MC YOGI - Spiritual Graffiti: Finding My True Path

DEDICATED TO MY WIFE AND BEST FRIEND

AMANDA

THANK YOU FOR WALKING ME HOME

WHEN YOU ARE INSPIRED BY SOME GREAT PURPOSE, SOME EXTRAORDINARY PROJECT, ALL YOUR THOUGHTS BREAK THEIR BONDS: YOUR MIND TRANSCENDS LIMITATIONS, YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS EXPANDS IN EVERY DIRECTION, AND YOU FIND YOURSELF IN A NEW, GREAT AND WONDERFUL WORLD. DORMANT FORCES, FACULTIES AND TALENTS BECOME ALIVE, AND YOU DISCOVER YOURSELF TO BE A GREATER PERSON BY FAR THAN YOU DREAMED YOURSELF TO BE.

PATANJALI

THIS IS IT, I THOUGHT. IT WAS BY FAR THE LARGEST audience Id ever performed to. I stood on the front edge of the stage, gazing out at the massive crowd. Looking out, I could see ten thousand pairs of eyes staring back at me. I marveled at all the twists and turns that my life had taken, the wild and unexpected journey that had led me to this moment. My entire being swelled with energy as adrenaline pumped through my bloodstream. I felt the anticipation of the crowd. I prayed I would remember all my lyrics and be able to hit all my cues. I took a deep breath in.

ARE YOU REEEEAAAADDDDYYYY? My voice echoed through the sound system as I called out to the crowd. The entire festival hollered back with applause and cheers of excitement. Lets count it off together! I shouted. TEN. The crowd joined in. NINE. There was a rush as everyone pushed closer toward the stage. EIGHT.... Everybody get low, I called out. SEVEN. The whole audience crouched down toward the earth. SIX. I could see security flanking either side of the stage at full attention. FIVE. I joined the crowd and knelt onstage. FOUR.... Get ready! I yelled. THREE. I could see the excitement building in everybodys eyes. TWO. I looked at my DJ, his hand hovering over the record, ready to drop the beat. ONNNNEEE!!

BOOM! As the beat dropped, the entire crowd leapt up, releasing handfuls of colored dust. It was a psychedelic explosion of pure love. Huge plumes of bright blue, magenta pink, and neon green exploded in the air, streaking across the sky. For a moment I couldnt see anything except an endless haze of rainbow colors and dust. And then, as the clouds of color washed over the crowd, I saw one of the most beautiful things Ive ever witnessed in my life: Ten thousand people dancing as one. Everyone ecstatic, covered in vibrant colors, smiling and laughing, completely happy and free. There was no distinction between gender, age, race, or class. It was just one massive pulsing, throbbing Technicolor crowd of human beings, celebrating life. My whole body filled with joy. For one split second, I was able to witness the whole thing unfolding, and in that moment I asked myself a question: How in the world did I get here?

I TS HAPPENING! MY MOM CRIED OUT. HER HEART WAS racing as my dads foot lay like a brick, pressing hard against the gas pedal of his 1970s Monte Carlo. My mom was in labor. Her breath swelled as she gripped the leather handle on the door, her sweaty palms pushing against the beige upholstery. Her heart was pounding like an 808 kick drum as my dad barreled through the rainbow tunnel, the tunnel now named after the famous comedian Robin Williams. It was a close call. I was almost born on the Golden Gate Bridge. Or so the story goes.

The velocity of my dads Chevy cut through heavy layers of fog early on that Sunday morning in August. My parents, both in their early twenties, carved a path through the darkness searching for the nearest hospital. Pushing through the two towering pillars of the Golden Gate, speeding past the toll booth into the heart of the city, they found refuge on Geary Boulevard. I was born as the sun made its way over the eastern horizon.

My mom, exhausted and spent, smiled as she looked at my dad. Tears welled up, filling their eyes, as they looked at their newborn child. It was a long journey, through the rainbow tunnel, across the golden bridge to the other side, but I made it, into the warmth and the safety of my parents arms.

I was a fat, ugly, jaundiced little thing. In my baby photos I look like a pile of mashed potatoes. But my parents didnt seem to mind; they were happy, because I was healthy and I was alive. Later that Sunday morning, my dad left the hospital, went to the nearest church, knelt in front of the altar, and offered his prayers, thanking God for his firstborn son.

After I was born, my parents didnt waste much time: twenty-two months later my beautiful little sister, Melissa, was born, and exactly twenty-two months after her my little brother, Adam, arrived on the scene with a devilish grin. We were surrounded by family growing up; life as a kid in northern California was golden. Our childhood was filled with Saturday-morning cartoons, piles of comic books, baseball cards, outdoor adventures in the trees, and some of the best movies of all time: Star Wars, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, E.T., The Goonies, and The Karate Kid.

My grandparents lived next door on our left, and my uncle lived next door on our right. Three houses in a row. It was a block of Italians. Because we lived so close to so many cousins, uncles, aunts, and grandparents, I felt a real sense of security and stability. Everything on the surface seemed perfect. Little did I know that the world around me was about to come crashing down. The cracks became clear the night I stayed over at my best friend Dustys house.

Dusty lived just a couple of houses down from us. We always hung out. We played on the same wiffle ball team, collected the same Star Wars action figures, and shared a love for the same Nintendo games. We were two peas in a pod. After school wed get hopped up on sugar and soda and run circles around the trees in his yard.

Wed imagine we were Jedi knights: I would be Luke Skywalker, and he would rule the galaxy as Darth Vader. Sticks from fallen tree branches became our imaginary lightsabers, and wed channel the invisible power and energy of the Force, chasing each other through fields of grass, our imaginations running wild, until wed both collapse, lying in the sun, staring up at the clouds. Dusty took his role so seriously that he even refused to eat with me, because Darth Vader didnt like people to see him take his mask off, and no oneand I mean no oneshould ever watch the evil Sith lord eat a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich with the crust cut off.

That night, we spent hours playing Nintendo. Nintendo was brand-new, and playing video games at home was one of the coolest things in the world. Dusty and I were playing Kung Fu. Heya heyathat sound from the game still rings in my head. But theres a tricky part to that game, regardless of how good you are; theres a moment where you lose no matter what you do.

It goes like this: As youre playing the hero, walking down the hall, making your way toward the big boss, someone comes from behind and throws a dagger at your back. At the very same moment someone approaches from the front, kneels down, and throws a knife at your knees. Two deadly weapons coming from both directions. If you jump you can avoid the lower knife but will be hit by the high knife, and if you duck you avoid the higher knife but will be cut down by the lower blade. Either way its bye-bye, Johnny.

The moment the hero is struck from both sides, his 8-bit body shudders and falls from the screen as the maniacal laugh of the big boss echoes across the speakers of the television set. Then the letters flash across the screen: GAME OVER!