It's only mystery, and I like it...
The job of the artist is always to deepen the mystery. ~ Francis Bacon
It’s only mystery, and I like it…
was the refrain of a song I used to listen to in the 80s. That’s the line that spoke to me. I liked the juxtaposition of ‘only’ with ‘mystery’ because although mystery is mystery, the only suggests that it’s okay, no big deal, just how it is; and I like it affirms that mystery is not only okay — nothing to resist or fear— it’s attractive, maybe even desirable.
I want to embrace mystery—I want to like it—because it’s a way to open my fragile little energy packet to the complexity of which I am a part. When I use the word mystery I am referring to more than the unknown; I am referring to an unknown imbued with energy, pattern, grace and love. I am referring to an infinite safety net.
We like stories that tie up all the loose ends — in which we live happily ever after in our tidy constructs. But the real story has nothing but loose ends that continuously weave themselves into an ever-changing fabric of creative evolution.
I’ve been writing about politics and current events lately, and feeling insecure about it. Not sure why exactly…
What I fear, the slope that seems so slippery, is to be casually judgemental without enough heart. That’s easy when you’re writing about what’s wrong with the world. Self-righteousness is an addictive drug. I love drugs, but not that one.
And we can’t feel all there is to feel either. We would explode, or implode. Our little bodies can’t take it. If we could feel all there is to feel we would leave the body and become a vibrating glowing incorporeal wellspring of compassion.
What I’ve been facing lately is that compassion begins at home. Not judging begins at home. If I don’t want to knee-jerk judge other people, then guess what? I can’t knee-jerk judge myself.
I want to function as an artist. That means I have to trust something in myself. Even when I’m writing about current events.
I understand (not all the time, but some of the time) how profound life can be, brief as it is. What I know (not all the time, but some of the time) is that the only way to be an artist is by being one—by taking the risk, the challenge, to make things, say things, do things, without fear and with a sense of cosmic responsibility and joy.
Art is how we humans express our soul
Art is how we humans express our soul. I’m not just talking about a painting or a sculpture, or a song or a story. I’m talking about intention, skill in means—using intelligence, creativity, courage and love in response to the questions of the heart.
I was reading an inspirational text recently by KC Barker, who helps women get their voice out into the world. There was so much in it that I found meaningful. I love how she encourages centering in the body in order to feel your way towards what calls to you. I love how she makes a case for compassion as the key to understanding. She is teaching women to be powerful as women, not as wannabe men.
Her overarching point (which applies to all genders) is that everyone has something to contribute that is unique and irreplaceable by anyone else, and that being able to share ourselves without fear or self-consciousness requires getting out of our own way. I need this kind of encouragement.
She uses a term 'Diamond Insight' to express “the one key idea that will form the core of your message.” I take her point that, if you want to have an effect in the world as a business you have to hone your message into a diamond, both for its brilliance and its strength.
This is where I get confused, though. If we’re talking about creating a business (which she is) that connects with other people in a way that translates into making a living, she’s right. Consistency is powerful. But what needs to be consistent? A message or the container of a message? If I want to make a business that at its core is designed to share my art, then I need to understand that consistency is the riverbed; not the river.
The greater the volume and velocity of creative flow, the deeper and wider the riverbed needs to be. Otherwise we just have flooding.
The riverbed is the systems, the presentation, the coherence of good marketing. It’s not the content. Not only is it not the content, but all those support systems have to be designed to be flexible enough to handle the inconsistency, the mystery of the artistic process, which means they have to be flexible enough to be… inconsistent. Over time, too much consistency becomes a dam.
Life is movement and change; anything that holds still for too long will be left behind. Or let’s just say that the relationship between form and content, between consistency and change, has to be dynamic.
My Diamond Insight…?
My Diamond Insight is that I don’t want to have a key idea or message. I want to be a riverbed. Each one of us is a riverbed, and what flows through us is the mystery. The more we deepen the riverbed, the greater the flow.
If I have a thesis—a diamond insight—it is that there is no problem we face in this world that could not be better understood and addressed if we, as individuals, and as a species, were able to understand ourselves better in the context of… well, our context. Our great big mysterious context.
We take long trips.
We puzzle over the meaning of a painting or a book,
when what we’re wanting to see and understand
in this world, we are that.
From Versions of Rumi, translated by John Moyne and Coleman Barks
It’s only mystery, and I like it.
