When I get sad, sometimes I sit on the fire escape and smoke a cigarette. A yogi who smokes? Suspend your judgment, dear reader, because yogis are part of the human race, too. (Besides, that pack of Natural American Spirits lasts me a whole year.)
Is it so inconceivable to think that someone who seeks hot illumination is not also capable of the deepest plunges? You might say one can’t exist without the other.
I’m handling some difficult news that affects my livelihood so I’m scared and stressed. There. Can I go back to puffing now?
Don’t misunderstand me. Creativity, connection with the Divine, and the practice of yoga are all ecstatic experiences. But when you’re wondering what the future holds and your relationship with the Universe feels unsteady (like it just might ghost on you after all), then you need to rebel, dammit. You need to self-destruct.
Self-destruction is my favorite coping mechanism because sometimes it needs to get dark and messy. You’re feeling foolish for having all those high hopes, disappointed by people and circumstances —and the last thing you want to do is chant “Om Namah Shivaya.”
You’ll get there. But not today.
Here’s my recommendation:
Drink a little too much. Smoke a little too much. Say a little too much. Be a little too much. You’ll experience profound freedom in not having to find meaning in the madness, and you’ll find twisted pleasure in the darkness.
What happens next? Well for me, destruction leads to transformation. And not all destruction is bad. In fact, here are some things I’ve learned from self-destructing:
- Destroying the old makes space for the new.
- You break to build.
- You mutilate to create.
(And this one’s my favorite):
- Sometimes sorrow is just plain wimpy.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll return to my altar, hear my heartbeat, and witness the abundance all around. I’ll declare my dreams again—and more fervently than ever before.