Monday, June 30, 2014
Borrowed Thought Art
"....you go down, you descend, and you disintegrate and you do it willfully...you get the core of the self, or the stone. And you do it awake and then, you come back out again…"
Last night, a new experience. I dive into a chapter, 34 pages long, about my life.
34 pages, that's a lot
Somehow she did it. Not just with me, she collected a whole handful of us: self-identified..."seekers, spiritual practitioners, self-discoverers," and completed her dissertation. I'd been curious to find out what I said, what other's said, what the center of her thesis was.
Our group has been meeting on and off in different forms over a couple of years. During that time each of us sat down with her for four or five two-hour interviews. I remember meeting her for our first discussion, as she does as well (I know because I read it in the chapter: the location I chose, the chair I sat in, and what I said, and how I said it).
Fascinating-am I entranced my by own self...is that me?
I wasn't prepared for the intial shock of digesting my own quotes,
Do I sound like this?
"It’s like being at rhythm with the pose of vitality that is true to everything. And being as close to that as possible without any jump on top of it. I am this rising up very momentary, small beautiful thing that comes in cycle and crashes back down."
Damn that feels potent.
Besides the work of digesting my own quotes, something else emerged. My writer voice and my speaking voice have personalities of their own. I noticed when my writer voice stood up and witnessed my speaking voice being written down, she ruffled her back. My speaking voice stood there and shrugged, smiling. Even now I can feel the dialogue between the two. My writer voice loves to make order of chaos, my speaking voice loves to cycle and free flow. Now, here I am somewhere in the middle of both of these, I'm holding the opposites. Making sense of desire to build, and the desire to cycle and dissolve.
I also noticed that I am much less of a solitary "I" than I thought I was. Suprising. And wonder if anyone else will recognize in the writing, or knows that at least 80% of what I say and think do not belong to me. I guess the Buddhists are right about emptiness - wind through bamboo. Reading the raw artform of my thought, unrefined by the process of writing I recognize clearly when I 'm a channel of someone else's thought art, or when I am generating my own. I've come to a 'borrowing shamelessly' period in my life. But I trust the process.
Perhaps borrowing thought art at first is what makes all genius possible later. If you mix in good seeds, right condition, hearty influence, and a spark of something unamed, eventually the 'borrowed' bits begin to bloom fruits of their own....genius. Genuine. I have a sense that genius goes beyond the typical scientific, intellectual archetype. I have a sense that we all have the little seeds rooted, waiting to sprout in the right conditions.
I give thanks to this unique opportuntiy to see the little bits of genius running through my mouth. My own and those borrowed thought artforms from many greats before. And I deeply know that this movement is made possible by being 'held with kindness and compassion' - I thank the being who made such a sturdy, thought art container for her continuing project of enlightenment.