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It can be tough sometimes to nail down the exact beginning of a thing.
The beginning of a relationship, for instance, (did it begin when you first saw him? when you first touched her? when you suddenly realized you couldn’t stop thinking about him? on a date? in a fight?) or when you first began to enjoy decidedly grown up stuff like I don’t know . . . coffee. Or the opera. Or beets.
That’s why it’s fairly surprising to me that over the past three weeks I have come to discover not only the beginning of the stuff that’s hard to pin down but the beginning of everything.
And the people bowed and prayed To the neon god they made And the sign flashed out its warning In the words that it was forming And the sign said, “The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls And tenement halls” And whispered in the sounds of silence
– Sounds of Silence, Simon & Garfunkel
Click to hear me read this post:
Scarcity has become our city.
They built it up all around us while we stood quietly still and now we live in it.
And as our authentically loving voices got quieter a midst the cultural noise, many of us got tucked restlessly into a desolate mindset of Scarcity.
Some of us might have a second home, maybe a vacation home, in Abundance; we may commute back and forth, but too many of us buy a cheap apartment in Scarcity and stay put because it happens to be there and it’s easy.
No really, feel this – it’s totally wild. I know you can’t see it but just put your hand in, come on.
It’s all good, seriously, you want to feel this. It’s incredible.
It’s beyond worth it, I promise.
I often feel artistically driven by something that’s hard to describe. Driven to create, to explore, to look at things upside down, spread apart and then from 80,000 feet above. It’s not even a drive maybe as much as a compulsion to keep uncovering and keep digging and keep sharing.