calling it a day. The customer, after some taunting by my wife and some friends, turned out to be me.
"I sauntered over to the take-off and landing strip on the sand, tentatively, as I wasn’t completely convinced I was going to enjoy the trip. As I approached, the 'ground man' was counting the daily take and packing up the gear. But the moment he set eyes on me—the last catch of the day—he hurriedly unpacked the harness.
I think getting home to dinner, and not my safety, was the ground man’s main objective at the time because when he tied the cheap plastic yellow rope that attached me and the kite to the speedboat, he tied the knot in about two seconds. I’m not even sure it WAS a knot! He made a couple of fast loops is what I witnessed him doing. Then, within another two seconds he gave me all the instructions he deemed necessary for my personal safety. Then the speedboat took off and I was skyrocketing almost straight up into the stratosphere!
"To say I was scared would be…well, you know. And usually I like to think of myself as somewhat of a daredevil! I’ve climbed down into a live volcanoes—things like that. But looking down at the roofs of the hotels that were becoming smaller every second, and then back at the knot which was just far enough out of reach that I couldn’t possibly fix it, and thinking of the cheap yellow plastic cord that was holding the force of the weight of the kite against the wind—I could’ve hard a heart attack. Given what I now know about the state of my heart, I’m not sure I know why I didn’t!
Okay…so this is what came out when I thought of writing my journal today. No planning, no thought about what I was going to write, just a feeling of being "up in the air."
I thought the power of example might work better than any sort of instructions I might give.
I’m convinced that every one of us has a story we can share with someone else. If we’re vague about what our story might be, one of the best ways to find out is to keep a daily journal. I’ve been doing this, off and on, most of my life.
I don’t set parameters with what I’m going to write; it just has to interest me enough so that I’m willing to expend enough energy to write it. The point is not to write something great or something profound every time I sit to do it—the idea is just to get something down on paper, or the screen.
Basically, I just sit and start to type—then it’s one word after the other. Whatever is on my mind will somehow find the light of day…which is the interesting part. Often, I didn’t know what was on my mind until I wrote it down.
I believe we all need to honor our own stories. When I take the time to listen, I’m often amazed at how interesting and how beautiful another person’s life is. I think we all need to practice sharing more of who we are. If we all learned to be good at both the telling and the listening, this could prove to be the beginning of the end of conflict between people and eventually, if we did it enough, even the end of war.
I’m sitting in the back, by the window, looking out and enjoying the view. I’m watching life pass by. It’s like a dream— lately I’m passing a lot of old friends—people I’ve known before. Some of them are standing by the curb waving. Others are going about their lives. I see a young family—husband and wife pushing a baby in a stroller. There’s a guy working, cutting some wood. There’s another guy driving to work—tying his tie—he’s late.
A woman is washing dishes. I see her through a window; she stops and waves. It’s Aunt Buzzy! The bus pulls up to a stop sign. There’s a parade passing. There’s a band playing. There’s a kid playing the trumpet—he’s fairly off-key—it’s me!
This reminds me of who I am—I’m just another Bozo on the Bus.
Part of the hyping up of the impending war is coming from the television news organizations. They all seem to be signing up a number of ex-military types—what they call their "experts" on warfare. Suddenly it looks like there is an endless line of retired military Generals and Colonels parading through CNN, MSNBC and FOX News programs.
It seems like these guys have nothing better to do—they don’t seem excited or more than just marginally interested in what they’re discussing. It seems that if they weren’t on television, they’d probably be pumping gas at a Shell station outside their gated retirement communities in Orlando or Scottsdale, just to keep busy! These smug supposed experts, who also appear on news talk shows like Nachtman, are introduced by their war credentials—eg: World War II, Korea, Vietnam, Operation Desert Storm, and their military specialty—Green Beret, Signal Corps etc., and seem to be shown deference relative to their rank.
The question in my mind is this: What do they know about what is really going on with the current insanity? I’ve noticed any one of the "experts" is likely to admit that since they have no access to the current leaders of our country, that they really have no clue about what is being decided in the war rooms these days. Although in the past, they may have been privy to high-level decision making, they now are getting their information by watching the same news shows as the audience that is now listening to them.
So the "expertise" of these "experts’ ends up being little more than entertainment. Whatever their past expertise, it holds little water in this new warmed-up ocean we’re swimming in. And the fact that these guys are becoming our current TV stars is not a great sign for the future of our planet.
More than ever, these days, I feel the insanity, which seems to be sweeping across the world like some sort of revved up El Nino or Santa Ana wind. I wonder where all this insanity comes from—don't you? Who is it that has created this desire to start a war, it seems, no matter what the cost?
If you watch the news, on any given day you surely have seen a clip of Saddam Hussein pulling a sword from a sheath and brandishing it above his head. Actually, it doesn’t look like he’s really brandishing it—it’s more like he’s admiring it, checking it out for weight and balance.
Lately, this saber rattling has spread. Now the "crazy dictator" from North Korea is doing it. And who will be next? Any quiet little country—as long as there is a dictator in charge—can join in. I visited Madagascar last year and it seems to me that a place like that—with not much going for it—would be perfect to step up to be next in line!
Although the leaders of the United States are usually portrayed in genteel poses—seated with proper statesmanlike posture—around a polished table, I’m not sure that these folks are not the ones acting more insanely than any of the so-called dictators in other parts of the globe. To give a more honest portrayal, our leaders should each be handed a sword! Most likely, they would start behaving like kids. Like any kid who is given a sword to play with, I’d bet they’d all push back their chairs, jump up on the table and pretend to sword fight!
This would prove to be a much more honest display of what these people are really thinking and, at the same time, make for much better television. But all joking aside, the world, these days, is getting to be a scary place to live.
The only difference between the old way of writing and the new is that I wake up each day and boot up the computer instead of cracking open my notebook as I used to. The purpose is the same, to write a few words so I can put in front of me what’s on my mind. The process of getting the words outside of my head is what matters. It helps to clarify things—to let the thoughts see the light of day, to let them breathe some fresh air.
Since my words are meant for my eyes only, I’m not expecting anyone to care about what I have to tell myself. It’s actually a weird feeling to think that anyone else might be reading what I’m writing.
Five or six years ago people began talking about the therapeutic effects of keeping a journal. It was thought to be healthy to write something—anything—about what was going on in your head at the start of each day, no matter what. The idea was to get a kind of automatic flow going. It would also serve as a kind of drainpipe for toxic thoughts so they’d end up in the sewer. This was good information for me because essentially it was something I'd been doing my whole life but without really knowing why. I did it because it felt good.
I have filing cabinets filled with folders packed with stories, novels and screenplays in them. I have even saved my old footlocker from Vietnam, which contains pages upon pages of alcohol and drug induced ramblings written nights, by candlelight, in the PIO hootch on LZ Bayonet west of Chu Lai.
At some point, keeping a journal started to become a more conscious process for me and because it was more conscious, it became more fulfilling. Believe it or not, I feel better for having written what I just have—the few rambling paragraphs proceeding this one. I don’t know any more about why the process works than I’ve already said, but I do know that it makes me feel better. I recommend journaling to anyone—even if you have little confidence about your ability to write. Fine writing is not the point. The point is to get the words out there. For me, keeping in mind that I’m writing for my eyes only makes it easy.
Is this a déjà vu? Is this a déjà vu?
Right now, I am moving very slowly. I’m trying my best to recuperate and to let my heart, with all its new parts, have all the time it needs to heal. For some reason—and I’m not sure why—maybe because I’ve slowed down, I’ve been feeling a little like I’m a kid again. It’s like I’m growing up for the second time. But since I’ve been here before, now I’m more conscious of what is going on. Growing up, everything was too close to me to notice. But now, it’s like I’ve seen it all before.
Remember what growing up was like, when the senses were overwhelming, and sights, smells and sounds were all too real, too overpowering? This time around, I seem to be able to appreciate much more of what is going on as it’s happening. Now I am conscious of what I’m experiencing and, because it doesn’t seem new to me, there’s no reason to be apprehensive or afraid. I feel as if I am more of a witness to my life. It’s a very cool feeling.
But I wonder, have I said this all before?
Life gets so much easier when we give up control. It’s when we turn our problems over to the force that’s running things that we begin to feel what real power is. My great teacher Maharishi Mahesh Yogi says that to accomplish something, you make your desire known on the subtlest possible level, the level of Pure Consciousness, arrived at in deep meditation—and then you let it go…
The secret to turning things over or letting them go is that the power of Mother Nature organizes our wish and makes it happen. Obviously, Her power is infinitely greater than that of any individual. So it is harnessing that power that truly creates success and fulfills our desires.
Even if we’re not meditating, if we just "give it to God," we are heading in the direction Maharishi suggests. Either way, with meditation or not, when we turn things over to a Higher Power, help is there whenever we ask.
My wings are what I mean.
I feel as if I am floating, so I AM, not knowing which direction the wind is going until I look down at the planet I was born onto. Then I see the direction I’m moving in and it seems okay, it seems just right. Why fight it? Because that’s the way He is gently pushing me—towards the East I go. Silently, happily I am flying above all the petty differences I used to hear down there, up above the greed that causes us all to rush backwards and forwards and up and down—all the time feeling, just because we are moving, that we are actually getting somewhere we want to go. But now I can see that’s just not true. And, to think, I used to be one of them too! But, now, because of nothing I did—maybe it was just a small, subtle wish I had—I’ve actually learned to fly and I am flying exactly where I want to be.
As you might expect it feels so free, so light and airy. And what is best is that it all happened so easily just when I stopped trying to take off—stopped trying to go somewhere I didn’t need to be. I spent so much time and energy lining up at the end of the runway and checking all the instruments in preparation for my maiden flight. But the flying never worked; there was always something that happened, the weather socked me in or there was not enough fuel in the tanks or the plane was too heavy or the engine didn’t want to go. So then, feeling burdened with all that was wrong, when in my frustration I let out a sigh loud enough that I was heard… "This man’s giving up!" God must have exclaimed, and then, lifting me up, He sent me soaring above everything that had seemed so heavy and so bound to earth.
Now I’m flying exactly where I want to be.
In case you think this might be hard to do, or if you just want to imagine what it’s like to fly, look up into the sky. Watch a bird who decides to fly and has no thought at all—no worrying—about falling back down to the ground. It never even occurs to him, just as it never even occurs to me, not to leap, not to go.
Because I am flying—exactly where He wants me to be.
I feel like the luckiest man alive because I have been given a second chance. I feel like I am a painter with a fresh, newly-stretched canvas to paint on—to paint whatever I please. What an exciting feeling to stand in front of a blank canvas, to have a world of all possibilities before me. I’m in the wonderful position of being able to create a whole new world for myself.
So what am I going to paint?
I am going to paint a dream—one of my own creation. In the dream is a man. The man is a painter who makes paintings with people in them to inhabit the world he creates. He puts himself in the world along with the others and thus he creates relationships he can learn from. Whatever he creates, ultimately, is to help him grow. All the people he paints, for some reason, look a lot like him. It’s as if he creates them in his own image, or as if they all represent different parts of him. He knows the message is, we are all the same.
I ask myself, where on the canvas do I begin my painting? Which line do I make first? Almost immediately the answer comes: It doesn’t really matter where I begin or even what the line looks like. If I begin to paint and if the line’s not exactly right I can paint a different one over it. It’s easy because I know I can keep doing it over until I get it right.
Okay, now that I see how temporary, how fleeting, life is—now what do I do? A couple of years ago when I decided once and for all to "follow my bliss" I was sure I knew what to do. I had a story that had to be told. The story was "Beneath Buddha’s Eyes." For better or worse, it has now become my first novel. So now what? Is there more to this story? Or do I just settle into the job of being a novelist and find a new subject—any subject—to write about? I might if I could. But, for me, life is never that easy. Especially now that I’ve found my voice, I can’t write about just any old thing; it actually has to have some meaning for me. What I write has to be something that will teach me something about myself. Remember, I am now aware of just how temporary life is—so there’s no time to waste. Every minute counts…
So, what, Dear God and friends, will my next book be about?
I’ve lived most of my life taking it for granted. Now that everything has changed for me, I feel as if I’m living on the edge of life—like I could fall off at any moment. This feeling is not necessarily bad, it’s just weird. What is also strange is that I look at other people the same way—as if they are as much temporary visitors to this planet as I am. Only they don’t seem to know it.
I’m guessing that most people don’t get it. It seems they are living life while being nearly unconscious. Most people, it appears to me, are asleep even while acting out their daily routines. This makes me want to shake them, wake them up, and warn them they are missing something big—for one thing, how temporary their life is.
But of course, I don’t end up shaking anyone. Mostly because I’m not sure that the state they’re in is so bad for their health at all. It’s kind of an "ignorance is bliss" frame of mind that most of the world seems to be in. But, I think, maybe that’s not so bad.
I have to remind myself that, even though I’ve written a book or two, I’m no expert on living. The things that I talk about in my journal are mostly just random thoughts I run into. My blog is little more than a map showing the location of my head each day. If anybody bothers to read my words or if they actually take something from them, all the better. What I’m doing, really, is writing for myself—as someone so thoughtfully reminded me just yesterday.