When people tell me that they don’t understand the things I write/talk about I know that the only reason they don’t get me is that they don’t understand themselves in the first place. When dealing with me some feel confused about me, some feel frustrated by me, some dislike me, some quite like me—but if they cared enough most of them, I think, would be somewhat fascinated by (their idea of) me. Paradoxically, the less separate I feel from them (us) the more separate they seem to feel from me. The less there is of me and the more I loosen & relax into (us as) life they tend to project more and more of their issues onto me. In other words, people relate to people like me exactly the way they relate to life. It’s not personal at all. It’s just weird.
Show your true colors. Be naked. Radiate your aroma: Like a flower its peculiar fragrance. Why hold back when there is nothing at all to lose. The only trace there is to leave in this world is the delicate scent of your fleeting existence. Be the humble flower that you are rather than the anxiously spreading creeper that you’ve been conditioned to become. Don’t be the creeper—that hopeless critter—that tries to get hold of the other [i.e. the other people, the world] by adapting yourself to what you think the other thinks and what you wish the other is like—wishful-thinking as it were your way into the redeeming embrace of the (projected) other—while, by the same token, choking the daylight out of everything. Be the flower that you are. This is your contribution. This is your call. Give back what you’ve been given. Relax into your truest color.
more often than not
what’s not normal is in fact more normal than what’s normal:
take eating a cucumber on the street instead of a hot-dog for instance