Shanti’s Dispatches

I absolutely “HATE” (with extreme emphasis), people that say/write what I’m about to write. But I’m going to say/write it anyway, so I guess I’ll just have to deal with the fact that on some level, yes, I do “HATE” (with extreme emphasis) what I represent.

I’m realizing that, yes, that whole thing about as you get older, realizing how little you do know is SO COMPLETELY UTTERLY FUCKING TRUE THAT IT IS FUCKING SCARY.

Note: to you intellectual types that happen to read this, it’s not about how much you “know” as in factoids to drop at cocktail parties. It’s something much deeper, and you won’t even begin to fathom it until you’ve been through it and survived. And if you think you somehow “don’t get it”, you may very well indeed “get it”, but if you let yourself be afraid that you haven’t gotten it yet, then yes, you may very well not have gotten it yet. Or you have, but just don’t know it. The thing that’s most scary about “getting it”, is that no one on this goddamned earth, no one at all, no belief at all, no religion at all, no bottle, pills, powder, liquid, hot pool girl, bursting bank account, etc. at all will ever be able to reassure you that you “get it.” You’re just going to have to fuckin deal, and that’s the scariest thing in life you will ever have to deal with. And that feeling won’t go away. If it does, it’ll come back at the worst time, too.

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