Dear students on a cliff about to fly

Dear students on a cliff about to fly, 

       (Commencement Speech, 2021)

 

Channel the wisdom of a gnarly-bearded god in flowy tunic:

Seek your heaven from the sky down, from your own dump site, or cry pit, or privileged cage. Do not bury your heads in your hands, confounded students, but look deep within. No, not that deep. Avoid that memory. Look beyond certain feelings. Much of who you have become is a web of ten-thousand illusions. Keep most of them.

Scan the horizons of your future. Not so far. Not that horizon. Skip certain vistas. Be completely honest with yourself and others. Except for the truth altogether. Tread water between those shores.

Delight in the moment. You only have that moment. However, struggle. Plan. Envision. Scratch at the surface of the ice as if you have fallen through and cannot breathe. Take a breath with the urgency of screaming under the surface. Adapt your game. Smile a little when you scream.

In fact, smile always. Your smiles are authentic and robust. Practice into the sky until they feel fake.

Do not bury yourself into your screen. You lean in into it like a plant at the window. Break the window, to be abundantly outside, and sculpt a crystal ball. Only bend over your crystal ball.

Don’t forget to brush. Ignore death, or, think a ton about death. There is no gnarly-bearded god. While on your precipice, know that you are the sage. Do the right thing, and be yourself. Break the rules; fuck around like there’s no tomorrow. In fact, there is no tomorrow, and yesterday is a blur. Move carefully—no, exquisitely! Whatever you do, keep moving, unfettered. Cast your bread upon the waters.

Congratulations.