Writers more than any others know by necessity both of the above. It is from where true creativity arises. When the words that are written come from a source beyond one, one finds it impossible to write simply for something to do.
For me and for many writers reading this, a piece of writing, article, letter or essay arises following considerable time spent in gestation. This can sometimes be likened to a descent into the abyss. It’s a two way process as I dive through some painful human experiences into the depth of my soul to discover the truth of a situation, then so my soul source will arise up to meet me. It’s like the meeting of old friends who have been separated for aeons. “Oh yes, I remember this feeling of “home”………….. wherein lays my heart.”
In a world where words issue forth in an endless and often mindless stream of trivial and banal comments, soundbites and attempts at communication, it is the true creator’s lot to remain silent and carry the stigma and shame of that isolating silence. To an outsider who is not privy to this process it can appear a lonely despairing role. But the process is a necessary despair; only by plunging into the mud and silt of the dense earth can we discover nuggets of pure gold.
When all outer sources fail one, when one appears to go beyond the pale, and friends and enemies alike step worlds away from one it is then that we are forced into this subterranean darkness.
This is one aspect of the multidimensional process. We are here walking upon this Earth but we know we are not of this planet except as a tiny seed of consciousness. And so we can somehow find peace and comfort whether suffering from the stigma of shame or the grace of solitude, it depends which perspective is dominant at the time.
This process is the natural pre-birth phenomena, before we are plunged into the reality of Earth for our lessons on life, where we may if we are so graced; experience the blissful rapture of human embodiment.
The mirror is a useless invention. The only way to truly see yourself is in someones else’s eyes. Voltaire.