Won't mean a thing
Unless you sing
- Travis, "Sing"
* * *
If you would be unfucked, then you must, must, must find your joy. Absent joy, what love can you possibly give or hope to receive? Absent joy what, exactly, are you doing with the gift of your days?
It is impossible to be fucked if you know what your joy is. And know this as well, it cannot be found in another, but can only be given to them; it cannot come from the outside in, but works only in reverse; once found it cannot ever be lost or destroyed - only doubted, ignored, abandoned. The joy continues to exist even if you aren't up to believing in it.
* * *
A hundred years ago of a Christmas Eve I sat at desk made by my father out of a hollow core door and some custom carpentered legs and dreamed of a current, a current of air that moved around the globe, that swirled and bent and swooped and flowed on and on and on. I dreamt this current to be grace, a balm to woe that was everpresent everywhere and all we had to do was reach out, reach just outside our woe and so be healed. It was the challenge of our lives to set down our troubles, to move beyond the immediate hurt or confusion and find the durable, unending balm of grace.
Such was my dream. So it remains.
But there is this as well: it isn't enough to say "enough"; it isn't enough to want to be past fear or any other hard thing - you have to enter singing.
Bodhisattvas joyfully participate in the sorrows of the world.
Joyce writes: Oh Lord, heap mysteries upon us, but entwine our work with laughter low.
Blake says: He who binds to himself a joy/Does the winged life destroy./But he who kisses the joy as it flies/Lives in eternity's sun rise.
Hassidim dance in front of their sorrows.
As fate would have it, joy is the key to unfucking your life.
* * *
Think. Think. Think. What is your joy? When was the last time you dared to sing of that joy?
If you allow it, the immediate quashes the song of the eternal, drowns it out in the clatter of worry and fear. What is joy, but the presence of the eternal, of time suspended, of your life complete in the moment? Do you love from fear of loss, or the joy of giving? It makes a difference to both you and your beloved. Do move through the world pinched, circumscribed in spirit, or have you found the way to be you expansively, generously? It makes a difference to us all.
It doesn't matter how you sing, what you do - it's all good. It must, however, come from your essential self - not other's expectations, none but your own for you are the only one who knows, deep down in the root of it all, who you are, who you are to be, and, here's the kicker, how to be that.
If you have forgotten, or are afraid to be just what you are, remember it is that way for us all. We are here to learn how to live: unafraid, joyously, in spite of the horrors man is capable of.
You must enter into the sorrows of the world singing.
This is your gift to the rest of us.
* * *