Infinitely High Standards
Or, getting serious.
Sometimes I want to cut all the bullshit. What is the bullshit? Pretense, untruth, distraction, at least.
The guru smirks at you, “come off it, shiva…” and looks you in the eye. A stranger that knows you perfectly. And suddenly you don’t see her, but what she sees.
So you confess in an instant. You confess you don’t have a problem, you confess you don’t know what is going on, and you confess the goodness of your heart.
…
Now that I have you (me) here, all sincere: What do you want? Maybe you don’t know. I’m pretty sure I don’t know what I want either. Well, then let’s just watch, and see what happens, together.
I have felt into this attitude occasionally, and felt its power emanating from other people. It feels right, honest, true, but scares me. Isn’t it rude to dismiss someone’s drama? Isn’t perfect honesty too much to ask? And above all, dare I hold myself to the same standard?
What am I afraid to lose in no longer pretending I am missing something? What am I afraid to lose in no longer complaining? What is lost in no longer believing I know anything?
At my first Fusion festival I saw a DJane at a tiny side-stage, basically just a desk and two speakers. She had an afro and just smiled all the time, to herself, knowingly. What did she know? I think what she knew was that she was doing exactly what she wanted to be doing.
You know what I mean?
Ready when you are.
Thanks for reading! Bye for now.