Some things you can’t teach. If I have to tell you what they are, then you’ll never understand the rest of this post. Instead of trying, learning, and scrugglin’, scrugglin’, scrugglin’, you just have to be. Decide to be and be.

No one teaches Hall of Famers to stand above the crowd. Rather, if anything, they are taught that they are not whom they’d always envisioned and spend the remainder of their time scraping human bugs off the windshield of their visions. Bugs. There are always naysayin’, dream-hatin’ bugs. They’re “too high to get over, too low to get under. You’re stuck in the middle, and the pain is thunder.”

“You’re a vegetable, you’re a vegetable
Still they hate you, you’re a vegetable
You’re a buffet, you’re a vegetable
They eat off of you, you‘re a vegetable.”

But see, if you’re gifted–and I don’t mean just gifted, I mean gifted–you’re blessed with not only the knowing, but the being. Step away from the bugs. Push away from the curb and drive your life. When you reach a dead-end, keep going. If the cliff falls off seemingly into the abyss, step off of it. Those aren’t obstacles. They aren’t meant to stop you. They are meant to stop them.

Falling is just flying in a vertical direction. It’s freedom, but only if you remember that you can fly. Gravity doesn’t pull you to the Earth; it pulls the Earth toward you. They want to be you, they just don’t know it yet. So fly, babies; fly to freedom.

When there are no songs left, when the strings are frayed and your voice is raw, when you’re drenched in the sweat of your failings and can take not a single step further, don’t just keep going, start dancing. Let them see you sweat.

Then fly again, my chillun. Soar, and don’t get it twisted. You know what happens then, don’t you? Yeah, I know you do. You need only be that which your dreams have told you that you are. They, those thoughts, don’t come from you, they come for you. They are whispers from beyond … from God or the Universe, the Multiverse or whatever mysticism you choose to put on it. The point is that you are born knowing, and since you’ve always known, all there is left is to be.

So be, goddammit. I’m tired of telling you. Just be.

Plus, Michael says, “Hey,” or maybe it was “Mama-sey, mama say, mama sa, ma makoosa.” Dude mumbles.