Friday, January 31, 2014
It's 7:30am on a weekday morning, and I'm still in bed, agonizing over having to go into work. Every cell in my body seems to be complaining about it, my heart feels heavy, and yet my mind (which drives my guilty conscience, my sense of obligation, my inclination to follow society's expected rules) somehow will drag me out of bed and into work. And I will give in. This is what feels so wrong - that my body, soul and mind are not in sync. My thoughts, words and actions are not in harmony.
How did they do it? The poets, the writers, the painters, the mystics, the dreamers? How did they follow their dreams in opposition to the rest of society? How did they not become slaves of money - its comforts and conveniences which I convince myself are necessities? How did they have the courage to follow their course without getting corrupted?
I have my own dreams, visions of a life filled with peace, solitude and harmony. And also of plenty. A life filled with what I'd like to fill it with - writing, painting, gardening, nature, photography, meditation, yoga, reading. And nowhere in there is my corporate job that's lined with insincerity and insecurity, that borders on selling my soul.
I am grateful for my job - it gives me freedom, comfort, and a home; and that's what keeps me chained for hours and hours each day. So I'm giving away my freedom of one kind to gain freedom of another kind. It doesn't make sense. And yet I continue on in this way, day after day, year after year, and pretty soon my life is gone. Is this my destiny? It might have been, but destinies can be changed, can't they? I can create my own destiny. I think that's when I can transform myself from a puppet, into becoming a piece of the Puppeteer Himself. Is that audacious? I don't think so - that's what I'm meant to be. That's what I'm seeking, longing for, life after life. Is this the lifetime where I might discover that part of me - my inner gold - so I can let go of the wooden shell? I hope so.
But for today, I'm still tied to strings, and the strings are dragging me out of bed, dressing me in corporate costumes, and dancing me across desks. And I'm unable to resist. Tomorrow I will try again, try to cut those strings again, those unseen, invisible, imaginary strings I'm binding myself with. Tomorrow I will turn into Gold.