My twenties are almost over. And when I look back at them, it's tempting for me to see them as a big waste of time. Not so much now, really; I've really begun to investigate, and have begun to detach from that story. Even so, it is a story that I've practiced for a very long time and one that I've grown accustomed to torturing myself with. It's just that somewhere along the way, I've picked up from the world the idea that if I'm not like everyone else, and if I'm not doing what all my peers are doing, then there must be something wrong with me, and that somehow my life is being misspent. When I see my friends and family join the military, or getting their degrees, getting married and having children, buying houses, doing all kinds of important, significant things...it's all very adult...and nothing I can relate to.
The truth is very simple: my life looks different from those around me - but really, the only one who seems to have a real problem with it is me. And if I'm honest with myself, is that even true, or am I just afraid of what others think? Minus the story and imagined judgments, where is the problem? I'm happy attending satsang. I'm happy in meditation. I'm happy keeping scarce from people, disguising myself as some timid ghost - even if it seems strange to others. How do I know I love it? I keep doing it. I'm happy receiving what my teachers offer me. I'm happy tending to the plants and being near my grandmother. I'm happy pouring over books that shift my perceptions. It's what my life is. Day in and day out, it's how I spend my hours. I'm after Truth. My job is to do what I'm doing. My job, my purpose, my life is to be used investigating my true nature in these particular ways - that's it. That's the Way of it...until it isn't anymore.
It could be that these years have been my chrysalis. It could be that I'm allowing a Truth to mature. It could be that I'm sinking in to Knowing so that I can later engage with life in a more expansive way in the future. Who knows? Maybe not. It's an interesting idea, one I think cool and lovely...and it could just be another story. I'll not fuss with a future.
This very early morning I turned 29 years old. A birthday! Isn't that strange? I was just yesterday 17. I was just a little while ago 6 years old. For all I know, I'm 53. Only the mind tells me so. And it's just a dream. It's the story of a personality. A personality that will someday be gone and forgotten altogether. I write; I worry and wonder; I celebrate my life as if it were of vast importance. As if my collection of memories and hopes were somehow special. And they are, it's true; they are divinely inspired in to existence and worthy of being reveled in...and they are fleeting.
My 29 years don't look like others, but they aren't supposed to. How could it be better? It is Life! In these 29 years, I've experienced the unwavering affection of my family, such support and acceptance. I've known beautiful, breathtaking friendships. I've been extraordinarily selfish and equally as kind. I've known despair and crippling fear and fury. I've survived stays in mental hospitals, arrests, attempts at extinguishing my very own life. I've felt heartbreak. I've been deceptive, petty. I've been gifted with abundant tolerance and forgiveness. I've had fun and laughed 'til my sides hurt and my jaw was sore. I have known love. I have been inside God and have tasted the Universe. These are not small things and should not be brushed aside or forgotten.
It's all a dream - and I love it still. Whether I die this afternoon or 60 years from now isn't up to me. I'll take it as it comes. I'm grateful for every breath - even when I'm blind to it. There is no other choice.
I'll be more than fine.