Insanity on a Deliriously Delicious Scale

Time and Commitment. Commitment to passion. Time for your work. Not work as a four letter word, work defined by brilliance. Work defined by desire. Work defined by a certain level of completion from within.

For all appearances, too many of us feel work as a burden. A necessary evil. Too many of us adopt the mentality that we cannot make a living doing what we love, therefore we subject ourselves to drudgery.

Money for the sake of money becomes hollow. Work for the sake of work is destined to wither. Ah, but dedication to creation. Dedication to putting forth into this world something of value. Something of impact. Now there's a motivator.

Speaking of motivation, one of my cherished mentors asks me often, "who motivates the motivator?" He recognizes since I inspire and motivate others to write, my own writing suffers. He stands absolutely correct in this observation.

Each of us must face our internal demons who thwart our momentum and motivations. For me, my most significant warden is the "judge" who lives in my head.
This judge tells me my views of my world possess no merit. My thoughts, feelings, observations, and flights of fancy depict nothing more than child's play and should be left to what little spare time I may stumble across.

This judge birthed in my home as a baby, in the school system I attended and excelled in, in the working world where I found success, and in the society that values money and the trappings of comfort far more than humanity and the needs of the heart and soul.

Then there's religion. Is there a more domineering, controlling, judgmental, soul-searing, creativity murdering, out-of-control group of entities on earth? The Buddhists, Hindus, Christians, Muslims, and who knows who else are going around killing each other in the name of a god or gods NONE of them appear to know.

Our governments, corrupt and crippled by greed and power as they are, cannot come close to the damage our precious religions wreak on the world's populace on a minute-by-minute basis. Why? Because religions prey upon peoples' inner weaknesses.

So do governments. I get it. But religions attack in the guise of 'benevolence.' When our religions are all killing each other, doesn't ANYONE see that no one is "right?" Doesn't anyone see the greed, manipulation, dominance, control, and sheer audacity of religions today?

In the end, I stand amazed that the human race has progressed this far. With our internal judges suffering manipulation from parents, family, school, work force, government, and religion, we STILL manage to create and progress.

What would happen if we stopped killing? What would happen if we sacrificially started healing? What would happen if greed and avarice fell to benevolence and charity?

The most sad joke on all humanity must be this: If we collectively expunged our greedy agendas intent on expanding our power and influence, this world could correct itself in shockingly short order. This concept truly qualifies as a sad joke because world peace will never happen. Oh, yeah, religions say world peace will happen, AFTER all the non-believers die...poppycock...death of others is not an answer. If a "creator" god says so, I will defy the 'gods.'

Creation brings with it an obligation and responsibility to nurture the creation. IMHO. Death and suffering mandated by a "creator" is sick. Those who believe their god seeks to smite humans, the very pinnacle of the god's creation, believe in something I cannot. 

Odd that the strength of humanity's futile hope of a better world lies with the creativity-inclined. After all these thousands of years, we stand no closer to our answers. In fact, my view is that this collective world of living, breathing, human beings today walk a path away from where we need to be.

Too bad we cannot all be convinced to step back and make a positive impact on our world. What an amazing concept! Think about it. 6 billion people purposing at once to help one another. Insanity on a deliriously delicious scale...

Fear, Suffering, Emotional Basket Case

I am at a loss about fear. I suffer all too often from fear. I write a particularly strong, emotional piece about the inner muse and some views of religion and all the sudden I am reluctant to post. What the hell is wrong with me? I don't want to hide behind the decades-long stance of not offending people and/or possibly bringing their criticism down on me.

We appear to allow ourselves a sick, voluntary coercion, a self-limiting critic that does not allow us to go out of bounds and possibly get something wrong. We hunker down in our pathetic facades of safety by not rocking the boat or questioning everything from our religion to our own personal drive to succeed in life and be happy.

Many of us remain miserable our whole lives and die pathetic deaths, all in the name of anonymity or at best, someone who toed the line. That is screwed up folks. I question everything this day, and in many eyes, this makes my public enemy number one.

I believe I will trek back more and more to this blog and blow off steam. I did just post the 'fear-filled' piece I just wrote. We'll see how it comes out. I may even post back here to let you know...

Depression

Did you ever have a day where nothing looks like it will work out well? I don't simply mean walking to the store and rain soaking your brand new $400 suit. I don't mean a traffic accident that totals your only means of transportation. I don't even mean a lengthy stay at the hospital looking at death.

What I'm talking about is complete collapse of everything you've worked for - everything you've dreamed of - and not having the will to start over. I look at my future and I feel like I'm lying to myself.

"Sure! You can do it! Who cares (other than you) that you're 51 and starting to feel it? You have a bright future and soon everyone will see that your masterplan was brilliant!"

What fucking masterplan would that be? Hell, I don't know. I just know life sucks sometimes.

Confusion Says:

Confusion commonly takes root out of a directionless venture. When I'm going somewhere (intangible) and I did not mark out the path I would attempt to take, I get confused. Could be a little Alzheimer's kicking in, but still I drown in a directionless spiral.

Confusion tells me to flee to stupidity. It's amazing how many times I've been there. The path to stupidity is so well-worn, I could find it with my eyes closed (which is precisely how I often get there).

I don't open my eyes to warning signs that I might be on the wrong path. In fact, the path itself feels comfortable, so I trudge it, eventually realizing my folly, and then I fall into despair.

There is hope though. Making a plan and going for it can divert confusion. Confusion may tell you not to do this, not to make plans and follow through, but you must refuse that siren call.

Confusion says: "Stay with me."

You must say: "No."

The Last Frontier

My thoughts are that the only true "last frontier" is the human mind. So much of our brain goes supposedly "unused". While this has been explored by many, and of course, many minds far more intelligent than I, my feeling is that we do not come anywhere near our ultimate potential.

The person who unlocks that secret, unlocks the gateway to eternity...

Keep the Passion Going

Writers hearts lend themselves to any emotion drifting in on drama winds. We allow our personal traumas, or perceived traumas, to control key aspects of our lives, like our fingers, for instance.

We should sit behind our glowing monitors, slapping out letters like Babe Ruth on steroids, creating base hits, doubles, triples and the occasional homeruns, but all too often we mope about, derelict wanderers sailing the white-screen waters of oblivion.

Have you ever slumped into your writing chair, fired up all the components of your craft and felt like drowning in electronic white-out? (Younger folks - never mind...).

The writer's freeze deserted me years ago when I learned the simple way out of that particular dilemma. Simple, but like anything else in life, not as easy as one would hope. How do you escape the 'white zone'?

Write through it. Are we writers or are we cowards? Often writers appear to fear the corrupt and otherwise disorderly sentence. We cringe at the thought that crap emerges from our fingertips, yet emerge it does.

Writer's block exists as an excuse for writers to flee their craft. Why would a writer do that? Fear. Laziness. Low self-esteem. Anxiety. Sex. (Ok, I'll buy into that last one...)

'Writing the muse' tosses a writer's heart off a high mountain ledge with our keystrokes wings keeping us aloft. We soar and dip and thermal and flip and joyfully glee in all we write.

Somehow eventually we lose control, the muse flits to some other bird and we flounder about more like a fish on concrete than that eagle so majestic. Writer's block rears its foolish head playing tricks on our minds, convincing us we own no talent nor do we command any brilliance.

And we listen. We should stuff our ears with cotton prose and blather like a child ignoring a sibling. We should run as far as our nimble fingers can key us, to a land we create in the very face of such an enemy. We should spite the block AND the muse.

Amazing as this may sound, the block and the muse occupy the offices of both ally and foe. The block as a foe stands apparent, but as an ally, the block can inspire. When writers become blocked, they can use the situation as a call to free-write - to step away from tedium and simply write their mind as it flies hither and yon. The block can whisk you away to exotic places, dark intimacies or violent passions.

The muse as foe? I hear you saying I'm nuts. Writers rely on this Tinkerbell too much. The muse wows us with her divine presence, then leaves our sails flat and windless at her whim. We then either sulk through our white writing ocean going nowhere, or we begin blowing on our own sails. We rig an oar out of discarded pens and pencils and flee yet again to the free-write where anything goes.

The muse will not keep our passions flowing. The block cannot stop them. Once a writer understands he or she has complete control, both the muse and the block become allies we can rely upon. Our passions then rely on the one person they should - us.

Writing is Life

Writing is life. Writing extracts that which darkens our souls and lends light to those blackened remnants of our passions. Without writing we go postal. Without writing we go psychotic. Without writing we visit counsellors, psychiatrists, priests and confidantes.

Life should be experienced from the inside. We should learn to describe our world and emotions from an internal perspective - not the external emotional bloodbath of movies, television, books and the like. We desperately search out kindred feelings but we're unable to express that which lies deep within us.

Writing teaches us to reach down, to grab a handful of the hodge-podge trapped within and release it to the wind. Who cares if anyone reads? Who cares if only the electrons check out your sad state of affairs. Once these vile gases leak out, the pressure within diminishes. Freedom then springs upon us like a flower in May. Beautiful change and silken laughter become available to us once again.

All because we care enough for ourselves to write. Write it down people. Get it out. Save yourself.