Sunday, January 18, 2009

On Swatting those Evil Mind Flies.

(Pre-script: Before reading this post, make sure you go down to the playlist, click on the song "Unwritten," by Natasha Beddingfield, Then come back and resume reading. And resume reading. And really, really read. I'll wait...)(...still waiting...)
If I were teaching a class , which I would never do, no one would ever hire me for that, as far as I can tell, I would teach the peeps to write, or draw, or paint, or sculpt, or mold because it is in the blood to create in such a way, because the person will have an internal itch until he or she relieves it by creating the thing that is scratching at the inside of his or her mind or heart, even if it is an unformed idea that just needs to be played around with, a jumble of words that need to be somehow arranged, and rearranged, and rearranged just so, the important thing is to get them out, get them out, when they will drive you crazy like a swarm of evil flies would, if that swarm was buzzing around in your brain. That is often just how I feel before I write anything, how I have often felt my entire life. Sometimes people have glommed on to what I have had to say, and connected to the way in which I said it, and other times, they have not said anything, I think because they were scratching their heads, thinking at best, "Hm, I don't get it," or at worst, "Man, she's LOST IT!" But I created what I needed to create because it was what I needed to create. I have sat and listened as things I say are torn apart, sometimes by the ignorance of those who don't know what they are talking about, and sometimes by the wisdom and knowledge of those who do know what they are talking about, and what I hopefully have learned is that sometimes what comes out does not have to be brilliant, does not have to show that I have arrived at the allusive "arrived" place, what is important is that what I expressed was a stepping stone, my own personal stepping stone, that was right where it needed to be, because it was right in front of where I was standing at the time.
When I write, each word is like swatting another one of those evil mind flies, and I don't stop until they have all been extincted from my mind. The feeling of relief is so great, and I can take a deep breath, step back and look at what I have put out there, and I am satisfied. I am satisfied to have done the thing. I don't need an award to have done what I needed to do. I don't need the world to be tracking with me in all of my processes. It's nice when they do, but I can still be happy with and proud of my creation when they don't. I think that people often don't take the time to pay attention, to look deeply at something, to reach beyond the surface of the thing, into themselves, and feel what is directly on the page in front of them; what they already know, but refuse to acknowledge, or what they don't yet know, and refuse to create space for. I think people would rather sleep walk through life. They say you can't wake a sleep walker up, or it will make him crazy. The sleeper has to wake up on his own.
So my point is this: If you are passionate about a thing, then do it. It doesn't have to be world class; most things will not and cannot be World Class, if they were, then World Class anything would mean nothing, or close to nothing. But let's say your passion is tennis. You may not be very good at it, you would not have any fun trying to play an Olympic pro, but that is good, that is better, sometimes, because you can play with a little child, or your novice and arthritic grandmother, and not be catering down to do so. If your passion is painting pictures of apples all day, every day, then do that, and don't ever think about if it looks like a painting you saw in the Louvre, or the paintings your next door neighbors are painting. It probably doesn't. But you must do it because the world has already seen the Louvre, your neighbors have already painted the paintings that look like their paintings, and only you have seen what is on the other side of your mind. It is in you, it is in your blood, and you must get it out, regardless of what your critics might say, you must get it out, or we will never see it, and you must get it out before it eats you alive.


P.S. Tonight, I needed to write in many long run on sentences.

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