Even the poorly maintained art exhibits are an insult, unnecessary against Her backdrop. Man's brutish insistence on making his omnipotence known. Bored, as usual, as if nature's mingling was not interesting enough. A time ago, it was She who was ever present...
If your vision is too vast, your mind can eclipse your sight.
It will never be what it was
And what it is remains a mystery
But the prospect of what it will be, is infinite.
But what is writing if not for evidence of thoughts, thoughts that can't be trusted spewing with emotion waiting to betray me. The strength in my writing has always been the raw emotion, the nonlinear irrational thought pattern that has carved me up more times than allow myself to acknowledge. How can I learn to write as a conscious observer? Please let these new lessons allow me to harvest the creativity inside me while at the same time, allow me to harness the ego that destroys. The artist and I cannot coexist. I need to be free.
I believe I understand why I stopped writing for so long. It has been in an effort to keep myself sane, balanced. When I write, I engage all of the thought processes I have been attempting to train myself to keep at bay. I engage the ego, that spiritual parasite that does not care whether I am put away in an institution to "heal." It does not care if I am medicated beyond self-recognition, so long as it has a body and a mind to abuse. I do not know how to welcome my creativity without the savage ness of the ego in tow. Perhaps in this continued pursuit of emotional self discipline, I will find a way.