We are relationships.
We don’t get to meet a whole bunch of people when we are in our house or at work, plotting a nine-to-five grid on our time, as if creativity as gone rogue the moment we punch the clock in and passivity gets to us the moment we punch-out.
Are we trying to paint a pretty masquerade of joy over the wall of our discontentment? We are building a babel tower to reach an ever higher illusion of satisfaction, refusing to see the blight in the foundation.
The maze around our heart gets complicated over the years, doesn't it.
The tower gets shakier over the years, doesn't take too much skills at the game of life to find this one out rather quickly.
Maybe, just maybe, the worm at the core of the feebling nature of the structure of our reality is our misunderstanding –due to the language barrier– that we are relationships. Goddamn it, the germanic nature of English is failing me. We are. Words are pointless in.
Nous sommes l'ensemble de la création, tous unies dans un même esprit. Okay, even french can't render what I am trying to convey.
It's something like: unity with the all, but not in a woo-woo sense of things. I'm not calling for a big hug with the spiritual realm of things and the yahoo movements that invade the New Age's zeigeist of 2020. I don't call for you to go in the Peruvian jungle to get naked with wild French hippies and try some sort of spirit's viagra to reach the plane of the Gods.
Nah, fuck that. I'm a simple man, I'll preach a simple message.
We are the man you walk by in the morning. Not him, but the relationship that we can have with him. You grow next level when you start creating new network with people. Like new neural connections, but with people. Get what I am trying to say?
It means to simply making new friends. Stop being a pussy and quit hiding beyond the ugly walls named Self-Judgement. Make new friends.
Why?
When you die –and surely you will die, one day– you will only be remembered by the footprint you left on the shore of healing, a shore that another human allowed you to step on.
Isn't what love is anyway? Opening an ocean of doubts and pains and secrets and mysteries and joy to a perfect stranger, for no particular reason that you felt like doing so? Isn't this the ultimate definition of love? Allowing another human to rock the ship –yours– on your own structure of reality? Isn't the greatest demonstration of love to take the hit of the rogue wave to protect that stranger in your reality? That's a bible verse anyway.
By opening your own little sea of mystery to someone, you allow them to take a stride on the shore of your life, and when the arc of your life grow shorter, you'll smile to the by-lookers standing on the shore to wave a final goodbye as you're waning away in the eddies of what you called "my life".
Go walk on other's people shore. Leave footprint. Cause maybe there's healing for someone in there. Cause when –maybe– one day you'll find yourself far back on the ocean of chaos, you'll get a glance at the thousands of footprints that strangers left on the shore, and that will give a why strong enough for you to keep on paddling your own little self out of your clusterfuck.
And if it's the time where you don't get a vote and the final wave comes in closing on you, at least you can smile at the beautiful feet of those we came in your life to preach healing and redemption at the altar of your frailing tower.
We are relationships.
Out.
JP