I have been writing every day since I reached Kathmandu before the trek, May 7th. I didn’t want to lose those fleeting thoughts that occur when the mind is free like it was during this trek. I’ve felt an undercurrent of internal change for the past year. Becoming is a vague, invisible process. I’ve been quietly hungry to end the strange stupidity that has me be anything I’m not. Simply Me. Haha. Great title to a book set surprisingly in the land of Zero Ego. Ha! That’s the best I can do: be who I am. Simple it sounds, but there are no manuals worth a shit written on the subject. There’s lots of writing, noble, beautiful, honest writing, but nothing works the same way twice. I am the one to discover what’s to be. The line between banal and profound is a tenuous, wiggly thing.
I’ve lived too long, trying to not give offense to others. I’m probably still a nice guy who will be happy to open the door for you and smile, but I don’t have time to always be nice or to worry if you will think bad things about me. I’m not in a hurry for anything right now. I just spent two days sitting on the deck looking at the gardens and hills, listening to the hawks screech, and writing. I’m happy. I have a lot to be happy about, but this happiness is groundless.
