very interesting are my revelations this morning. Not necessarily on depression, I don’t know where they belong, in what category I can file them. but interesting and well, substantially paramount. the thoughts elude me, specially in finding form into word, but they are here.
to describe it, i feel (not think) in clarity. like the voices have taken a step aside, and the space from the left to the right of my brain has been washed white. there is only one idea, one emotion, one settled-in existence formulating itself in a process non-mathematical nor scientific, rather in metaphor, in the non-sensical, in the imaginative way.
you will not know truly liberty, until you have allowed your ego to melt. (not break, rather melt) and this thought continues as ideas ought do. it says ‘Fati the world within in is endless, and your journey is long, both inward and outward’. Doubt only everything you learn, believe only everything you have not come to know yet- that is what it means to let your ego melt away.
confidence is also some kind of blindness, ego is exactly half ignorance. and may we live day in and day out, defeated, only so that we continue fighting for better truths, knowing that by definition an entry has an exit on its flip side- while the only thing permanent is that every mode of existence is temporary. if you believe this, own it like it is your name, you can then remove the mask holding you back, and replace it with the liberty and beauty of owning nothing-
This is hardly new wisdom, i know. isn’t that on its own, just so beautiful.
the definition of an artist is purely a someone who finds modes of expression, to bring whatever is within them into a form outside them, and then the opposite is true- for those who take whatever is surrounding them, and find a way to take it inward to become a part of themselves. it has nothing to do with skill, popularity, fame, technique, intelligence. oxford or even wikipedia may disagree with me (actually i’m pretty sure they do) but who died and made them owners of words and definitions right? lol. the definition of an artist is who dares to take on a pure, honest, unguarded and unfiltered exchange between themselves, and any other (be it another human, nature, an object, an idea, even the other voices in their head…)
the artist is the person willing to feel, the person connected to a world with-in and with-out, whose umbilical cord to mother nature and father universe has not been severed. the artist is the defeated, and in this defeat they forgo the want to conquer.
I assume i shall never move the masses, probably i will not save the world, and never perhaps even make a difference to a single inhale of a passing soul; but by God i will still let myself be moved, to be shook, grasped from the core of my being, squeezed shivering with-in and with-out, defeated daily.
I feel my journey underground is almost complete… only almost. and i won’t rush it.
no poetry or writing to share today.