So many advices on what should be done. So many good ideas arranged in perfectly connected sequences of letters, delivering thoughts that are grand, worthy and incomplete.
So many poets and writers who share noble ideas in beautiful form that plead to our souls and warm up the hidden and cold corners of the space we occupy, that fill long awaited comfort into our alienated shells.
So many seem to know what to do, what way to go, what to think, and readily not just willing, but also able to share and spread that knowledge in sparkling ways that draw the attention of the thirsty.
All you truly brilliant gems of our race, who possess that gift of light, are you aware of your immense responsibility? Are you aware of the vast difference between angels of literature and those of any other art form? Do you carry the awareness, Saint-Exupery’s Fox described to the Little Prince, all over your beautiful heart and your razor sharp mind?
“You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.”
Do you realize that once you say what you feel compelled to say you forfeit your right of abandonment?
Your words, if they are of worth, will raise more questions than they answer. Cut more wounds, deep to the bones, than they heal. That’s what they are supposed to do. If they don’t, they are unworthy of the ink and paper that was used to manifest them.
As we bathe in the euphoria of realization and creation, it is easy to lose sight of the ancient truth that if you, my dear friend, are brave enough to cut, you’d better have the courage to stay around and heal.
You are the assailant and the EMT personnel. You are the surgeon that doesn’t have the luxury to leave the sewing and follow up to his assistants when the cuts are done and the tumor is removed.
You do not even have the luxury of an actor who takes a bow once the performance is over and heads to his dressing room.
You are not eligible to the convenience of the legislator who casts his vote and has not to worry about the feasibility of the law made, just leaves it to the executive branch.
You can’t claim the position of an architect and say it is my job to dream and design, it’s the engineers who are supposed to build it.
You are in it neck deep, my dear creator, you are a teacher, and if you don’t have the determination to go all the way, gather up all the pens, pencils, paper, keyboards, everything that can materialize your thoughts regardless of how brilliant they are, and make sure they are in the garbage bin on collection day.
Because, when your reader awakens from the blow you delivered and looks you in the eye with the desperation of a child beaten by the very person (s)he adores, and asks “HOW?”, you’d better have the answer.
You’d better have the answers long before you pick up your pen shaped scalpel, or stand on the barrel to spread the wisdom the Universe filtering through you.
HOW to embrace your loneliness and make it into celebrated solitude? HOW to decide when to try harder and when to let go? HOW to find perfection in your imperfection? HOW to accept what appears unacceptable? HOW to fall in love with yourself? HOW to forgive the unforgivable? HOW? HOW?? HOW???
The questions your beautiful words have sparked are glowing red branding irons on your readers’ minds, that can only be removed to start the healing after the HOW’s are answered.
So, dear angels of words, please take this as a challenge, as a thorn in your side that bothers most when you sit still, thinking that there is such a thing as a finished writing. Writings can only be abandoned, and only cowards abandon.
When the flesh heals and the mark remains, is when your job is complete.
Not finished though…
Nirvanee always had difficulty and aversion to define himself. He’d rather expresses his true self through typographed feelings and verbal images. He strongly believes that perception is superior to projection in importance and realness, therefore everything is defined by the observer, not the creator. Born right-brainer, with expansive training in using the left, gender, status, and occupation are labels that distract him from his true essence (which is yet to be found), therefore irrelevant. What is relevant is whether his work can add to this world, and that is to be defined by the reader and not the author. For him, creation is for the joy of it and for the joy of others. Personal credit does not matter. You can connect with him on Facebook.