I Want To Learn How To Speak

I Have My Own Set Of Survival Techniques. I Am Patient. I Know How To Pack Light. But My One Might Travel Talent Is That I Can Make Friends With Anybody. I Can Make Friends With The Dead. If There Isn’t Anyone Else Around To Talk To, I Could Probably Make Friends With A Four-foot-tall Pile Of Sheetrock. That Is Why I’m Not Afraid To Travel To The Most Remote Places In The World, Not If There Are Human Beings There To Meet. People Asked Me Before I Left, “do You Have Friends [there]?’ And I Would Just Shake My Head No, Thinking To Myself, But I Will.

You Know, It’s The Same Thing As The Question Of Free Will And Destiny, The Question Of Creativity - You, The Artist, You’re Not The Puppet Of The Piano, You’re Not The Puppet Of The Muse, But You’re Not Its Master, Either. It’s A Relationship, It’s A Conversation, And All It Wants Is To Be Treated With Respect And Dignity - And It Will Return Ten Thousand Times Over.

In A World Of Disorder And Disaster And Fraud, Sometimes Only Beauty Can Be Trusted. Only Artistic Excellence Is Incorruptible. Pleasure Cannot Be Bargained Down. And Sometimes The Meal Is The Only Currency That Is Real.

For Most Of Western Civilization There Was No Real Division Between The Realms Of Science, Divinity, And Artistic Endeavor - They Were Just Three Strands Of The Same Braid, All Of Them Pulling Toward The Same Beautiful Desire: To Try To Understand The Workings Of This Curious And Beautiful World. There Were Many People Who Would Have Called Themselves All Three Things At Once: Men Of God, Men Of Science, Men Of The Arts.

When I Tried This Morning, After An Hour Or So Of Unhappy Thinking, To Dip Back Into My Meditation, I Took A New Idea With Me: Compassion. I Asked My Heart If It Could Please Infuse My Soul With A More Generous Perspective On My Mind's Workings. Instead Of Thinking That I Was A Failure, Could I Perhaps Accept That I Am Only A Human Being--and A Normal One, At That?