Writing, at its best, is a lonely life. Organizations for writers palliate the writer‘s
loneliness but I doubt if they improve his writing. He grows in public stature as
he sheds his loneliness and often his work deteriorates. For he does his work alone
and if he is a good enough writer he must face eternity, or the lack of it, each day.
Nobel Prize Speech
I think that for the mind I have that It is a necessity for me to write. I write 3 blogs (this included) and close to perhaps 1300 posts at this moment between all of them. Everyday between the 3 of them 5-800 people read some of the verbiage that has managed to find a way out of the dense animated space from which all my creative work comes from.
I have never believed that I have a muse which to me would be a consistent place I can return to for inspiration. I think my life so far has taught me that muses, pretty faces, a hot shower, and all the little things that make me smile are bridges, temporary bridges into an meaning, a taste of the mystery of what it is to be alive. The mystery of what it is to be alive here has nothing to do with religion or organized social institution, but something each one of feel from time to time by virtue of being alive, the thing that animates us.
With that said though I thought it would be nice to in a way write something that comes from that place of sincerity. I thought it would be nice to follow the train of thoughts and images that came to mind starting with something that has inspired me and perhaps in doing so share something worth all the words and the endless revisions. Something that make it worthwhile for you to have stop on this blog in cyberspace out of the millions better ones.
I love the irony in this title, but aside from being a rhetorical device Heavenly Earth is a blog post from one of my favorite blogs KissTheMuse. In the article, TheMuse talks in her usual endearing way about a newspaper article that opens her up to a moment of reflection. Its reminded me of the satori of Zen Buddhism Days. Satori is an experience, where all the noise from the day stops or is halted and there is one moment where one sees oneself as one is experientially.
When we are able to see ourselves as we are, or rather when it has happened to me I see the story we each are I see MrMary’s Real Name, His story the things that drive him, make him act this way that way the things that make him sad, and that make him hide from the world, but I see also another him, a nameless him that’s always there that beyond the hurt the pain. There are no questions to be answered, there is jsut this moment of recognition amidst the scenes of my daily life. And like that the satori, the taste is gone, their are bills to pay, a cell phone to answer. But in that moment, there is for me spirituality.
Spirituality to MrMary isn’t about folding oneself up in awkward positions and sweating (that’s really whats sex is for) it isn’t about scented candles, or wearing any special uniform, or hating people because they are gay or old or whatever dumb reason we find for hating people. It is about living a decent life it about tending to our duties and responsibilities to ourselves our family, which facing our vulnerability, facing our mortality, trying to find the answers to the big questions while we are here.
Writing in many ways can be lonely, it can be a rigorous solitary practice but I am always presumptuous enough to assume its been the spice in many ways that has made my life more than just a painful jeremiad. It’s my rigorous discipline, its my meditative practice, its my preparation for these moments, where another’s words opens one up to see oneself outside of the confines of what one knows oneself to be, and maybe there a bit of redemption in that for you as there is for me
Shout-out to the Muse, for being the Muse. Check out her page if you havent already