inhibit inhibition!
Björk’s performances make me realize how petty the shit I sometimes worry about is, how subtle social norms and self-conscious awkwardness really don’t matter after all, how fear of failure and the lack of ambition and confidence are excuses, and how unfortunate a waste it is to let these humdrum insecurities inhibit me, these bramble bush thorns that discourage the timid but casually adorn a traveler’s clothes.
In the end, it won’t matter whether my hair was parted the wrong way the other day, or that something I produced wasn’t particularly successful, or that I said something that someone didn’t appreciate; it won’t matter that I stumbled over rock #1,517 or pissed my pants just past mile marker 329 and took the wrong turn. What will matter is that I took the journey, along the higher roads that exit from Mediocre Expressway and veer off into lands of dreams and nightmares, the asperous precipices of the gods.
That’s why when I see Björk doing what she does, it brings tears to my eyes, because she’s there on that jagged horizon where I want to be… because she’s weaving beauty from the fabric of the Universe and giving it back… because she is so wholeheartedly doing something meaningful… because I know I’m seeing God, and she beckons me.
