The Heartisan Way

What might it take for us to become more concerned with inspecting our fears instead of our deficits?

Where do they stem from?

How do they stifle every possibility of expansion and immersion?

What do they feed on, who sustains them?

There is no way in hell I am ever gonna die or relinquish all matter within and without me, so I better maintain sustainability in my steadfastness because uh, there still is a finish line.

The last four years have been a good getting to know fear. These last four years have served as a university of their own. A university that emphasizes diving head first into an ocean of unknown places, unfamiliar people, average workplaces, unreliable promises, undeniable *divine intervention* dare I say. A university where the undergrad focuses primarily on the impermanence of everything ranging from emotions, to relationships, to jobs, to housing, to pain, to possessions, to people, and even this moment right here, right now. Yes, this moment. What? This moment right here? How dare you say… impermanent. Ending and beginning all at once over and over again? You can’t be serious!

I’ve dwindled from believing wholeheartedly that every thing I do matters in the grand scheme of things, to instead relinquishing the entire idea of a “belief” itself. Some days I believe nothing matters but fun, play, enjoyment, goodwill, and service to others. Other days I believe that the comma I put, right, here, is, going, to, make, or, break, my, dream, of, becoming, an, actual, ‘writer,’ or, even, an, actual, somebody. But Henry Miller reminded me best, it doesn’t fucking matter - the punctuation, the grammar, the flow, the structure, the narrative, any of it. What matters is that I was I ruthlessly honest, unbearably transparent, unapologetically myself, and dramatically present. Did I run with tangents because they felt meaningful even if I lost a few readers on the way? Did I say what I actually felt instead of softening the blow to appeal to a wider audience? Did I do what felt honest? Probably. Usually. Thankfully.

So much of this translates to every day living. How much we get caught up in mass appeal, praise, games of the ego. We choose to be the hardest on ourselves so no one else could play that role and catch us at our weakest. And when we claim that role we complicate everything, we tense up, we ready ourselves for the worst and prepare for battle. A battle that exists only in the mind.

Letting go is an art. Being human is an art. Just being is art. We are art. The artisan way is the human way, plant way, animal way, abstract way, intentional way, conscious way. It simply is everything that exists - a divine manifestation of a loving universe. You. Me. Them. Existing is an art form. A delicate balance of temperance and free flow - unbound expression, carried on the unpredictable gust of westward, eastward, northbound, or southbound wind.

Getting out of the mind is a labor guided by love. Rising above fear demands surrender. And it’s not the surrender that you’re thinking about. The surrender that puts you below or behind your competition. Because the competition is really only yourself. Surrendering to yourself, with all of your self-imposed limitations, is the labor of love. To face yourself. To face your past, present, and future, with the highest honor. To remember: I was trying to do my best with the circumstance at hand; I am imperfect yet perfectly whole; I know deep down my intentions are rooted in both love and peace; I know I am pure despite all the propaganda that has claimed otherwise.