Life's weird. It is continually and utterly weird. I have no idea what the fuck is going on, and everything feels way too complex to even begin. And yet, one sentence later, this sentence, I then find myself remembering, well shit, now Pancho the dog just came into my field of vision and just stopped and looked into my eyes. Giving me his Pancho wisdom.
I wonder about this writing thing I'm doing. How revealing do I get? Does my writing need to have a succinct point? I guess it comes back to intention maybe? "What is my intention with this writing?" I hear in a dictorial voice.
It's to express.
I guess. to dance, but with words. To use verbs to paint the experience which I can't ever seem to
explain.
Explaining is what takes the magic out of it, and inherently we all love the magic, even if it scares us from time to time. It's what we crave, that unutterable flow of genius that pour through whatever portal we have cranked open.
That's the weirdest part, is in the moment, typing i feel alive. Yet just several moments earlier, I did not feel this. And that's ok. Because there's no controlling it anyways. I can't begin to explain what comes over me as I'm filled with creativity. And I'm brought back to something I heard or read, perhaps yes, on a Ted talk, about how much more pleasant of an experience it is when we don't take credit for our creativity, but instead deflect attention to a creative spirit, a daemon that chose to enter us and use our bodies as its instrument for a time being.
Maybe that's why so much focus is placed upon the ego. It can be so banally interrupting of the effortless flow of creation.
That's been my wall lately I'm seeing. *If you could see me now, i'm stuck attempting to remember what my wall was I saw a blinking light on my phone. I now understand why removing all distractions is so ridiculously important when creating, because the path is narrow and tremulous and even a little gust will blow one astray. And the mind, or at very least my mind, gets nervous when I'm beginning to pick its lock and discover its secrets, so it gets more and more agitated the more pins I release and is begging for me to stop being curious. Allow me to wallow in my misery it asks. Please, no more, the pain is too great. God, the mind is such a fragile thing and so quick to lash out. So, pathetic.
So back to this wall, I've been feeling stuck in my path now for now two weeks that i've been here in the bay area. And I think what's keeping me stuck is that I feel this, muck around my self image, my ego. A certain non-acceptance of where I am in life. Like if I do something really cool or artistic, then it will make up for all of the not-coolness of my life. Like my dwindling bank account, like my homeless status, like my single status. I can see I've been trying to downplay those things in order to keep up my appearance of coolness. Dang, no fuck, of course there is another layer of shit that i've yet to see. And that's ok. As is always the case, I didn't know what I didn't know.
Humility will be the key to this next door I see. Not coming in touting my accomplishments, which now feel old and lame, and instead coming in filled with a spirit of servitude. And then, once i'm there to not sacrifice pleasure.
I can assume that's where things got tricky for our ancestors. Binary, outside of computer programming of course, is much easier to comprehend for the simple human mind than a spectrum of grey. Grey is hard to describe, especially if we're being asked to be specific. Maybe, that's why there are all these endless ways to express ourselves, because expressing ourselves through the english language is to be constantly engulfed in sin, or missing the mark as sin was originally defined.
I'm wondering now about our puritan forefathers and foremothers, and I think I'm beginning to see why they are how they are. Upgrading above ego leads to humility, humility leads to service, and in our unending desire to improve things, we want to hone our service and become better at it which ends up feeding the ego. And that ends up closing the ego loop and leaving no room for pleasure, for play, for creativity, because those things don't grow within compacted and dry ground. They grow within aerated and easily crushed ground. That's why the most creative things are typically the most vulnerable, that's why we're quickest to kill off our great thinkers. Because they challenge our fragile minds and their egos the most, and like we know, those bad boys are quick to anger. Fuck.
NOTE: Thank you for supporting me in NEVER using Smart draw to quickly draw a diagram online because they add in very aggressive watermarks that ruin my perfectly un-watermarked drawing that I just finished. I resent you Smartdraw and will actively not use your software ever again. Sorry for this everyone.
So then we build in little gaps in our ego ego-less circle to make space for the fun things, but then we end up having expectations of results, and play doesn't care about results. Play (i'm accumulating pleasure, play, and creativity all into play for ease of use) is most playful when there are no goals, no outcomes we are striving for. For the play to be most honored, it must not be relegated to small specific moments, instead we must build an entire structure within our circle, a room, a castle sized room to be available for the creative spirit to enter whenever it pleases, and also to leave whenever it pleases. Because to capture creativity is the quickest way to kill it.
No comments:
Post a Comment