The piece below was originally published on the blogsite, thingsfromsomewhere; republished with permission.
I get very excited when I become someone else. Those are the moments when I feel most alive. When I do something I never expected myself to do, when I find myself in a state I could never have imagined myself in before.
No, I am not talking about our age’s experience sickness. I do not mean the hunting (or should I have said gathering?) of new activities, new places, and new people that are paid for. I am talking about dying and being born. A part of the old me dies, and a new me is born. Life is countless deaths and births. We cannot be born without dying, and we cannot live without dying and being born again.
These are not such great moments of transformation. Everything happens in an instant, with a small spark, in the midst of everyday life. In a word that slips out of your mouth, at a corner you turn while walking, as you sip your coffee, or even while gazing into the distance. A small fire ignites inside you, and you become enlightened. You realize that the uneasiness within you was the agony of that slow death and the birth that was on its way.
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