Psychic splinters

[vaneramos]

Organ builders can't avoid splinters. A worker in a busy shop should take precautions against injuries to eyes, ears, lungs and limbs. A good pair of work gloves may prevent some cuts and slivers, but most artisans desire a more immediate, sensual connection with the raw materials, in this case sheet metal, wire and a lot of wood.

The materials have no mind of their own. You can sit and stare interminably at the rhythm of rays in the wood, or crystals in primeval lava, seeking some clue toward the anticipated product, but contemplation produces nothing materially. A work does not take shape until you work.

As well as musical instruments, garments or works of art, this principle covers artifices of the mind. Eleanor Roosevelt said, "Great minds discuss idea; Average minds discuss events; Small minds discuss people." In our media, witness the tyranny of small minds. It's so prevalent and oppressive because ideas require hard work. They might benefit from long walks or baths, or gazing into a candle flame, but rarely take shape until you try to set them down. Scientific method requires deliberate testing and discarding of hypotheses until one emerges to shatter rotten, old concepts. Scientists, composers, authors, creators of all kinds must brace themselves for injury.

Certain moments in my life have revolutionized my thinking, like when I realized I was a sinner in need of salvation, or that I felt called to be a writer, or that my sexuality should not be treated as sin, or that God probably does not exist. All of these were "born again" events. Many of these conclusions were contradictory, but even though not necessarily correct, each was indispensable in forming the person I am today. Even the worst decisions brought beneficial outcomes: lessons learnt, adventures undertaken, truths uncovered. My children, for example, are the wondrous fruit of a tree planted in the wrong orchard.

Leading to each of these signposts, I recall considerable pain. My decisions responded to hardship and uncertainty. Insights arose from disillusionment and exploration.

Work is a kind of pain we undertake to transcend the status quo. We can choose to live comfortably, or to mark the face of existence indelibly. This concept of greatness is not inherently more valuable. We are, after all, evolved upon this planet for the mere purpose of existing, and continuing our existence. To live is enough. So the choice comes down to a matter of what you want.

What do I? That is the question. What is the fulfilment I seek?

The success of an endeavour.

Certain life accomplishments, in hindsight, seem to hold greater meaning. These involve love, creativity, discovery and self-expression. Writing poetry, publishing it and reading it to an audience have brought some of the most profound realizations, so I continue wanting to write. But wanting to is not writing.

Which brings me to the threshold of today, anticipation of new risks, throwing of self upon the page, white space and ink, vacuum and consciousness, that riveting balance between lost and found. The place where I decide to move old furniture around—some needing repair or replacement—and risk driving splinters under the fingernails of the psyche.

One eminent obstacle is the maturation of my mind, which seems progressively less capable of grappling complexity and abstraction. Who can say whether this involves a real deterioration of neural pathways, or simply the defence of an anxious mind against philosophical masochism? I don't want to make myself appear crazy, self-absorbed, senile or—worst of all—stupid. I suppose the strongest strategy against any mental ailment is to resist its sovereignty as long as possible. So I shall assay to think.

Of what? Of anything. The purpose is not the destination but the journey, and the beginning is with pen and paper, which I've woefully neglected. The only remedy in my suddenly-occupied life is to rise early each morning. I hate that, but here is where hard work insists itself.

Comments

[eloquentwthrage.livejournal.com]

You think too much, man.

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

I like thinking.

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

Bruce, thank you. I'm glad someone appreciated it. I need to motivate myself afresh, and writing this may have helped.

[butterflyminds.livejournal.com]

A nice thoughtful piece. I write, so I can identify with what you're saying. I'm trying to finish a novel which I've been working on for years and the last twelve months or so have been very hard because of health issues. I lost my momentum radically, which then impacted my confidence and my writing and my basic belief in what I'm doing. Meanwhile I have an agent waiting for me to deliver the book, and I feel guilty when I'm not getting on with it.

I'd better get back to it, though I'm currently trying to put together a list of my 10 favourite Brazilian albums. There are so many fantastic ones I don't have. Just been looking at Amazon.

[butterflyminds.livejournal.com]

As usual on a Monday morning, I have responded to the person who started a thread rather than to the author of the journal. Every Monday it's the same. I always make that mistake!