So I was reading this article and I’m going to quote a few words from there. It goes something like this:
“The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally inhumanely sensitive. To them… a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create – so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or building or something of meaning, their very breath is cut off… They must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency they are not really alive unless they are creating.”
Now I don’t claim myself to be a creative person. Well I try to create this and that here and there, spending a good amount of hours at it, with a huge amount of joy doing it. But still, me considering myself as someone creative just doesn’t feel right. I get paid taking photographs, but me calling myself a photographer is like giving myself a title good for nothing but burden. I let others do that if they feel I deserve it. If they don’t think I deserve it, I’m just a guy with a camera. But, I LOVE creating pictures.
I could hear a whisper in my ears saying,
“psst, dude, I think this is a great space to post one of your photographs.
You know, so that they know you really love taking pictures.”
Anyways, what mostly caught my interest in those words I quoted from Pearl Buck up there was the first notion. The “a human creature born abnormally inhumanely sensitive” part. I don’t know if it’s even close to pathetic, but I have this tendency: If I fly, I fly high. And if I fall, I fall face first. And that happens a lot! You read Pearl Buck wrote “and failure is death” up there? Friends, I died so many times! To me everything just go way way way waaay farther then they probably should have.
Alright, that’s the inciting incident right there. The moment I read the article was when I go, “Horseshit! Someone understands!!” Geez, Dhika. It’s Pearl S. Buck. Of course she understands! But really, it’s when I feel like there’s somewhat a justification for my condition. Being an overly abnormally sensitive human being. Problem is, I have to CREATE to be able to fall into that category which deserves the condition. Other words, if I keep on being inhumanely sensitive like this and can’t in any way, shape, or form change it, then for Pete’s sake, CREATE! Otherwise I’m just a wimp. Hey, I’m good at this. Making a total ass out of myself. -note to self: create.
I should probably post a photo of me while taking pictures here to emphasize the point.
Moving on. For at least a year now I’ve been engaging myself with something so amazingly interesting. It started when I feel as if there’s a strong loud noise pounding from within me banging my head in every direction. As if myself or my body or my mind is screaming so loudly but I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT IT’S SAYING TO ME! Without exaggeration, it could be so depressing at times. Perhaps the overly sensitive condition mentioned above played a good role here. Being depressed is worse than paid sex, trust me. Although I’ve never paid. The sex, not the depressed part. And it’s not because I ran away that I managed to not having to pay for the sex. It’s just. Alright, you got the point. I can’t really figure that out. The depression, not the sex. As we all know, right, shit has a way of happening. So, as a privileged-by-the-overwhelming-access-of-information-living-in-the-21st-century human being, I did my research. I searched for the cure. Of course I found “Pictures Of You” and was jumping up and down for a short while, but then I looked for the real cure.
I scavenged around for anything, anything at all that could help me out. I feel like I need to mention this; at that moment of my life, I was against religion. I decided long ago to get out of Law school because I found out it was a lot easier to become a judge by joining a religion. And then things got ugly. So that’s one place I didn’t go to to find help. But the pounding keeps getting harder and harder! You know what scientists say? In our brains, there’s something that they call the God Spot. You just can’t let that part inside you ignored for too long, friends. At least I couldn’t. Yes there’s new arguments that say there’s no such thing as God Spot, but let me just, if I may, quote Brick Johnstone, a professor who contests this idea of God Spot. He said after his research, “this suggests spiritual experiences are associated with a decreased focus on the self. This is consistent with many religious texts that suggest people should concentrate on the well-being of others rather than on themselves.”
Turns out I was doing something not correctly. I shouldn’t equalize God with religion! And furthermore, I shouldn’t look at just one religion! Why don’t I just study them and let them help me find my peace. So I pulled myself out of the chaos, took my moments of silence, you know that breath-in-breath-out-focus-on-the-exhale-and-let-go sort of thing. And I found peace. Remember I was looking for the cure? Well I found peace. So soothing. A vision! Or more like a mission! I felt the urge to get this spiritual hole in me filled!
So what in the hell am I trying to say here? First talking about creativity and its melancholy soul who pursues it, anti-religion, God Spot, etc, etc. Here’s this. I find it really calming my mind WHEN I CAN decrease my focus on the self. It’s not as easy as I thought it would be though, hence the capitalized and underlined “when I can” there. *It seems like a waste capitalizing and underlining those words and then explaining it with a complete long sentence. To be able to do this “decreasing my focus on the self” at will really takes a lot of practice. And I am merely a beginner struggling my way there. To receive with simplicity whatever it is that happens to me. No over excitement, no over sadness. To think that whatever it is, good or bad, the universe is always conspiring for my benefit.
Now having that said, does that mean I kill this creative nature within me (if I could just once, for the sake of the premise, consider myself a creative person)? Because basically being inhumanely sensitive like how Pearl Buck mentioned above is somewhat inhumanely selfish, isn’t it? Being so self focused? Or should we just go on and say, hey, even one of them, one of the great ones, let alone the wannabes, admitted it herself, that they’re born abnormal anyways? Who cares about them? Horseshit!
Can a zen master become a great painter?
~ dk
Expressive Introvert 