"When Ego is lost, limit is lost. You become infinite, kind, beautiful."
This was the message I found at the edge of my Egyptian Licorice tea bag. Now you must understand the marvel Egyptian Licorice tea it is: it causes you to ponder the implicit details of why a stone could be round, why peace sits in a dove's wings, why Brian Kershiznek could create such art that you feel tears pricking your eyes from the sheer force of it, why a single song could cause you to tremor with pure elation, and where you will find both jubilation and the calmness that rests on a winter's sunset. That is Egyptian Licorice tea. I have found my flavor at long last, this will be it.
And not only does Egyptian tea do that for you but it also gives you your latest mantra (to add to the long list of mantra's that you have already acquired, nonetheless). So that will be my new chant to every step, by losing my ego all limitations will be lost, and I can be infinite, kind and beautiful. What more could you ask for or desire of yourself?
Often I imagine we are to hard on ourselves. We are all prey to the monster that is called self criticism. He puts his large paws over our eyes and covers our vision from recognizing the greatest goodness that is us. Who we are. Who we were created to be. Which is
Infinite
Kind
&
Beautiful.
We seem to forget so easily that that is who we truly are. Varying kinds of the infinite rest within us. Some have infinite capacities of imagination, others infinite laughter, to a few the sheer power to understand the infinite. I know my friend Theresa owns the force of comprehending the infinite. When we go out to her ranch it is impossible to not feel the infinite. There is something eternal about hay bales, large steaming horses standing out in the snowy fields, overpowering gusts of wind and hills that frame a horizon. Growing up around these things has taught her. Same with a view of the ocean, gazing across it hoping to spot France or even just an island and seeing nothing to even collide with either sky or sea. And then there are those that when you with them you feel a small part of what it is to be infinite. I sat one night on a brick porch, clutching a hot chocolate cup with a ceiling of stars and a good friend close beside me, rubbing shoulders. We laughed endlessly about musical instruments strung as swings and other such tomfooleries but it was such an endless moment.
Kindness. "Kind people are the best kind of people", a pin from the extraordinary site called pinterest. And I must say that I agree. When you meet a person in this world who is concerned with those around them. You feel so instinctively drawn to them. And I know so many, oh so many kind people and inadvertently they are also the most beautiful people. Those who radiate the truth that is within them. They are beautiful.
Beauty also comes in many forms. It can be large or small. A suprising sort of beauty and classic beauty. And call me silly but I do not think just girls are beautiful. Men are beautiful. There is a masculine beauty as well. And beauty in words. The greatest beauty of all if you ask me. But there is a wild, unvanquished beauty that comes in art as well. Everything is beautiful in it's own way. Never forget that you simply are beautiful. And so much more than the beauty the world is seeking and pestering for. No, you are the beauty that deserves to be glorified in prose and verse, in art, in the world around you. Reflect all that is infinite and kind and you are beautiful. Be who you were created to be. That is most beautiful!
Here are some lyrics that I cannot help but be invested in their unsparing, strange and exciting beauty:
So there was this woman and she was on an airplane, and she was flying
to meet her fiancé seaming high above the largest ocean on planet earth.
She was seated next to this man she had tried to start conversations,
but the only thing she had really heard him say was to order his Bloody
Mary. She was sitting there and she was reading this really arduous
magazine article about a third world country that she couldn’t even
pronounce the name of. And she was feeling very bored and despondent.
And then suddenly there was this huge mechanical failure and one of the
engines gave out, and they started just falling thirty-thousand feet,
and the pilots on the microphone and he’s saying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,
oh my god... I'm sorry” and apologizing. And she looks at the man and
says “Where are we going?” and he looks at her and he says “We’re going
to a party. It’s a birthday party. It’s your birthday party. Happy
birthday darling. We love you very, very, very, very, very, very, very
much.” And then he starts humming this little tune, it kind of goes
like this: 1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4
We must talk in every telephone
Get eaten off the web
We must rip out all the epilogues in the books that we have read
And in the face of every criminal
Strapped firmly to a chair
We must stare, we must stare, we must stare
We must take all of the medicines too expensive now to sell
Set fire to the preacher who is promising us hell
And in the ear of every anarchist that sleeps but doesn’t dream
We must sing, we must sing, we must sing
It’ll go like this:
While my mother waters plants
My father loads his guns
He says death will give us back to God
Just like this setting sun is returned to this lonesome ocean
And then they splashed into the deep blue sea
It was a wonderful splash
We must blend into the choir
Sing as static with the whole
We must memorize nine numbers and deny we have a soul
And in this endless race for property and privilege to be won
We must run, we must run, we must run
We must hang up in the belfry
Where the bats and moonlight laugh
We must stare into a crystal ball and only see the past
And in the caverns of tomorrow
With just our flashlights and our love
We must plunge, we must plunge, we must plunge
And then we’ll get down there, way down to the very bottom of everything
And then we’ll see it, oh we’ll see it, we’ll see it, we’ll see it
Oh my morning's coming back
The whole world’s waking up
All the city buses swimming past
I’m happy just because
I found out I am really no one.
Bright Eyes, Bottom of Everything.
Brian Kershiznek painting, Travelers?
