The Feeling Begins
Parched Earth. Barren, bleak, formidable. Yet, from
underneath the scorched, sandy, terrain materializes a hope. A signal of
unstitching. A state of Ikigai- a reason for living, ingrained in the Japanese
culture. A purposeful exchange. A subtleness that would be missed by most, if
they weren’t looking for it. It speaks in your mother tongue. Something from
nothing. Everything from this isolation, this landscape is ultimately an idea.
Swirling around you like sand, kicked up, from your tread. The sand stings, as the
silicon and calcium, files down the rough edges, smoothing the thought,
cohesive. The vista, the machinery our brain uses to sense our experiences. It
is more than that though, it is not just a figurative place, it is not merely a
spiritual journey, it is an encapsulation of our natural inheritance. Our birth
right. The place where our curiosity sparks to life.
This place is toxicity free, yet there is a burden we feel
of being happy. We let our agency of joy, slip at times. The guilt is visceral.
It taps us on the shoulder, forcing us to see the utter mayhem, horrendous
happenings and sheer devastation that occurs on Earth. We must see this
devastation, internalize it, own it. For human nature is universal. It is
simply the fact that most of us, at the intersection of immorality and
civility, steer the course of decency, integrity and justice. Our sense of
morality stays intact. This principle, this righteousness, is not a uniform we
proudly wear, but a skin, both thick and impenetrable, protecting us from any
oncoming sandstorm.
The Journey Begins
Shame has many costumes. Depression, stigma, remorse,
liability, condemnation, to just name a few. It has mirrors in which it forces
our gaze. Reinforcing our culpability. This hardened stance is difficult to
maneuver away from. Its grasp is tight. For some it is a comfortable place, a
cozy contrition. For others, it is mere scenery, they must traverse, to realize
their gravitas, their authenticity. How can we be creative, if we do not allow
ourselves to get lost every now and then in penitence? How can we be happy and
content in our neck of the woods, if we do not acknowledge the blaze upon the
hilltop? To, feel safe, we must admit, that we are not always protected.
Order and structure allows us to find continuity and
consistency in our lives. These are facets of life, both necessary and
welcomed. Miraculous moments happen every day. We awake with optimism, even if
it is fleeting. We rest with positivity, that we survived another day. That
hopefully our presence made a difference in some way. These revelations are
empowering, liberating- they lead to creativity and creativity is fluid, it is
mobile, it is transferrable. We can’t understand its motives or beckon it. We
can only open ourselves up to it and hope it finds its way to us. If we are
creative beings, if our imaginations are full and we are neglected by inspirations
charms for too long, we can feel slighted, feel disappointed which may lead to
unhappiness and strife.
And Here we Diverge
And here we diverge- unfettered joy goes one way and
expectations the other. We are caught at a crossroads. We must mature, yes. We
must age, this we have absolutely no choice in. But, must we surrender? The
bridge between creativity, inspiration and passion does not need to be mired
with self-doubt. But many times, it is.
I know while I am crossing it, each stone seems to grow
larger and more difficult to step over. The grout between oozes in and sticks
to my bare feet. Yes, I venture into the realm of creativity, comfortable and
free of encumbrances like shoes. But, with gear full of nourishment and
shelter. However, often while I am on this journey, I feel uneven, I do not
feel like a whole number, but a fraction of one. A granule, rather than
solidity. A speck, a grain, picked up with the breeze and redeposited somewhere
abandoned. Somewhere desolate. That parched Earth, where my feeling began.
From afar I may look like I belong, like I am comfortable in
my predicament. I might seem to fit on the pile of sand. The crevice where I
land, appears to be made just for me. But, then again it is a fissure not an
embankment. I am alone in consistency, alone in lack of vibrancy. I see the
shininess and beauty of the smooth, sedimentary promontories around me. Each
gathering layers as they gather acceptance, while I am getting thinner and more
fragile as I wedge tighter, in the crevasse. This is depression. Unannounced it
trickles in like a gentle rainfall, washing away my foundation, slipping me
farther into the gap.
And Here we Converge
This is the place where creativity, inspiration and
depression meet. We try to stay hopeful that a gust of wind will bring us
closer to our habitat. Back to where we belong. But we forget where home is.
The breeze ceases and we are left, a tiny insignificant molecule. A dot. That
feels so miniscule, we can’t see beyond our limitations. We will lie there
whittling away until we fade to nothing. This is depression. Only with the
warmth of words, patience and rebirth, can we see ourselves again, as both
sedimentary and igneous. Where our fragments become hardened with heat and
pressure. Where all the little pieces come together, forging a great landscape,
a scenery magnified.
That sound- thunder, it quiets us for an instance as we wait
for the flash. Fear, shame, creativity, inspiration- they are comrades in arms.
They know which buttons to push. They know where our arsenal is kept hidden.
Yet, when we are pinned under the heaviest of boulders, together they pry us
loose. When we choose not to be conventional, we struggle with this dynamic.
Conventional is the enemy of interesting. Our life blood comes from our shade
of unorthodoxies. Those traits of inheritance that are our birth right. We have
a right to be happy, angry, solemn or proud. We deserve to be joyful,
interesting and innovative. We hold the merit of self-preservation and
self-advocacy. We must be eager to do so. But with depression buffing our
protrusions down, our eagerness to advocate becomes a fretful action for
survival.
Reconstitution has Side Effects
Our creative mind needs to be set free. If it brings
apprehension and misgiving, we must accept that as part of the process. If
melancholy and malaise, find us upon our travel’s, we must seek their wisdom,
because they are apart of us as well. Each line of truth, a note, forming the
base, the treble, the percussion of our lives. We wake up to an upbeat jam,
setting us forth on an odyssey of discovery and exploration. We wake up to a
pensive instrumental and we venture on a quest of retrospection and
thoughtfulness. We have days dominated by joy and mindfulness and others made
jagged with uncertainty and poignancy. But, we can tell the difference. This is
what inspires us to seek the quiet moments of reflection, to listen for the
grains of sand, as they wisp into the air, seeking shelter.
Depression is not a single stroke of misfortune. Nor is it a
permanent structure, holding back the rivers of creativity and inspiration. It
is within each of us. For some it is a result of not feeling justified or
accepted. Others a consequence of fear. Ultimately though, it is not the same
for everyone. It can be bottled and corked by some, while it buries others
underneath that sand. Crushing their spirit, their outlook, their will-power.
This is the moment of despair you can never understand, unless you find
yourself under the weight of it. The only way to dig yourself out is, to reach
out from underneath it because, there will be many with outreached shovels. You
alone must dig yourself out, but without the tools to make it possible, you are
stuck in the quicksand, the quagmire. The inspiration of others gives us a
foothold- but our creative minds, openness to growth, this is what elevates us
above the cave in.
There are paths we choose, and quests thrust upon us. There
are times when being alone is needed. There are also times when connection and
being among friends and family, is what grounds us. I am lucky enough to have
strategies I use, because I am a victim of depression. My main weapon, I am a
fighter. I do not get buried for long. I keep shovels close and ropes to grasp,
at the ready, to keep me clear of the major pitfalls that plague my outlook.
Writing for me is an outlet for my bouts with depression. Painting, singing,
taking long walks, exercising, even just listening to awesome music, might be
yours.
Crystallization
Whatever warning signs you have in place, it is listening
for the sandstorm that is important. Following your creative heart, listening
to your inspiration guide. Your insight
will provide you the framework to take risks and try new things. To take the
leap. To find what makes you happy. Shame should never be allowed to stifle,
bury, burden or isolate you. We all deserve to have joy- it is our birth right.
We must never forget to help others, do what we can to try and guarantee that
unfettered smiles, that childish giggles, that meaningful exchanges of
mindfulness, that acceptance and encouragement spreads just as fast as the
sandstorms. Then both whirlwinds will have equal chance to be encountered.
We love and hate. We smile and frown. We seek enlightenment
yet get comfortable with stagnancy. There is no definitive answer to solve
depression. There are also no guarantees that inspiration and creativity will
find you. All you can do, is quiet your mind. Calm your spirit. Engage with the
rumble, the quivering that lies beneath. Recognize the mist, breathe in and
accept what is given to you. It may be an inspiration, it may be a creative
embrace, it might merely, be an idea. It is what you do with it, how you make
it something wonderful that will fulfil you and this contentedness might just
stave off your next moment of sand blindness.
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