Since I quit my last salaried job two and a half years ago, I have been on the payroll of my angel. From month to month, it (I think of my guardian angel in terms of a neutral entity) had let me work for just enough money to cover my monthly expenditures until it thought that it was too much work for it to dose the workload of its protégée on a monthly basis, and decided to connect her directly to an inexhaustible source of revenue.
It came in the form of a Christmas present, and right on Christmas Eve, I worked till midnight. A translation company recruited me and started to occupy my time to the maximum capacity from the first day onward. With little time left for my other beloved hobbies like blogging and studying, I tried to negotiate with my angel at first, but soon enough, it turned out that I did not want to do anything else than translating if the choice were mine to make. And the choice is indeed mine to make! Every morning I find 1-3 assignments in my inbox to fill up my day. It's wholly up to me to accept them all or reject a part or all of them.
I usually begin my day by accepting the assignments, and off I run to the beach to gather my seashells, the prettiest ones as many as and as fast as possible. The double entendre of seashells here is of course words and coins, the former being main objects of desire, and the latter its by-product or side-effect. With the beach always full of seashells of all kinds, I am sure of ending my days gathering them. The imagery of gathering the prettiest possible shells in the largest possible quantity and at the highest possible speed pertains to rummaging through my mental storehouse and Internet sea in search of the optimal rendering of the source text (mostly journal submissions of all disciplines) in the target language in pure concentration and rapture; in other words, doing my best while doing the thing I am best capable of doing. When work thus becomes meditation, worker becomes creator. The process is namely Purusha Marga.
It came in the form of a Christmas present, and right on Christmas Eve, I worked till midnight. A translation company recruited me and started to occupy my time to the maximum capacity from the first day onward. With little time left for my other beloved hobbies like blogging and studying, I tried to negotiate with my angel at first, but soon enough, it turned out that I did not want to do anything else than translating if the choice were mine to make. And the choice is indeed mine to make! Every morning I find 1-3 assignments in my inbox to fill up my day. It's wholly up to me to accept them all or reject a part or all of them.
I usually begin my day by accepting the assignments, and off I run to the beach to gather my seashells, the prettiest ones as many as and as fast as possible. The double entendre of seashells here is of course words and coins, the former being main objects of desire, and the latter its by-product or side-effect. With the beach always full of seashells of all kinds, I am sure of ending my days gathering them. The imagery of gathering the prettiest possible shells in the largest possible quantity and at the highest possible speed pertains to rummaging through my mental storehouse and Internet sea in search of the optimal rendering of the source text (mostly journal submissions of all disciplines) in the target language in pure concentration and rapture; in other words, doing my best while doing the thing I am best capable of doing. When work thus becomes meditation, worker becomes creator. The process is namely Purusha Marga.
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