On Finding the Pony

07/08/2006 6:35 AM – 6:57 AM

Freud said that the proof of mental health is the ability to love and the ability to work, but still there’s Isaac Newton. One out of two ain’t bad, but I’d take delight over top of it all. Where are you coming from and where are you going? Don’t know. Can’t know. So it doesn’t really matter to right this second and right this second is all there is. Once you figure out how to do that thing that everyone else seems to do so easily, think how good at it you’ll be.

Is there really such a thing as a good life? There is that life which has a greater impact on society, but who really cares about that? There is the life that was enjoyed by the one that lived that life, but once he’s gone, the light stops shining out. To condemn that which has a self for being selfish is like condemning that which has blue for being bluish. But it’s not the totality. No such thing as pure blue, no such thing as pure self. You pick up your life where you left it, put it on and get back to the work of it. You can’t know the story until the story is told. You can’t tell the story until you know it by heart. So you let it all go and listen for the quietness that tells your story between the words of someone else’s history lesson.

And you keep saying leave me alone, leave me alone, but you know that that’s not going to happen. So figure out what you really mean by that. So crumple the let goes into a pile and let them go. Grow up and grow past the edges. Hide yourself for yourself and keep the pirate treasure buried deep. Walk the beaches that line the sidewalk of this silly city or you won’t find the beaches on the other side of the Cape Cod marshes. Be here and be alright with that. If you can’t have peace and tell a story, then damn the whole thing as a lie. Then lie right back. Pick up and go. Pack up and leave. Be the pirate bastard. But then you laugh at it. Do, but keep it hidden deep down where no one can take it away. Doesn't matter. There is no rehearsal for this, but there are no valid critics anyway. Pack up and go, follow delight until your feet drop out from under you. Nomads, tramps and gypsies all. Someday, today I think, we’ll find our beach to bum on. New York is just a state of mind and your enjoyment of Billy Joel validates your enjoyment of Billy Joel. You can’t prove anything to anyone. Just be kind and save your money. There’s gotta be a pony in here somewhere.