Today, this moment, this second, this place in time. Whatever. I feel a disconnect in my soul, and separation from the force that creates within me. It’s not a block it seems, it is more like when two of north poles of a magnet are led toward each other. They are led, they may even connect, but the natural course of things forces them apart. It is not either magnet’s fault. There is no wrong here, the connection simply is not natural and, therefore, cannot last very long. At least that is how it feels right now. It’s like I reach out to my creative force and as I get close some force directs me in an opposite direction.
So that’s it is within me right now. I settled down at the appointed hour to practice the craft I love so much. I want to write, to share the art within me and to make something out of this passion. I closed my eyes as is customary, seeking a connection with the inner force that creates within me. I am not an artist, I channel the Artist within me. What you see is not my work, it is My work. What you interpret and define my creation as is your work.
Today, I can’t seem to find my Artist. Perhaps it is the stress of preparing for another move. Perhaps it is financial stress. Perhaps it is the uncertainty of where I am. Maybe it simply is that I am failing to recognize something far greater than what I think. Maybe I’ve found the diamond but only see it as a lump of coal? Maybe I have found what I have always been looking for and I simply need to open my damned eyes and see it.
So, I open my eyes. Same old, same old. The laptop glares at me. The mess and chaos around me stir up the pot and I feel like I should be packing and not working or writing. I look at the clock, only about 20 minutes left in my lunch before I get back to selling something for someone else. I’ve spent 10 minutes complaining about how little creativity I have today and zero time actually creating. What the fuck is up with me? I laugh at the question.
My phone rings in a text from a rather awesome friend. “What to you like to cook?” I take time to answer. I like simple stuff because that’s what I’m good at when cooking. Make it science and my experiment will explode. Make it simple and you’ll like what you are eating. I smile, knowing that this friend is an artist and most likely will understand this post. I know she will put my craziness in its place and explain to me what the fuck is up with me. She’s undoubtedly been there, and at the end of that conversation we’ll both find something to laugh at in the mix of our humanity.
Again I stare at the chaos around me. The silence smacks me in the face as if to remind me that the chaos stems from it. Ok, fine Universe, I remember the lesson. There is order in this mess, silence in the noise, light in the darkness. Somewhere…find it, search for it, and it will come. Or not. Whatever you decide it will be the experience you are after. You want stress, you got it. You want peace, you got that too. You want war, you will find it. You want to be tested by trust and faith well guess what, you’ll find a test coming in short order.
I sigh. I have to find something to create. This lack of creativity is killing me. I mean it is rare that I just can’t sit down and create something “magical” that brings bumps to my skin. My erotic Self is left basting in a cauldron of apathy and disappointment. My romantic self seems to have been packed in a box somewhere. Jesus, I hope I find it when I unpack. I can’t see a box labeled “romance” or “erotica” anywhere. Damn it, I mislabeled it or, worse, misplaced it! I laugh at the idea as I wonder if I will ever be able to get back in my swing of things.
Well duh, of course I will. Too much travel for work, too many nights in hotel rooms and too little time with those I adore spending time with. I’m not just talking about the kids, I need them around and they just left me. I’m talking about adult friends who understand what it is to be an Artist with a blank canvas staring them in the face. Friends who know what it is like to have to deal with the issues of stress. Those who understand the fickleness of other adults who lose their way from time to time. Ah yes, a warm embrace, a handshake, and pat on the ass and then…
My head shakes me back to real time. I feel my insides being tickled and I laugh uncontrollably. “You moron,” shouts my Artist within, “look at what you’ve created in your non-creative state. Keep being this blocked and you must may win the Nobel Prize one day.”
Hardee har hardy har har. The Nobel Prize? Nice carrot but you forgot the stick Mr. Artist.
“No I haven’t. I’m about to hit you in the ass with it.”
Ouch. I get it. Stop looking at the chaos that only exists in my mind and start enjoying it. Stop worrying about if people are happy around you and just start being who you are. That will make those who matter in the Universal concept very happy and like butterflies they will fill your world with color.. Those who aren’t, well they will fly away like the mosquito you swatted away earlier this morning. The butterflies light up the landscape and fill you with life. The mosquitoes only bite and make you itch for some time after they leave. The mosquito bites remind you of a time when your skin wasn’t itchy, red and swollen. Your bliss. Your butterfly tree.
Now the Artist is laughing hysterically, clearly mocking me in my time of trial. Honestly, I start to laugh too. If anyone saw me they would think I am crazy but that’s only because they can’t hear the joke and I’m not sure many would get it if they could. Still, it is funny to me.
“Who built these walls?” asks the Artist in a manner one could find from the old, blind master in the Show Kung Fu I loved as a kid.
“I did” came my feeble reply. I know what is coming, so I grab my hammer in anticipation. No answer. Nothing. Only silence, not even a laugh.
“Come on, what the fuck,” I shout internally as to not alarm the neighbors to my conversation. I can hear the paddy wagon pulling up shortly thereafter and the rubber room door closing behind me.
“Just playing with you. Seriously, I thought you were going to hit me with the hammer young grasshopper.”
“The thought had crossed my mind, but that wasn’t my objective honestly.”
“Then what was?” asked my supposed tormentor and current Master.
I thought for a minute. I could have either chosen to build more walls or…
“I wanted to tear down the walls keeping me from you.”
More silence. I look at the clock and realize I have to get back to work. More walls. Same walls, whatever. I look at the stuff I need to do around me. Yep, walls galore. There’s nothing like looking at a beautiful rose and realizing that it is what you see that keeps you from it. It is also what you fail to see which, for most of us, is that we have already created a wall from the beauty without even realizing it.
Ok, fine. I get it. What you are reading people is my hammer, and it will tear down the walls. Actually, it already is.