After I graduated from college I moved to Los Angeles with no money.

I lived in a garage that had been converted into a bedroom. Two, actually. Each about the size of a twin bed. Mine had French doors that opened into the main home’s parking lot. Rent was 500 dollars a month.

Back then I was a mess. I loathed that time. Coming to the end of my drinking days I felt completely mentally and emotionally fucked. Grasping for some relief, I got into meditation for a hot second.

I remember once sitting on the narrow stretch of floor and meditating when I noticed my reflection on the door of the chrome mini fridge. And there I was on the handle, too . . . and looking back from the window of the French door.

Scanning the tiny room I found myself surrounded by reflective surfaces. They were fucking everywhere. And those surfaces not bouncing back my likeness showed me the point in space I was being reflected to. It was right then and there I chose to believe nothing goes unseen.

And I don’t mean that in some omnipresent, all-seeing-and-judging-overlord-god kind of way, but more like just plain facts. Nothing goes unseen. And one day you might have to explain yourself. You ready for that shit?

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