Frustrated and overwhelmed, lost in thought circles, over eating, smoking, depressed and hopeless, I set out to climb the great mountain. The trail is steep, rocky, with dangerous precipices and loose footings. I drag my beaten body on with the hope that at the pinnacle I will find the holy guru. Far past many breaking points I finally reach the summit and take the last steps toward the hut of Saint Theresa Mohamed Gandhi King Jr.
As my fist raises to knock on the door, it opens and still seated the guru asks, "Vat is your question?" I say, " What the fuck should I do with my life?" After a medium length meditative pause the guru responds, "How the fuck should I know?" I immediately react by throwing my hands in the air and say, "You can't answer my question with a question, jerk!" The guru just sighs and says, "Write to Dear Abby." Then after a pregnant pause says, "If that doesn't work, quit your job, have lots of sex, and take yourself out to dinner." Then more silence.
I breath in the pure mountain air and sip from my Evian bottle. The guru's eyes half close and she or maybe he (it is hard to tell) whispers...Go out and get really fucking drunk then while nursing your hangover write some new years resolutions. I feel an anger rising inside me and I yell, " You are a god damn shame, a phony, a reclusive windbag!" The guru smiles and says, " I am a mirror. " Then disappears. The hut also vanishes and I am left looking out over a vast mountain range. The sun is setting, painting colors across the landscape.
-from a journal circa 2010
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