An old man walked out to me today. He said “where you stayin son?” I replied that I was sleeping in a creek bed up the way. He just smiled. He told me he used to be that way, back when he was young. His old face had a thousand stories written on it. It was like a well-loved leather bound book. I wanted to stay in his small town and learn his stories, learn his way of life and the lessons he offered, but I had to get back to my camp. I had a paper bag full of groceries that would get me through the night and onto the next town I had to lay my head. I had my own stories to write, my own lessons to learn and teach when I grow old. I will never forget that old man.
Life seems so much simpler in a small town. But god knows that it is just the same as everywhere else. There is no escaping it. It seems like you will always have problems. Money does not solve them like people think it does. Nobody is ever truly happy in their perfect pretty little lives if they have money. Unless people learn to live and enjoy themselves, rather than worry about every little god damned thing we would have a much happier world. What good is life without happiness? it seems like that is the ultimate goal of society when all is said and done, so why don’t we pursue it overtly?
I feel a need to get out of my comfort zone. This adolescent urge is so strong that I must fulfill it. Is it immature that I feel the need to drive myself crazy in the wild as Dostoyevsky drove himself crazy in the underground? I must do this. “The raw beauty is too good to miss.” Always living with a new horizon, living on the cheap, free from false idols and needs. This is what I want to do with this next life. What good is life if you don’t enjoy it? Comfort zones have made people cautious. Everyone has his or her place and if you fuck with the system, you are cast out as a bum, alky or junkie. Either you fit in with the way you are told to, or you stand out and are not wanted. Artists, vagabonds and drifters all screw with the status quo, so they are forced to live on the fringes of our society.
I saw a man on the street by a sign, which ironically said “respect.” This man had obviously received very little respect; he was a reject of society. Drunk in public rambling on about nothing in particular. He is but one of many of these rejects who are forced out by the man and are made to live outside the boundaries of society. These rejects pick cigarettes out of trashcans; walk barefoot and unclean by the waterfront with their dogs, backpacks and vulgar tongues. Is it ironic that these “outcasts”, these “wayward sons” often live better happier lives than “responsible” people? They take the train from Montana to Seattle then keep moving. Never looking back even when a loved one meets their end or is injured along the way. They never hesitate even for a second. They are on a spiritual journey to swim with the soul in the ocean, to wash away the false person on the outside and be all that is left. To them, finding the truth, achieving nirvana
(Or heaven), the Dharma, Bhikkuing around the world and being enlightened is the only way of life. They know that they have all the time in the world, and money cannot hold them back. They are free.
I would like to be a writer to make my living, but not as a career. I will not have a career. Writing will fund my lifestyle, but it won’t become a lifestyle on its own. That is the problem with careers. People get caught up in them and don’t get a chance to become what they’ve always wanted to be. They worry too much about their careerism and reputations that they miss the entire point of having a job. The point is to be happy with this life. I don’t want to be a writer; I do not want the label. I want to write. I do not want to be a musician. I want to create music. These labels people put on themselves become more important than what they do. A person who wants to create art must be a “artist” they cannot just do what they do for the good feeling it gives them, they must do it for the prestige and the glory of having the label “artist”. I want to stick to being a human first and a “writer” second. Life is simple, we do not need to categorize and complicate it so much. It is easy to live. It is much harder to be a member of society.
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