The mindful art of silence

Silence! Art is coming.

Writing the date and the time is the easiest thing. These are the few moments in which I receive the “author’s sensation” for free, while getting used to the idea that indeed I am about to start writing now and allow my mind the pause to digest the fear and rejection that arise each and every time, as if writing is some terrifying and threatening punishment.

The mindful art of literature

These are the soft and tender moments that prior the forced initial rotation of the cog-wheels of thought and the phrasing mechanisms of suppressed emotions and repressed coveting and tension. At least in thought it all works out and flows. The words sometimes as if by themselves emerge and consolidate into sentences that readily phrase out of the essence of the issue. But this cursed time – to much of it passes by from the moment of experience or the creation of the idea and until the overcoming of fear, which begets the decision to write – which causes forgetfulness and turns into cumbersome and gangly that which was so gentle and precise.

Frustration of disability

I would love to document, one by one, all the thoughts and emotions, all the minute threads of awareness that go through my mind, which I regard as good writing material, but I am not capable of doing that. Enormous frustration arises in me in direct relation to the gaps I recognize between the essence of a certain thought or emotion which I try to convey and my limited phrasing abilities or perhaps the limitations of language in general. I try to encourage myself by thinking that we are like this by nature and that perhaps the first thing a writer needs is the ability to compromise out of the wisdom of knowing, that you cannot really bridge between experiences and words, because after all words were initially created as a compensation for our diminishing ability to experience the world directly, and from then on they have just incessantly increased by number. But perhaps it is actually possible and it is just me who is not capable enough in doing it.

The good in others

Perhaps a good writer is one whom by using words can convey more nuances of a certain situation, one who can more gently disintegrate and into more minute details certain emotional states and to deeper diagnose and dissect thought processes. He might be the one to fully and exactly express by the force of linguistics the origins and formations of the mind and sensual processing masses, which constitute in every given moment an experience.

But when I am not trying to impress, the mindful art of story telling to me, is the simple writing, just like talking to God when I am truly open.