The rebel can never find peace. He knows what is good and, despite himself, does evil. The value which supports him is never given to him once and for all -- he must fight to uphold it, unceasingly. - Camus 

Last year, at the end of the meditation retreat, my teachers summoned me to their private chamber.

I swallowed hard.

Even when voluntarily submitting under tutelage, I still struggled with authority. It's just a prophetic streak, you know. You grow up being called a rebel, you kind of get used to and believe it, follow it. I rebelled even in silence and between 11 hours a day of sitting still.

To be summoned by authority, shit, that only happened when rebellion loses its cool.

"The way you talked during one-to-one meetings got us concerned," my teachers said. "We weren't sure if you were straight enough in the head to follow through the course."

*CLUNK* went my life preserving rebellion. I swore I'll never rebel against the muses and teachers and diet regiments ever again if only I could get out of this one with shreds of my dignity intact.

"So we googled you,"  they grinned collectively in that eerie way that comfortably enlightened ones do. "And found out that you weren't really crazy. Actually, you're quite (compliment, compliment, and more blotted out compliments) but your grammar needs improving."

Wait, what?

Ya, okay. I stand by my last post. I don't give a grub and internet personas may go to hell. But when real life grabbed me choking for words, google helped make rebellion look sexy again.


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