Never Can Say Goodbye

Morning MIRACLE email and call –– I only want one more client for private yoga and I insist they be walkable and that I can bring Belle –- and that actually happened.  [We meet tomorrow at dawn –– God, that sounds like we’re setting up for a duel with pistols –– which is great because that time is CONFLICT-FREE.]

And then sent out the mass email about the telecall replay.

[If, inexplicably, you’re reading this but not on my mailing list, just go HERE to get hear the call replayed  … and then for God’s sake, sign up for the mailing list!]

I spoke to my rep at Constant Contact who was astonishingly sympathetic and intelligent about refining my list via all their intensely rigorous standards for spam etc.  And so now I’m about to send out a final email blast to folks who’ve not opened an email in 3 months, most of which are relative strangers but a few of which well … astonish me.  [Neglect IS a form of abuse, after all.]

It’s slightly eerie how much data Constant Contact gives you.  I know who opens which email + I get stats on which links they clicked to etc.  I can tell how many people downloaded the call, for example (or at least clicked through to that page.)

What it doesn’t tell me, though is WHY someone’s leaving the list –– have they re-subscribed under a different email?  Are they deleting all mailing lists from their work account?  Or do they just no longer care …

In the end, of course, NONE of it matters.

I read a TERRIFIC and inspiring essay that Tim Ferriss recommended about TRUE FANS that made me feel thrilled and peaceful about EVERYTHING.

I just need 1,000 of you apparently –– and I feel that’s more than happened.

So to all the UN-true “Fans” … well, I guess I can say, “Goodbye.”

And Godspeed.

I’m already sailing forward and fast on the Wings of Love –– even if you don’t open my emails!

And can I just share this –– from Rilke, THE FEAR OF THE INEXPLICABLE –– suggested by someone from my grad school past surfacing re: the Telecall about a possible book project of his.  [It’s AMAZING, especially the last paragraph.]

* * * * * * * *

But fear of the inexplicable has not alone impoverished the existence of the individual; the relationship between one human being and another has also been cramped by it, as though it had been lifted out of the riverbed of endless possibilities and set down in a fallow spot on the bank, to which nothing happens. For it is not inertia alone that is responsible for human relationships repeating themselves from case to case, indescribably monotonous and unrenewed: it is shyness before any sort of new, unforeseeable experience with which one does not think oneself able to cope.

But only someone who is ready for everything, who excludes nothing, not even the most enigmatical, will live the relation to another as something alive and will himself draw exhaustively from his own existence. For if we think of this existence ofthe individual as a larger or smaller room, it appears evident that most people learn to know only a corner of their room, a place by the window, a strip of floor on which they walk up and down. Thus they have a certain security. And yet that dangerous insecurity is so much more human which drives the prisoners in Poe’s stories to feel out the shapes of their horrible dungeonsand not be strangers to the unspeakable terror of their abode.

We, however, are not prisoners. No traps or snares are set about us, and there is nothing which should intimidate or worry us. We are set down in life as in the element to which we best correspond, and over and above this we have through thousands of years of accommodation become so like this life, that when we hold still we are, through a happy mimicry, scarcely to be distinguished from all that surrounds us. We have no reason to mistrust our world, for it is not against us. Has it terrors, they are our terrors; has it abysses, those abysses belong to us; are dangers at hand, we must try to love them. And if only we arrange our life according to that principle which counsels us that we must always hold to the difficult, then that which now still seems to us the most alien will become what we most trust and find most faithful. How should we be able to forget those ancient myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into princesses; perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.