Today, I live in a world of reality, which perhaps is no more real than the unreality, but which proves itself and its austereness minute by minute on a daily basis. In this reality, I work hard. I am an administrative supervisor at a plant. I sign invoices to be paid and work with the vendors and monitor the payroll. I punch in and out on a time clock. I get a half hour lunch break. I commute for an hour and five minutes, each way each day. I work out at night. And, slowly, slowly, its taken a couple of years, I've shed 10 pounds and I've gotten myself out of debt.
In this world, an ounce of effort is rewarded with an ounce of gain, maybe less. There is no ship coming in; there is no cumulative affect. There really are no surprises. I work hard, and like a turtle, I make slow, slow progress.
Most of the people I know my age have a much greater experience of freedom than this. They take impressive vacations and many, hold jobs where they decide when and where they’ll work, as the money keeps rolling in.
For a long time I was pissed at myself, thinking my years of nurturing my imagination had stagnated my growth and ruined me.
But I try to be kind to myself now.
Who is to say my life has not been lived perfectly?
Sometimes I remember that.
I wake up and the morning is especially quiet and especially beautiful. I meditate, then slip downstairs to make some coffee. It’s that time I always leave myself in the morning, to sip coffee, surf the internet and leaf through my various books where once again, if only for fifteen minutes, there seems like there might be a door, not too far out of my reach, where if I could just walk through it, life would be more harvest and less toil. I wouldn’t be the employee. I’d be the employer. And I wouldn’t employ anyone, but me. :)
