In a past more prolific mode, I'd of been doing a lot more online sharing of the progress," The release of Jerry the Hamster."
But life serves it's tacos with strange cosmic sauce, and sometimes you switch up your usual order. I've stopped trying explain of life. To drag my metaphor out, I have stopped ordering tacos entirely and switched to vegan quesadillas.
It seems you too are having an incredible and unfathomable existence, yeah? It is a writer's debacle to always feel he has to explain himself in words.
A part of me is still trying — but most of my quite inner energies over the past few year had been years have been focused on a mysterious story, one I've carried since 2013 in Kenya, when the hamster first started visiting me.
There is a disturbance to my force. Jerry is racing towards arrival at "The End." With it, how can't I feel the distruction of one world and the creation of another— how can I not feel like an empire built of yesterday's day dream is being destroyed in order to furnish the future?
When desperation, injury, and identity last brought me to my lowest, the story of a hamster called Jerome always shined shy brightest within me—working on this project has been the highest privilege of my life—and after my hatha teacher trainer, all energies cultivated in 5 week diving deep is being directed towards the final lap of this story.
Perhaps it's appropriate that as my year continues to remain in to the mysterious realm of evocative incredible, this story begins to be feel formed, a " tale" almost full grown of a very strange animal—I can't barely express any about it without trying to telling you the whole tale! Jerry the hamster had certainly highjacked the last four years of my life.
But high jack is jesty word. Jerry—this experience has felt like writing a love letter to the world. All I need to do is think of this gradual blossoming and I feel fortunate, privileged to stand among these playful muses who will milk a soul for the melodies to sing their surprising songs.
Woofta—do some Vamana after that. So, here's a snippet from what's filled my window today.
This here's a good part to share because it's all prose and no context—hope you enjoy 😊
A window's worth of Chapter 52.
Humans have been shown to be all sorts of capable in the face of withstanding whatever sort of catastrophe the universe can cook up. Beating long odds, or succumbing to the mundane depends mostly on why or why not. What's your reason for keeping your body running year after year?
Without some cause, we are just dung piles with legs. Ask anyone trying to amass wealth how he sleeps at night. Ask him about his likelihood of heart disease.
Hearts forget their purpose when they are forced to focus on something and not someone.
Beers and compulsive tendencies are one of a million distractions that stand in the way for a while. Each has a way to let you get away with not facing that one thing that can drives joi de vivre through you.
If you distract yourself from what really matters, sooner or later, your heart will send a bill collector to your head and demand back taxes for love unrendererd.
It didn't need to be much, dedication could be to job, woman, religion, virtue, art, or family. It just needs to come from as deep as you go.
How to know?A heart knows. Hearts hold tight to what's important while the rest of the life goes out dancing with tequila and high heels.
But a touch of care, a pinch of pure intention—A burning lust to do right, fueled by the gratitude of having a the chance to spend time as a person leading a life—the savory ability to be good and gracious and grateful as a tree standing in the courtyard of a lumberyard,—this sort of inner fire can kindle the aroma of hope and cook up a breakfast packed full of possibility.
