Life is funny. You do have to take it – day by day. For instance, this past week has been deathly. It brought me back to dark places. It took me to where boredom, routine and repetitive creativity killers were being exercised. In the meantime, my artistic side was in need of CPR. I was feeling depressed, dead inside again – resumed to a body being dragged around places, clocking in, clocking out.
Ask me what is Life and I respond with art. Yet, here we are, money-slaves, thinking we are so free. After all, check out his Instagram feed. All the countries he has been. Humans, working for pieces of paper so they can buy happiness – that can be overconsumed and over grabbed and overeaten and never fully digested. I have realised this dynamic, that of working hard so I can fulfill other people’s dreams. Those, that own, do not work, but order, spend and promote “freedom” as a societal value – vide Bilderberg. One of my ways to counter this is via minimalistic detachment (intermittent fasting included).
Saint Exupery has taught us well: “you are forever responsible for what you have tamed”, that includes items and objects too. The more clothes I have, the more cleaning, washing and folding to do. This is why I often walk around with the same set of clothes. Who cares? Society? They are simply fleeting wind with faces, in my world. I walk the streets, aware I can be viewed as a lunatic or someone with mental difficulties (because my behaviour is not standard). I look at trees and nature and ignore Humans. I smile at trees, birds, I laugh, I giggle, I look with awe. I dance as I walk. This reminds me of the Stoics and their understanding that other people’s perception do not affect you. I ask myself: why would I not dance, just because I am passing by a stranger on the street or in the car, that I will never see again? Just because of that moment where they will perceive me as X (and we won’t know)? Flip this! I dance, I awe and I look like a nutty, but I am free and happy and me. Seemingly, Socrates was a bit like myself. Walking around with ragged clothes. I currently view clothes as fabric to keep others from viewing my naked bits. That is all it means.
I seek to detach from most things because I see how painful it can be, the process of adjusting to the previous time when we did not have said thing – and guess what? We were fine. But once this thing entered our life and now exited, it takes away a piece of you. The “identified you” goes with it. Hence, I seek to have the littlest things in my world. In saying this, I am still highly attached to the few things I have, so there is a long way to go.
I will always have to watch that seductive attraction to identification, that makes you want to have that thing, just for yourself. Look at children and how they relate to objects. They do not want to share – initially, upon discovering the joys of “owning” something. My feather and branch picking is nothing more than a manifestation of that. Hence, why, I also know, full detachment means – you are gone from this world. This attachment process is what makes this human experience so we cannot forsake it fully. But I live my life trying. And the conflict can be difficult at times: that of forsaking desire and that of finding life meaningless, without passion. I am still trying to figure it out and if you ask me, deep down, I find, passion, to be the motor of life. But Buddhism comes in to mess this all up! 🙂
Art is a process, not a product. Art can be structured, sure, but my way to make art is not structured. The art and the fun comes from relating with yourself and that object. Not from looking at your finished product, where you can gloat on. Though, beauty is, partially, what makes life colourful. And how often artists fall for their own creation? I sure do. I am drawing my Fairy King, my Aengus and Cair – A Fairy Love – Children’s Book, not to be published. Though, in truth, I am not really inspired at the moment. I have realised that I have had relationships where, in “theory”, I have been loved, yet when I hear The Smiths “Never Had No One Ever” it hits me deep down inside. I never really lived this love I dreamt of once. The last time I did feel it and it felt so real and I did dream, wish, summoned. I went “fairy tale apesane” to be met with – “nope, it was nothing, an illusion. You mean nothing to me”. So, I lost trust in love. I lost trust that I know how do identify love. That is a bit concerning to me but – hey, I was just talking about how today, it feels different!
I have no illusion of freedom. But true, you can find freedom inside prison. There is always an untouchable part in all of us and this is where freedom lies. No one can enter, no one will see and know this part of you. Some will not even know they carry this, themselves. I often see people in their naked, bare, raw scabs. I recognise the pain I walk in, too. I feel sad knowing some people are still under the illusion that we speak the same language, just because we understand the same definition of words. In reality, we understand words differently and relate to them, distinctively. Sure, sometimes, our understanding matches and it feels heavenly.
Try this little game and ask people to define what certain words mean to them. You can observe, they have no clue! That is when you uncover their level of awareness. Additionally, that is when you discover, how we all carry words with other people’s meanings, all our lives. For instance, when I was going through a very shameful period, where I felt uncontrollable and mad, one of the thoughts I kept having, in the middle of pain and tears: “you are an absolute joke! You are a joke, Luiza! You are a fucking clown!” – this was a very hurtful “realisation” I was having. Trust me, I would repeat this out loud to me and that would have ripped me apart, back then – you know what that means?! This was once said to me or about me or another being, by an authority figure to whom I sought approval from.
I brought this to personal therapy and my therapist highlighted it. After all, in my world, “joke” “clown” is one of the most terrible labels one could have. It was fully packed with shame. She mentioned how, to other people, a clown can have positive meanings of laughter and fun. This was a “blindspot”. And the only reason I can explain, why it was such a harsh label for me to stick myself with, is because I can recall these people I admired and looked up to, using these words with strong intonation, talking about others. Perhaps about me, but I do not have “The Memory” of it, which is most likely repressed. So, shame, to me, dresses as a clown which I have portrayed in my poetry.
Many people cannot bear being seen naked. Many people do not want to go deep and feel uncomfortable, knowing you are a deep diver. That is how I perceive the reason for the ending of the last long-term relationship I had. People see you nearing their divinity pool and they want you out. It can be uncomfortable, because these waters, mommy told them to stay away from at an early age. It is too deep, they would say. Too deep for little ones. But who is stupid enough to listen to adults? My little girl says: dive, jump, pirouette, little ballerina! That is my excitement. Yet, one lesson I need to really really learn: respect other people’s limits. Boundaries. But the pool feels so good, once you are in it…if only they knew.
However, simply because you know how deep waters feel like, it does not mean you can transpose this experience to others. It is a unique experience. This life is lived only by me, as your life will be lived, as is, only by yourself. Some people will never even learn how to swim, only dipping their toes in the water. I need to respect that. Perhaps there is a reason why not everyone will go down to the farther depths.
But one thing is clear, there is no lack of air to stop me. And to finalise this, today it feels different. I died this week, once more. I made a promise to myself, which I am keeping. It is a commitment of love. I am really shedding. And it feels fantastic! I am genuinely discovering what self-love is. I am so involved in this internal journey, that it looks like self absorbtion to others. It isn’t. I have realised, the only pool that has no limitations, is mine. So I travel as far as I can. If anyone wants me, they will have to swim down and pull me back up. But I am so far long gone…I see no one…and as my father once taught me: Desire comes? Desire goes…
*The clothes I own. I do have coats and jumpers on the wardrobe beside but this is mostly it in regards to bottoms and tops and dresses and skirts. One of my favourite anxiety coping mechanisms is to get rid of items.
*And no, I am not rearranging and refolding prior to picture taking.