Finally back from a rib injury, I keep moving forward in healing, overdoing it, moving forward again.
It must be the lifetime of contemplative practice that I see metaphor in everything.
Something I’ve realized is that things rarely move in a straight line. In spiritual practice, we move forward, then feel ourselves lost again as if we’ve lost the trajectory, until we realize that what seemed like backwards movement was bringing us down the path all along. Seems the same here.
I played the conga one day, and that night felt that I might have set myself back a week. A few days later I felt well enough to do a light weight workout, and then again felt I had made a mistake. My wonderful trainer Wendy said, maybe you’re supposed to stay in one place for a while when you feel good, rather than pushing it. Maybe.
I’m in a similar place with creative output. I am in the fallow period when what seems necessary is to stay still, to draw in, to be quiet. It occurs to me to revisit some basics: basics in practice, taking various beginner lessons on instruments I aspire to, reading more, listening to the roots of the music I play. I have a sense of watering seeds hidden in the soil, sitting quietly until a sprout emerges.
The fear here is always that the ground is untenable, and that nothing can grow there anymore. I watch the fear rise and let it pass by. I can smell the loaminess of my enthusiasm working its dark inspiration there below. I don’t let worry burrow too deep.
I do wrestle with the other energies around me, the atmosphere of hopelessness that catches me like a cold wind here. With this carries the idea that what I do is inconsequential and unhelpful, trivial in the face of suffering being inflicted in the world.
It’s important to sit with these feelings, and to care for my interior world and recognize that these energies are fear, collective fear that ties into my internal creative insecurities.
I have a wonderful teacher who says that the only purpose of fear is to create more fear. When I look at these internal voices through this lens, their impact lessens. Who is telling me that art and self-expression are not important enough to be in the world? Who is afraid of the judgment that comes when expressing thought and emotion and opinion in the world? Whose voices are they anyway, and why are these the ones that should take precedent?
I think of Viktor Frankl, the author who survived the concentration camps in World War II.
“In his creative work the artist is dependent on sources and resources deriving from the spiritual unconscious”.
I believe the spiritual unconscious is based in love. If the opposite of love is fear, not hate, then to succumb to fear is to deny the divine in ourselves and in life.
I look into the world and its heartbreak and at times spend some time considering changing my path, giving up music and writing and looking for jobs to actively devote my life to social justice movements. Then I wonder, why have I, at every turn of the path, chosen this one of artistic pursuit? Was it random and fruitless and misguided, or can there be some other reason?
That same teacher of mine, when people ask him what their purpose is, says, what do you do that makes you lose track of time, that you wanted to do when you were a small child, that you have a hard time not doing? Do that.
If the collective is looking to change the energies of cruelty and greed and callous, unchecked power, then to lose our belief in the spirit of art and beauty just perpetuates those energies. We let fear take over. So I’ll sit here quietly, watching the fear rise and fall and allow that which is needing to be expressed be expressed. I guess this is where faith comes in.
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The Ascension of Christ (1513) by Hans Süss von Kulmbach
One of the books I’ve just finished is John Fugelsang’s Separation of Church and Hate, and as I was reading I had a big memory of being in Catholic CCD class, and first learning of Jesus. It’s smart to start there with little kids when teaching the bible. A child knows the importance of taking care of the weakest among us, taking care of the stranger, forgiving the errors of others, since at any given time they are them. This came back to me, and as I read I realized how my whole fundamental ethical base was created in that little room. I remember hounding the teacher, “you mean God is everything? Is God this table? Is it this pencil? Is it me?” and sitting in wonder at that idea. Treat others as I would like to be treated? Treat others as if they are God? So simple, so perfect, so understandable to an 8-year old.
I also remembered when some of the other rules started coming in as we went deeper into study, and again calling the teacher out: but that’s not what Jesus said. That’s not treating the other as you would want to be treated. That’s not forgiving trespasses. That’s not seeing the other as one’s sister or brother.
I realize what a profound effect this all had on me. I always sort of ignored that early education because I moved so far away from believing in religious structures. But here is my foundational ethical, spiritual, political beliefs.
Another moment came to me. I think this was earlier, maybe four years old or so. The people around me, probably my parents, became unhappy in the midst of really lovely day or moment. The specifics are unclear, but I remember thinking for the first time how difficult they were making things when everything could be so easy and lovely. I felt a sense of realization: I guess this is the game we’re going to play here, and getting profoundly sad.
People will choose difficulty instead of recognizing how easy and wonderful life can be. People will choose disagreement over understanding, because that is the game. I remember feeling resignation and acceptance. I wish acceptance hadn’t come so easily.
Our problems seem so simple to me and I get hopeless when I feel like I must be crazy for seeing things this way when no one else seems to. We can care for others as we would ourselves. We can agree that everyone is worthy of love, care, forgiveness. We can recognize we have everything we need already. The sadness is still here. Resolution and hope are reflected in those I see around me who refuse to stop believing in peace and beauty.
