Sunday, February 11, 2007

Sunday, February 11, 2007

Lines of communication

Now, I'll just write.

So many things in a creative life begin like this, with a spontaneous exploration that begins with a single gesture, a single choice. A decision not unlike the decision at the quantum level, where waves and particles are distinguished by an act of perception far too fine for us to comprehend.

Before the decision, uncertainty; after the decision, the beginning of something we call existence.

The art- the magic- lies in taking that first step and then letting the piece that results emerge organically from its beginning. The first gesture is a seed; it contains complete genetic instructions for the entire entity within the moment of its genesis. That single gesture which begins a piece of writing- or art- or music- already finds its whole being contained within that first moment, that first movement.

That is the secret: in a real piece of art, the whole thing is already there when the first movement of creation takes place. That first Do defines the whole octave.

When it is whole, and wants to be born, the creation will flawlessly unfold from that gesture, almost without any interference from the artist. Indeed, if the artist manages- and this happens quite rarely- to fully inhabit the role of the artist, his or her presence within the piece remains almost unknown. The artist becomes transparent, a medium channeling a higher kind of force, not an agent controlling the process. In the greatest of art- and we see this constantly in nature- the artist is so completely invisible that it appears there is no artist.

If the artist truly inhabits the growth of an art event in this manner, they will tell you: it is as though they can do no wrong. There is a lawfulness to the birth and the growth of the piece: it makes itself, and the artist is left only to try to be present within the process, in a moment of stunned wonder, as the art, like a living organism, takes on its own life in front of them.

I've participated many times in this kind of exchange between artist and medium, in many mediums- writing, painting, graphic arts, pottery, music- and what results in those rare real pieces is always baffling to me when it is over. More often than not, I am unable to tell anyone just how I arrived at what came; in fact, I did not arrive at it at all. It arrived at itself; I was merely an observer that facilitated, not an agent that acted. It did not come from me. It came through me. In fact, over and over again, as I listen to my latest CD, the music does not seem like anything I could do. It does not belong to me.

Something is communicated through this process we call art. It is the higher reaching down into this level through these flawed, clumsy vehicles we call bodies, trying to send us a message. Often, the message gets twisted as it maneuvers through the labyrinth of our psychology, the narrow corridors of our tiny minds, and the cramped space occupied by our muscles. Nonetheless, the germ is there. We must learn to trust in the process, trust in that which wishes to communicate itself.

And when we can really, truly step aside to let the art become itself, then the art is good- because it isn't art-

It's celebration- it's joy-

it's worship.

And that which deeply calls us to prayer,

That which calls us to our knees the way the Mullah calls the faithful to afternoon prayer,
Calls us the way Gurdjieff's music calls us to search,
Calls us the way a church bell rolls across frozen fields on a dark gray winter morning,
Anything which deepens our communication with an organic inner connection to the sacred,

that can be respected.

Monday, February 12, 2007

Sacred vessels

Some will recall that in an earlier post I mentioned the first significant thing I ever really understood about our actual nature is that we are vessels into which the world flows.

Today I will offer a few further insights into that matter.

The idea of that which is contained, and that which contains it, is a common theme in sacred traditions. Vessels play important roles in many rituals, whether it's bull's blood in a clay bowl or the holy grail. Often the vessels are just as important as what they contain: they have to be made of certain substances, in certain shapes, in order to qualify for their contents. In other words, it’s not just about the stuff in the vessel; it’s about the relationships.

Three things are important to this set of relationships, container and the contained: the first two are what things are- that is, the essential nature of their being, their meaning- and where they are. We cannot make anything our own without an understanding of those two elements. If we do not know where something is- location-, we cannot find it, and if we do not know what something is- meaning-, we cannot use it.

The third relationship that is important in terms of vessels is conservation. Vessels confer a magical quality upon their contents: the contents become self. The intervention of the vessel’s walls distinguishes between what is inside and what is outside, and it conserves what is inside, keeping it pure. So, if for example we have a perfume that is placed in a sacred vessel, it is not just any perfume, it is that specific perfume, separate from the world and unique unto itself.

Evidently there is a lot going on in this idea of vessels and their contents.

So, we take man as a vessel that contains the world. As impressions flow into us, these three characteristics are defined for them: they acquire a location - within us- they acquire a meaning- what they consist of- and, in their containment within this vessel we call a body, they acquire an identity, a definable separateness.

What struck me about all this today was the following:

We are responsible not only for containing our own lives within this vessel as we receive them, but also the lives of all those we encounter.

That concept struck me around noon as I was pondering my relationship to my parents over a cup of coffee, staring out the window at a winter sky.

My parents are getting elderly, they are not as tough and invulnerable as they once seemed. I have lived for some time with the sense that they will not be with me forever, and it is sobering. Looking back on my life with them, I realized that their lives do not just belong to them- they belong to me as well, because as a container I have taken in their life from them, received the impressions of their being, and my container is holding that in the form of my experiences and my memories.

This is on the order of a very big idea. It is definitely not going too far to say that in doing this, we are participating in a sacred act. We become the custodians of the being of the individuals we interact with, because their being lives not just within their own impressions, but also in my impressions of them. The reverse holds true as well: what I pour into the vessels of others also enriches or pollutes the world of their vessel, according to my own effort.

Our life is not just our own: it is formed in equal part by other lives. Without that- what would we be? Not very much, certainly.

Upon realizing this I understood that there is a sacred responsibility incumbent upon us as the custodians of the impressions of others, both in giving and receiving. How do we take those impressions in? Do we respect them enough? Do we attend to them, do we cherish them? If we do a bad job of this our vessel will end up filled with stale and impure contents- and we all know how that feels. Understanding this idea better could truly help us to transform our relationship with others.

We are, for better or for worse, universally blended together, by our impressions, in a subtle brotherhood we do not even consider from day to day.

To know this better might be a step in the direction of what the Buddha would call right value. Somewhere within this understanding, I believe, lie the roots of the idea of Christ's compassion; the roots of Gurdjieff's practice of outer considering.

With all that in mind, let us better value one another as we ponder.