The purpose of this blog is as a venue for me to dig down deep inside of myself to find connection to my greater environment. I feel that I’ve been extremely lax of late, for various reasons that are not all my fault, but still, I feel the days slip by without a cathartic post like a weight over my shoulders. I feel like I’m letting not so much my readers down but the very blog itself. It deserves better. It deserves my best, my most attentive and heartfelt soul searching, my most creative and risk-taking aplomb.
I believe that the act of creative writing is of the utmost importance to everyone who searches, not simply to “writers.” The act of writing creatively is to reach down inside of yourself to discover meaning and purpose from places that you may not have known even existed. It is something much deeper than journaling—though journaling is a step in the right direction. It is an attempt to move beyond surfaces, plunge straight through into the threshold between sub and super-conscience, to delve beyond action and narrative and directly into feeling, and to bring these inarticulate ranges into sound, into sight, into the world where they can be related, communicated, and transformed. To write, then, is in a sense to shed, to seek, to grow.
It is also a stepping outside of time, outside of the everyday world, to take stock of what is within. It is an alternate world momentarily created in the space between my fingertips that rove over the keyboard, and thence between your eyes that draft over the word bits on the screen. It is movement into the void, into the darkness within yourself that folds over you in times of stillness, despair, and loneliness.
It doesn’t have to be pretty. In fact, it shouldn’t be pretty at all. It should be challenging, breath taking, anguished, perplexing, staring you down across the subway tracks. It should call out to you like a baby in a vacuum, words mouthed through a telephonic lens, fire capsuled in a flow that can’t be confined simply to this subject, this person, this place. It should reach through, eventually, somewhere, at some level, to everything.
Tracing the path of the roots to the sky is the reason why I bother to focus on this, at the behest and detriment of my everyday self. Here, I can find something better, yearning, unashamedly ambitious and desirous of beauty, yet still backed by my own breath. Here, I can try to be what I can’t be in the busy ebb and flow of surface life, the self that sits, the self that waits patiently to speak when the passionate pulse of life is through. Here, I search and I seek the soul that meets me halfway in the night to you.