16 06 2011

Purpose is the only thing there is.

Sometimes I think that creativity exists in people as their only tool to uncover the secrets to their lives.  That is, whatever you’re driven to do is the correct path for you to take because the unknowable force that binds it all together is the source of creativity, and it reveals itself to you in tiny increments that you can take up only as quickly as you can create at a wholly intuitive level.  So when something resonates for you, let loose and give yourself to it as best you can.  Conversely, I suppose, if something isn’t your cup of tea, it’s just as well that you avoid it, because it’s nothing you need to propel yourself forward at this moment.

Other times, I take stock of what this philosophy has gotten me and I become a little disheartened.  It’s not that I don’t appreciate the exploration or think that my life should be better (or worse).  It’s that it still seems to fill my life up with stuff and one thing I am not so great at is organization—so I’m left with all kinds of attempts strewn at my feet and I can hardly imagine what must be in there.  I’ve got a lot of musical instruments, all of which I know how to play a little.  I’ve always been very drawn to music, but there’s always a point where I am flustered by it and put it all away for months at a time.  And I’ve got loads of photographs now, and I still can’t really think of a reasonable filing system by which I can keep track of what I’m trying to do.  Of course, the fact that I don’t know what I’m trying to do probably makes it difficult to devise a reasonable filing system.

And there’s the writing.  I’ve been awful at writing lately—both prolifically and qualitatively—but when I write, I want to keep the things in some kind of order so I can revisit and rehash as is appropriate.  But I have so many categories, and so many folders now.  This is partially why I started this blog.  I wanted a place where tags and categories would help me keep track of my mind as well as give me a platform to improve as a writer.  But I stopped tagging or categorizing long ago, and I’ve been fearful more than once that I’m writing on a topic I’ve visited before and just don’t remember.  So I’m probably annoying any readers this blog may have, but that’s neither here nor there.  It’s the nature of the mind, to visit and revisit topics of interest to it, changing its ideas about them slowly over time.

So I’m just trying to do what I should be doing, but it’s not doing anything too constructive, I don’t think.  I don’t see it becoming constructive, either—it’s all just stuff lying around me, being there, no monuments, no signposts, just a mess.  And it makes me think about purpose.

Because in the end, you aren’t really anything but your function.  What you do is all that you are.  Even though you’re an absolutely unbelievable organization of atoms working together to give you an opportunity to be alive, you’re actually nothing but what you make this organization do.  These atoms will disorganize, and they’ll go on to be other things, and they’ll change their own natures along the way, and the control that you once thought you had will disintegrate along with them.  And that’s fine.  But what did you accomplish while you still had them working with you?

What’s a broom for?  If you think it’s for sweeping, then what if you are trapped in a room with a broom and you use the handle to break the window, to give you freedom?  Function shifts, and you can change your function.  You just have to use your will and your creativity.

I don’t know what I am, and I don’t know what you are.

I don’t feel right when I’m making money and I don’t feel right when I’m not.  I don’t feel right when I’m avoiding being sociable and I don’t feel right trying to have fun.  I like talking to people about their fears or their thoughts about life.  I like doing little things that people appreciate.  Otherwise, I feel useless.  It’s strange to know that you only feel good when you’re choosing to be a tool.  That you feel best when you accept that you don’t have a real drive in life and that you don’t really function unless you’re making it a little better or easier for someone else.  I have to admit that I still really wish I envisioned a function I really desired to become.

That last paragraph was for me, obviously.  I’m leaving it in there.  Just because I hope to come back across it one day, lack of organization be damned, and realize that things have changed for the better.




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