Ever get the feeling that the universe was goading you with a stick and a carrot? I have certainly had that experience. I was taught to believe in something. No, not taught... programmed to believe in it. It was never presented as a maybe or as a variable. It was an undeniable truth, something that inevitably I would experience. In the meantime, I would just have to sort of wait for it.
There are rules for this, of course, but nobody ever tells you the rules, and nobody certainly tells you they are different for each person. So you have to observe others, observe how it's done in art and try to apply it to your own situation. You also have to figure out it will differ each time you try it with another person. So these truths exist, except when they don't, or when they change. And they're not even permanent. They can morph with the same person that you are trying to find this or do have it with.
One truth that does seem to be universal is that you can't force it. Of course, nobody listens to this piece of advice. How can it happen without forcing it? Nothing in life just happens; you have to make it happen. So you think you see the light, and you reach out and try to grab it instead of letting it come to you. When this happens, it merely goes right between your fingers, and it hurts. You're left wondering what you did wrong, where your technique faltered and how to keep the light in your hands the next time. You try and take notes, learn what you did wrong and adjust accordingly. Of course, these adjustments may or may not be meaningful in any way the next time you see the light. That is, if you even see the light, because you may only be imagining you see the light.
Then there are the times you know the light isn't really there, that you're just grabbing for something that may provide momentary delight at a steep price. But you ignore that, deciding that short-term benefit is worth the long-term cost. It isn't, but you delude yourself into thinking otherwise.
So you begin to wonder if maybe the universe has been lying to you this whole time, getting you to believe in something that doesn't really exist. Everyone assures you that it does, that you will join the club in time. But all you know is that these people are not telling you the truth. You even begin to suspect that everyone that claims to have found it are really just acting, putting you on.
Then one day, the light comes to you. And it doesn't just come to you, it strikes you directly in the chest and knocks you over before you even have the chance to think twice. And it's warmer than you ever anticipated. You can't believe how you were able to survive this long without the light. And you hear a song like "A Whole New World," and it just makes you want to cry and cry. You can't control it, and you don't care.
There are rules for this, of course, but nobody ever tells you the rules, and nobody certainly tells you they are different for each person. So you have to observe others, observe how it's done in art and try to apply it to your own situation. You also have to figure out it will differ each time you try it with another person. So these truths exist, except when they don't, or when they change. And they're not even permanent. They can morph with the same person that you are trying to find this or do have it with.
One truth that does seem to be universal is that you can't force it. Of course, nobody listens to this piece of advice. How can it happen without forcing it? Nothing in life just happens; you have to make it happen. So you think you see the light, and you reach out and try to grab it instead of letting it come to you. When this happens, it merely goes right between your fingers, and it hurts. You're left wondering what you did wrong, where your technique faltered and how to keep the light in your hands the next time. You try and take notes, learn what you did wrong and adjust accordingly. Of course, these adjustments may or may not be meaningful in any way the next time you see the light. That is, if you even see the light, because you may only be imagining you see the light.
Then there are the times you know the light isn't really there, that you're just grabbing for something that may provide momentary delight at a steep price. But you ignore that, deciding that short-term benefit is worth the long-term cost. It isn't, but you delude yourself into thinking otherwise.
So you begin to wonder if maybe the universe has been lying to you this whole time, getting you to believe in something that doesn't really exist. Everyone assures you that it does, that you will join the club in time. But all you know is that these people are not telling you the truth. You even begin to suspect that everyone that claims to have found it are really just acting, putting you on.
Then one day, the light comes to you. And it doesn't just come to you, it strikes you directly in the chest and knocks you over before you even have the chance to think twice. And it's warmer than you ever anticipated. You can't believe how you were able to survive this long without the light. And you hear a song like "A Whole New World," and it just makes you want to cry and cry. You can't control it, and you don't care.
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