|| Return to On The Road... ||
July 7, 1996
New York City
Dear Friends:
Entering this workshop, I knew I had to work mind over matter. The matter in this case was poison oak, gathered a few days before but deciding to lurk before attacking. Thirty thousand miles over Denver, it hit, with a force that still has me constantly moving.
I wonder if they noticed my edge; I doubt you couldn't have noticed it. I even got to opening one eye with a wide glare to easy some of the itch. To the outsider it could look like one of those techie twitches, the kind where you've been mainlining coffee and pizza for hours. Sleep deprivation in its finest form.
But like they say, the show must go on. And go on it did. New York crowds always have something to say. No wonder these people get interactivity online; no one told them not to speak up. The exchange between us is always the most powerful resource for learning. Once again the New York crowd kept me going.
I want to thank you all, because during that time I sat down and surfed the Web, as well as presenting my part, my right leg swelled to twice the size of my left. But the discomfort gets forgotten when you start talking, exchanging ideas, trying to discover the point of inspiration, where we both step off from disbelief and start formulating what could be.
I don't know if I reached that moment; what could be to me meant an immediate 7 hour plane trip back home, sitting upright in a seat for hours, trying not to itch. Trying to sit still, like a little kid panicking outside the bathroom. I made it through the show the best I could, heading to the dreaded plane with a leg that was becoming a life form.
But I was lucky enough to sit next to a martial arts instructor. He travels much more than I do, and each weekend he trains people in his special discipline. Don't confuse this with modern approaches; he told me of the discipline of his craft, of calligraphy mixed with sword work and physical manifestation of your environment. To understand how to move, how to hold and use your sword, you had to know how to draw letters, language, and express yourself. The patterns you learn on paper apply to your physical expression; all knowledge interconnected for the ultimate result.
Bruce told me one thing that I'll never forget; each of us lives for 160 years. We have our physical life, and the effect that life has on others, which usually lasts two generations until we are forgotten. It is up to all of us to make the most of those 160 years, to remember not to take shortcuts. Pick up your pen and draw a few figures, study them, and seek your expression. Or pick up your keyboard right now and create a Web site. Let it evolve.
One year on the Web is equivalent to 7 years in real life. If that's the case, we only have 22.85 years of total life online. So in 2018 my life online may be finished.
I've got to get back to work...the clock is ticking.