The Man Before

He wore the look of luck. He was clean-shaven, with a charming grin, self-aware from years of work on himself. He preferred medium length hair, but would change it as needed from time to time.For him, it was pragmatic, to fit the situation. Medium length, he had learned, was best to flow freely in the wind, wild and on fire. He stepped with purpose, bouncing with promise. He was lean and strong and gave bear hugs out generously, lifting both cute girls as well as giant guys, both with a full heart, with a crushing and healing embrace, for sheer joy of being young, are, and alive. He was a good dancer, because dancing made him feel free, worked out the struggle within. He wasted no time, because time was his teacher. His good looks balanced by inner strength… his charm was just another tool in his toolbox, to be used towards a purpose, not to be emotionally invested in. He was self-made, rejecting the well-traveled path in career, and in love. He knew the power of practice, the zen of hard work, and had ben focused on his dream of being a photographer for almost a decade. He had some success, though not up to his expectations, but he looked to himself, always, to do better. He made no excuses. He was willing to risk it all for his dreams. He had little to show for it, externally; he lived with 5 other people in a run-down house in the dirty, poor, dangerous Mission district of San Francisco. He had stayed, when all of his friends had left one by one. He was used to being alone. His dreams fed him, he lived in the certainty of his own competence., which was for stronger than the shabby, papered walls of his house. He knew struggle, and had made a living out of nothing but willpower and dreams. Having no money was the cost of taking the harder path, the prize was knowing he lived according to his own standards, which he did not compromise. The peeling paint on his walls was character, and failure. He fed on challenge, not caviar. He was wounded, by heartbreak, several times over, in formative years, but he believed in himself, and in love. And in his own potential. He worked dutifully, diligently to regain some part of himself, to prepare for the one true love he was destined to experience, that he had mistaken as a naive, lost 19 year old. He needed to learn how to live by himself, to choose his heroes, to build the foundations of greatness within himself, in order to have a life that was extraordinary, to experience greatness. He was not willing to settle for less. He was fearless, as always. It was one of the most enduring characteristics of his whole life. Fearless physically, mentally, emotionally, unafraid of hardship, danger, risk, judgement, death. He organized everything in his life to serve the deeper cause, to know himself and to be connected to something greater than himself. Everything: he wore clothes that served a function, but was not invested in them. When it was time to be in the wild, he wore rugged clothes. When it was time to be noticed he wore statement pieces. When it was time to be free and express himself, he wore outrageous costumes, many of which he made himself. But this was just pragmatism.
He lived cheaply, in order to invest his time and energy in pursuit his dreams of being a successful photogrpher. He invested in himself, because he knew his own integrity, personal power, will, and inner truth were the only thing that mattered in the long run. When it was time to work, he worked harder than anyone. When it was time to play, he did not hold back. When it was time to practice, he built castles out of air, and lived in them. When he was betrayed in love, he set out to win, and succeeded. Self-doubt was not a crisis, but an opportunity to further clarify, further define, go deeper. He had magic of his own, from years of hard choices and persistence. He did not give up. He lived by his own standard, higher than others. He was free, and freedom was enough. He welcomed adversity. It made him stronger. He could not be beat. He was a man. He did not let the child run him. And yet, he still fell into the same traps of the heart. He still was betrayed. He kept his dreams, because when he did not, he suffered. It took him many years to know this, many years to know he wanted love, intimacy, and to build a future with a partner, to know he still had faith in love, and still wanted to be known. Even when he was a social butterfly, he was looking for love. And he knew he would find it, with his charm, and with his spirit. He was destined to succeed, because he knew the secrets of success, of being a man, he had earned them with his blood, sweat, and tears. He was initiated. Outside of society, off the easy path. He learned directly from the source- the world. It showed in his eyes, focused, slate blue and fixed on the future. He could fit in wherever he was, but was not of it. He straddled worlds, both material and spiritual, social and economic, old and new. And he could walk in any other or in between. He dabbled in his dark side, unafraid as always, because he knew himself to be good. Good not in anyone’s judgement, but in the spirit world. Underneath I tall, outside of things, beyond this moment, eternal. Uncompromising. If you want it, go get it. He sought deeper truth, longed for it. For guidance. He longed to be accepted into the club of professional photographers; this was his only weakness, he wanted it too much, and so his strength could be felt by others as dominate, overbearing, stubborn. His iron will often seemed like a cudgel, with which eh tried to beat down the doors standing in his way. This worked sometimes, but not fully, he achieved some success, more than anyone he knew, but not as much as he expected of himself. At times he was a blunt instrument, where a ray of sunshine would better serve. And so, fulfillment eluded him. Because this was not the path to inner peace, it was a demand for the surrender of all opposition. But he was not deterred, his will to self just needed finesse, more charm, subtlety, calibration. His confidence was forged, not gifted. He had seen a world beyond the world of man, and meant to make it his own. He was a champion of truth, beauty and love. Like Dylan says: ‘Beauty walks a razors edge, some day I’ll make it mine”. He believed in Willa love all else. A an, he knew, was judged by his actions, not his bank account. Wealth and fame were mere byproducts of the righteous path, one he meant to walk, alone if need be, at any cost. True greatness comes to those who pay the price, not to those focused on the surface of things. The depths of his spirit were filled with iron, in this he found clarity, strength. Health, good looks, strong body, these were just the byproducts of focus and determination. He was a strong believer in luck: the harder he worked, the more he had. And so he built his world, through sheer force of will.