I have been asked the following questions on a regular basis for several years.
“What is your life like?”
“What do you experience on a daily basis?”
“How do you live in a state of No-Mind?”
“Do you feel emotions?”
“Do you live in a regular house?”
“What kind of existence do you have?”
There isn’t a day of the week that goes by that I don’t receive such a question in my inbox.
I have typically avoided such questions.
Because in order to understand, it must be in your experience. If it is not, my answers will only generate more questions.
Language is a very limited means of communication.
Words have a tendency to miss the mark.
But I will do my best, nonetheless.
All things are a Natural Result Of . . .
All things are an Effect of a cause . . .
What I do and what my life is like is the Effect.
It is best to witness it from the perspective of the Cause.
Understand a man’s DNA, and you will understand The Man.
The things I am about to tell you . . . it is perhaps best not to “try at home,” as they say.
I have never followed any man or god in my entire life. And it is best if you do Not follow me.
As I retire each night, I fold the mind into a neat little package, and put it away. When I awake, it remains on the shelf.
I come into the library, close the double doors until they click. I sit in a tall leather chair, place a blanket on my lap, gaze through the three windows that overlook the endless forest behind me, and my fingers begin to create the day’s discourse.
I will refrain from delving into the creative process. For I fear that looking at it directly might make it conscious of itself, and thus interrupt the magical flow. I have never had writers block in all my life.
My life is lived on the verge of death.
I confess I am somewhat at a loss to explain this to you . . .
I . . .
I cannot live a “normal” life. I cannot allow it. While there are things that need to be done from a domestic standpoint, I do them quickly, like pulling off a band aid.
I jump into the ocean each and every day. A proverbial one.
There have been many times in my life in which I have been lost in my causes and had the feeling of being watched. My wife. As I turn to face at her, the look is unmistakable. Words are not required.
It is a look that says, “How is this person who is completely insane able to function at all in this world?”
The experience of an explosion happens inside me quite regularly. It is an erupting volcano of energy. It compels me to scream so loud that I might shatter every window in the house. But I don’t scream. I prefer silence.
It is a hunger. It is a primal drive. To Know. It is a maniacal impatience. I am haunted by the ticking of the clock.
There is no time.
There is No Time.
For me, the time is always Now!
A few years ago the editor from one of the most famous golf sites on the net emailed me and asked if we could speak about publishing my work on the site. I received the email at 10:30pm. I replied with the following words, “Right now, I’m sitting here and you’re sitting there. So let’s talk right now.”
He didn’t understand the concept of Now.
This world is too slow. Too regimented. Too wishy washy. Too circuitous. Too uncertain. Too “thinky.”
I suppose this has always been with me, for as I write these words a memory of my college days comes to mind. A friend and I were discussing going to some far off land, I don’t remember where. And I remember him saying as he laughed mockingly, “You want to go Now?”
There is no time.
My life is lived on the edge of death.
If I live a societal life, I’m dead. Plain and simple.
Throughout my life I have made it a habit to visit cemeteries. I find them to be peaceful places. They serve as a stark reminder that there is no time.
It is Urgency, not patience, that makes a man what he is.
I live on the edge of death.
I have an exuberant disgust for all things societal.
I haven’t the slightest interest in the masses.
Am I an elitist?
In every way possible.
Unless you are Elite, you are an insult to your own existence.
Unless you are Elite, you have spit in the face of the force that created you.
The Common, the status quo, the norm, the traditional, the prevailing opinion, the “way it’s always been done,” the consensus, are things for which I harbor a fire-spitting hatred.
Even as I write these words noxious fumes of carbon dioxide flow into my forehead. I have a headache. Allow me a moment to take a reverse embryonic breath . . .
I despise the Fake, the artificial, the pretenders.
When I see a cardboard cutout of deep ocean waves, I desperately long for that to be the Actual Ocean.
I have come to learn that this entire society is a stage production. And a bad one at that.
I am floored by what gets retweeted on twitter. I say to myself, “There is nothing original or earth-shattering about that! A six year old could come up with a better quote. Post something that I can be inspired by. So I can retweet it myself.”
The trite and the derivative reign supreme in this mock existence called society.
I must live in inspiration. And as you read those words it perhaps sounded like an aphorism, or something that I must get to some day. That would be a misinterpretation.
What I mean by that statement is that I cannot Live without inspiration. I must be in an inspired state all day, every day. If I’m not, I’m dead. And I don’t like being dead. It doesn’t feel good to be dead.
I lose myself in everything that I do. No, it’s not mindfulness. (Don’t get me started about mindfulness. Another societal cardboard prop).
An hour ago, I opened the milk container and after I unscrewed the cap it slid part way down the grooves of the opening. I was upset at myself. That was a failure. Only an involuntary thought could have done that.
What could have been more important anywhere in my life, anywhere in the world, than unscrewing that cap perfectly and single-mindedly?
I am constantly asked about my consulting fees.
I will openly admit that I have no interest in Unserious human beings.
When they approach me, I quote them an astronomical fee so that they will not bother me. (It’s easier than having to explain why I don’t wish to take them on.) The amount of money I have lost on account of this would send most individuals to contemplate suicide.
And to be honest, I don’t allow my mind the luxury of “thinking about it,” lest I too suffer ill effect on account of it.
My work is for the Best.
My work is for the Legends.
My work is for the History Makers.
If I’m going to reveal to you The Secrets that you cannot find anywhere else on the planet, I INSIST that your DNA is worthy of receiving it.
I have only one life.
I don’t wish to waste my time on those with common DNA.
I have been told that I’m the highest paid consultant in the world.
I’ve never looked into it. But it’s likely true.
Currently I charge 5 figures as a monthly retainer.
Eventually, as the client stream begins to bottleneck, the fees will organically work their way toward 7 figures per month.
If someone knows a Truth about something that I care about, and I do not know that Truth, I will read everything about him. And contact him immediately. I will fly to meet him. I will become his client. I will question him endlessly.
I know myself.
I do not believe in traditional golf instruction. Or traditional fitness instruction. (Weight training makes the muscles fibrotic. And deadens the sensitivity of touch and feel.)
I hired a Shaolin Master to teach my boys.
When I learned of him, I interrupted his class and asked to speak to him outside.
I launched into No-Mind. I don’t remember what I said. But I spoke purely from the heart.
He said, “I’m in.”
I hired him on the spot.
We are now in our 7th year together.
Is there something that captures the essence of what my life is like?
There is a video.
When I first saw it, I smiled. I said, “My long lost brother. I have finally met you. You know how I feel.”
That man is Bernard Moitessier.
In 1968, the Sunday Times announced a non-stop sailing race around the world.
The prize: 5,000 pounds.
Bernard was less than 6 weeks from home. He was going to win the race.
After deliberating for a short while, he sent a message to his wife, Francoise in Paris.
The message read, “We shall meet again later.”
After having spent 7 months solo at sea, and on the verge of winning the grand prize, Moitessier turned his ship around.
To sail around the world again.
He wrote these words in his diary,
“I do not know how to explain to Francoise and the children, my need to continue toward the Pacific. To be at peace. I know I’m right. I feel it deeply. I know exactly where I’m going. How could they understand that? It is so simple. But it can’t be explained in words.”
“The pictures of my children blur before my eyes. God knows I love them . . . “
His wife responded to the media.
She said this:
“I knew something was coming. I knew him too well. My daughter cried for three days and three nights.”
“Before the voyage, Bernard said, ‘Anyone who does this race for money or fame will come to grief.’ He was happy at sea. He was content. He found himself.”
“When you are at sea for a long time, day after day you have an infinite horizon. And I think a lot of people could be frightened by that immensity. Yet at the same time all decisions are yours. You turn into a small god in your own eyes. I think Bernard had found his universe.”
Bernard wrote something else in his diary. Something that when I first came upon it, we instantly became brothers.
And this is perhaps the best answer I can give to the question that graces the title of this discourse.
“You can’t imagine how intensely I was living. How good it is to be on your own. You climb up and you look back at your boat. There is the sea, the wind, the sound of the water . . . On your own, you can discover who you really are.”