My problem here, see, is that I exist in a world where I don't always get to be the arbiter of my own worth as a human being.
Well, I can always just ignore the arbiters of my worth, but since I rely on them for certain things which they can withhold, they have some control over me.
Hence, the attraction of the Cold Mountain lifestyle, where I would always be the arbiter of my own worth, because I wouldn't have to spend any time around ad hoc "hot/not hot" rating boards measuring my conformity to standards set by VH-1, GQ, the Gazette, or whetever it is people currently rely on to be told how they're supposed to look, act and think.
If a man walks through the forest wearing ten-year-old running shoes and no one is around to see it and go 'ew,' is he still weird, unaccessible and boring?
Come to the Red Cup sangha, and I shall return your book.
The pessimist stands on the railroad track
From mid morning to early evening
Then leaves disgusted, dismayed and disheartened
Because no train came to run over him
But the optimist stays
And is run over by the train
4 comments:
Hey there's hope! You ARE the arbiter of your own worth, or you can be, once you take back that power. Just don't let anyone else have it over you, no matter what. You don't have to run away to the forest, and I suspect if you DO have to run away to the forest it won't work. Just do it where you are, right now.
I can't figure out if I am more an optimist or pessimist in your train example. If a pessimist, why can’t I be more like the optimist and just get it over with already?
For me, I doubt a Cold Mountain experience would help. Everywhere I go I bring along those 'not enough' voices in my head.
How do you extinguish them?
If a woman walks through the forest with a fat ass and there’s no one to go, ‘ewww’ will she no longer be icky with a fat ass?
::If a woman walks through the forest with a fat ass and there’s no one to go, ‘ewww’ will she no longer be icky with a fat ass?::
Irrelevant, if she finds a man in the forest who likes big butts and cannot lie.
Then they could stroll through that forest, hand in hand, he sometimes asking her to walk in front so he can admire the junk in her trunk, and it would be perfect.
And when they got home, he would ask her if she would like to go out for dinner.
"Where?" she would ask.
"A seafood place," he would answer, "where I can purchase for you a lobster from the finest ocean, perhaps with butter and a slice of lemon. And, if you so desire, there could be cake for dessert, perhaps even cheesecake. The better to build an ever more perfect fat ass. For that is how our love, along with your ass, will grow."
Yeah. That would be cool.
Where, pray tell, is this forest you speak of?
I wanna go there.
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