It’s really hard to start to write. Even harder to decide on what to write. Hardest when you lack words to write. Don’t forget procrastination. It is easy to improvise on someone else’s words: ‘This cognitive extension, a tool which let us transcend our skulls and trip into someone else’s head.’ It’s worth trying to tap into that flow state like a jazz musician or a freestyle rapper. Anything to start with. But why this all? For the joy of writing? improving writing? No, I want to trip in my dream space of creativity, look for boundaries and destroy them. After all, creativity is the thing I’m most concerned with cause art exists. Well philosophers tell us things: Ever since humans designed symbols, specified as letters and language, we made a feedback mechanism to evolve, to be better at ourselves, to be super humans. Does art came before science, then? Yes. Art has been and will always be a way of immortalizing experiences and moments. The existential bummer of impermanence has pushed humans create a diversity of arts or create religion and beliefs to sync with death or fear. Like the Hindu belief of birth-death-rebirth. Death doesn’t fits on us. Isn’t? Yet we haven’t discovered any permanent ways to defy impermanence and second law of thermodynamics. Even if you’re not much of a thinker and don’t care about the truth. You must have felt at least once: oblivion. Because everything is transient. Well, it is one of the unlikely fears which has became a constraint on my mind. I try to demolish this wall, at times, by the creative-ecstasy-wrecking-ball: Immortalizing moments in words, music or drawing. DIY is the biggest boon for this internet generation. And I’m exploring, understanding and creating arts (once in a while), especially music. “Understanding is a kind of Ecstasy.” Carl Sagan
Every time we understand new things about ourselves or our interests, It fills us with awe. Those moments of inspiration, those moments of joining the dots. Mindgasm. That feeling is directly proportional to the level of hardness for understanding what we crave. Even when it is romance. Sometimes, I want to write for the masses but I find it hard in today’s widespread capitalist subjectivity and pop culture(yes, that too). Thus it is with some trepidation I tell about my emotionless mindset [pop is all about catchy emotions], subject yourself with the truth first: Reading about someone’s pain doesn’t makes you feel their pain. Does it? At most you can only relate up to imagined heights of your past occurrences of similar pain. For feelings between humans, accepting this information had rendered my subjectivity even more emotionless and hence I had a hard time time to go with the emotion of something written for another human (for instance romance). But with time our brains teach ourselves and hence lessened my lack of emotional mindset for intra-human feelings. Especially after I decided to interact more with humans directly instead of a screen in between. Well, at least now I can read about and understand human emotions with more emotion (as a consequence of self-experiencing and of course more reading). Empathy and Compassion grow like a plant [within me], inbound to discover even more as I live my life to travel, to read, to do, to find love or die trying. Ontological engineers. Interesting people talking. Wannabe explorers. Seekers. Express yourself. Read someone’s pain. Feel someone’s Love. Be kind.
With every moment of ecstasy, I believe, we understand ourselves. Such are my cravings associated with writing too. These symbolic manifestations of firing and mis-firing neurons in our brains. Literally, metaphorically and, symbolically giving others a trip into our mind and later taping back on the doors we build into this structure. Subjective reality for readers but a window to past for us. Introspective contemplation. Not just when we are writing but every time we shift our perspective to accommodate the universe and feel its vastness. Every time we travel with an awe mindset to a new place. Every time we look into our lover’s eyes. Every time we see joy in beauty. Truth. Beauty. Every time when extremes of happiness spark a melancholy. I think we just lack the words.
“Life should be lived to the point of tears.” Albert Camus