I met this man on the street, and he lives on the street, and there was something about him. He looked a bit like Hendrix, if Hendrix had lived and aged. He had soulful eyes, and he was holding a cup. I walked up and explained I didn’t have any bills, but I have change. He looked at me, and said, “You don’t need to give me a thing. You’re the first kind soul I’ve seen today. You’re open! And everyone else on this boulevard is closed. Look around.” And I did. And it was mostly true.

And we started talking, and this man is wise, and he’s spiritual, and he uses that term.

He said, “Go on, ask me anything you want. I can answer it.”

And I said, “What do you do when you feel scared?”

And he said, “What kind of scared are you feeling?”

And I said, “The world just seems so complicated and technology driven and impersonal and out of control, and I’m trying to adapt and survive, but I feel overwhelmed by it.” (My first days in the city after six years in a forest very little humanity.)

And he said, “Its not the world, its not the technology, its not any of that. Its your family.”

And I said, “What?”

And he said, “Your family makes you think you can’t do it, you can’t handle whatever’s in front of you, you can’t change it. Whatever you grew up with, made you feel you’re not enough for the thing in front of you. I don’t know what they did to you, but whatever it was, it isn’t true.

You don’t even see the technology, you don’t even see the situation. You see your judgement of the situation. You decided its bigger than you, and more than you can handle, because that’s how they made you feel when you were young. So that’s what you see. LIttle kids are doing things on computers. You know you can do it. But you’ve decided technology is bigger than you are, and that’s why you feel overwhelmed.”

I stood there, reeling. He went on to say people give him mean looks sometimes, which was happening as we spoke. I saw someone looking judgmentally at him, and at me for talking to him. He said some people call him ni**er. Then he stared at me and said, “You afraid of black people?” I laughed, and so did he. And he said, “See there? Some people are afraid of me, because that’s a fear their family put into them. What you’ve got is the same thing. Its a judgment, but instead of it being about black people, its about technology, and when you’ve got a judgment of technology, you don’t see the technology, anymore than they see me when they call me a name like that. Do you understand me?”

And I said, “Yeah, I do. I’m Jessi,”

And he said, “I’m Samuel.”

And I said, “I’ve got to go into the drugstore. But if they’ll let me take cash back, I’d like to repay you.”

I was in the drugstore for a very long while. The store was just not organized. When I came out, Samuel lit up. He said, “Oh! I thought you were putting me on.” And I said, “No, its hard to find anything in there.”

He said, “I thought you were the real thing, then I didn’t, and now I’m glad you are.”

So we talked some more, and the more he talked, the better I felt, and the less scared I was about my new life. He had such a calm about him. At a point I just wanted to hug him, but I didn’t want to be weird.

And then a bit later he said, I want to ask something of you, but I don’t know if I should. And I got a little creeped out, although in over an hour of conversation with Samuel, he did not appear anything less than sane and wise, but I suddenly felt apprehensive. And he said, “Can I get a —-?” And I said, “A what?”

And he got shy, and he said, “A —-?”

And I said, “A WHAT?”

And he said, “Oh, never mind!”

And I said, “No, I want to know. Can you get a WHAT?”

And he looked at his feet, and he said, “Can I get a . . . (very long pause) . . .can I get a hug?”

And I said, “I’ve been wanting to hug you since you took my fear away.” And we hugged, and it was nice, and laughed at the looks that seemed to get.

He told me that we’ve lost touch with our instincts because of our thinking. He said he doesn’t read books, and doesn’t listen to words so much. He said, “I pay attention to life. Not what the humans are calling life, but LIFE. And Life is Spiritual. Not the cars, not the busy people, but LIFE. And he said when he pays attention to it, he sees things. He said he saw openness in me.

The truth was, I I was feeling overwhelmed. But when I saw him, I did open up, and I don’t know why.

He’s a talker. I had to be strong with him and pull myself away both times I left him, but I felt he needed someone to listen to him, and I felt I needed his words, and I felt better after time with him.

The most amazing part of it was, he looked at me towards the end of our talk, and knowing nothing but what I’d told him, he asked, “Do you play guitar?” And I said yes, and he looked up at the sky and back at me, and said with a twinkle in his eye, he said, “Somebody’s telling me things about you.” Then he said, “Do you think you could put music to my words?”

And I said, “Probably.”

And he got shy again, but  he pulled it together and said, I want to give you something.

He started reciting poetry, one poem, several minutes long.

It was very moving. I broke out in chills from tip to toe which typically tells me something important is happening, and had a few tears. It was about his life, and all he’d faced, and it was all rhymes, and it was like hip hop, but this man was at least in his 60′s and his style had so much more maturity and wisdom than I equate with the predominant genre; and the poetry went through the dark times, and the dark deeds, and then how he began to find Truth and turned his life around, and began to see things as they are, observing Life and humanity’s way in it, and at a point in this, he pulled up his shirt, and revealed a thick knife scar that had cut most of his stomach open, as he spoke of having seen the darkness before the light. Then he put his shirt down and kept going with this rhyme and his message.

When he was done he looked in my eyes and said, “That reached you.” And I said, “Yeah,” and he said, “You’re open. Stay open.”

I felt great the whole day after that.


The Authentic Artist

How we admire the artists who do the work we want yet fear to do, or worse yet still, imagine we cannot do. Our fear is not of the work itself. We are intelligent enough to recognize process, and that our maiden efforts are not what is, but what is becoming.

What we fear is that our work will not be accepted by ourselves, by others, by the powers that be, which can transform an artist into an immortal legend or a worthless failure in the eyes of world-at-large. And without the approbation of these great powers, we feel our dreams will manifest as failure, unwanted.

As our art is the work dearest to our heart, a deeper fear is now unveiled: that we, as Artist, the very core of us, could potentially manifest through art, unappreciated, and therefore meaningless, to others, and to ourselves. This is why the few are living artists, and the many are but dreamers, dabblers, who do not whole-heartedly create.

To reverse this fearful restrictive lack of pursuing full potential, the dreamer/dabbler who would be Artist, must recognize the Truth that shatters the false fear, and the false paradigms that reinforce this imprisoning delusion.

No one dreams of being a poser, an imitator, a mediocre artist. It is the Authentic Artist that elicits authentic admiration and lasting contribution. The purpose of art is to be authentic, and reveal authentically that which is in the soul: the artist’s organic psyche and the Great Creator’s expression through this psyche.

When this Co-Creation is allowed/achieved, it is inspired art, and the work is a success regardless of worldly reaction, and the Artist knows it, and does not not know it, for doubt has not left the building. If the Artist can continue to recognize her own authentic work, despite inner doubts and social reaction (be it praise, condemnation, disinterest, patronizing condescension or other meaningless input) the artist will remain inspired to create, and therefore remain an Authentic Artist, which is to say, a Great, Successful Artist, in the truest sense. 

At this stage of certainty, the world’s acceptance or lack thereof, is recognized as only the world’s gain or loss. The Now Invincible Authentic Artist can henceforth only gain certainty, and further conquer the dreamer’s, the dabbler’s false fears, and all that will remain, is the Authentic in the Artist. All have the potential to live this Ideal Authentic State Of Certainty. 

The Judgment: For the Authentic Artist, it is about the Work, not the Accolades.