The idea that we no longer have a life of our own design is gut-wrenching. Everything we used to own, where we lived, how we lived, what we ate and drank, our livelihoods, our health consciousness – all of it – was a mindful extension of our values.
Losing it all was like having one’s religion banned.
I believe that if you live a life that way, it is impossible to go back to something less. It isn’t like going broke (which we are). It isn’t even like letting go of a precious dream. Our losses have been so comprehensive and entire that it feels as if our souls are at stake. More than once across the dinner table in Tater, Deborah has flatly stated, “You know that we probably are not even supposed to be here now.”
I have no argument for that.
Her words were like a whip on the butt. So this is what we have to do:
We have to turn off the noise and cling to what is beautiful and authentic. We have to make our lives a painting on a canvas. If the paints and brushes have been taken from us, then we need to use blood, sand, spit, and our fingers to recreate it. We absolutely have to live as though our lives are our art. For us it is either that or hell. And I believe this is true for everyone. I know I am right about this, and have spent too many years living free-range out on the skinny branches of life (Deborah’s quote again.) that I don’t need to be second guessed about it.
Humanity is losing its grace under a pile of clutter and has come to believe it is normal.
If we looked at life as art this would not happen.
So: Do something beautiful, something that defines you and makes the world better just because you are still in it. The crazier the better, like living in a tiny Airstream-