It’s All Good

Truly, if I give energy to the phrase, “It’s all good”, I manifest that.

Now, how do I put this. Anything is possible. What is happening, is.

I will no longer play the what-if, game. What if this, what if that.

Fuck it. Is that what is right now? No.

Well, if we don’t do something about it…

Do what, exactly?

As far as I can tell, I’m doing as much as I’m able to do. I write these posts, I sometimes write fiction. I read books. I hang with my dogs (actual dogs, not the homies). I do in fact sometimes hang with actual homies, friends that come over, or we go for a ride, whatever.

I figure, it’s important to be open. To be respectful and polite, say thank you when it’s appropriate, and mean it. Hold the door open for someone. Because it’s feel good energy. It feels good, to be selfless. To show appreciation for others working a day job that probably isn’t anyone’s dream job. To let them know they matter. That’s feel good stuff. You matter. You’re important. Thank you.

Keep it simple. Smile, a gentle, humble, smile.

It’s all good.

I’lll figure it out if anarchy takes over. But right now? Anarchy isn’t a thing. It’s not real, right now, so fuck anarchy. I’m not worried about the future. Right now? It’s all good.

I’m in pain. So are you… Fuck it. It could be so much worse.

Alfonso’s father grew up in Mexico. Was not one of the wealthy elite. Was poor. Alfonso’s father knew first hand what living in a third world is like, as someone who isn’t a wealthy person. Because here’s the thing, in third world places… There is no middle class. You’re either extremely, lavishly wealthy- only a few of these folks, or you’re dirt poor.

That’s why Alfonso’s father was sooo proud of gaining his U.S. citizenship. He wasn’t wealthy, here- but here, in America, he worked his ass off, and was able to live the American dream. A nice house, humble, but still nice. A decent ride. Food on the table.

People who don’t know what it’s like to be third world poor, sometimes take things for granted that folks like Alfonso’s father would and will never take for granted.

Vicente and I spoke today. And yes, he too grew up dirt poor. In Mexico. He came here, did the same thing as Alfonso’s father. And Vicente, I listen to him now. I see that he speaks wisdom. He tells me, “count your blessings my friend, you still have it soooo much better than sooo many”. And he’s absolutely right.

I’m sad. I’m in pain. It’s all good. As Vicente says, “this is part of the life”. He’s spot on, man. That’s what the friggin Buddhists are trying to say, too. Pain is inevitable. But, it comes and goes. Things change. All feelings come and go. Nothing remains the same. Which, if you open yourself to that, it’s the most beautiful thing there is.

Undefinable. The ebb and flow of the ocean tides. The rivers that roar in chaos, the blizzards. Forces of nature. Deadly, but man- wow. Epic.

Seeing a bird in flight, to me, is epic. I’m so grateful I can see a creature fly. That makes me feel good for some reason, and I can’t explain the sensation.

It’s all good. We’re all going to die. It’s all good. Ups and downs, strikes and gutters. It’s all good.

I abide. I write and I write and I abide.

It’s all good.

Philip Webb

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