Making Sense of my Muse (Part 3)

While I no longer have to dig as deep to understand these emotions as I once did, what I have come to learn from their rousing is that they serve multiple purposes in dissuading us from the spiritual path. On perhaps a more evident level, the fear we experience can serve a protective function against our perceived incompetence at the creative task at hand. The writer who doesn’t sit down to write doesn’t have to worry about their work being sub-par, or devoid of the substance that they long for their prose to carry, so it can seem less painful to not take up the pen, if it means they will avoid that outcome. Creativity by its nature is daring and any such journey that breaks new ground carries the risk of misadventure or some things going ‘wrong’, as our critical ego might seek to define that deviation from its will.  

This propensity for risk is intolerable to the ego for it doesn’t want to sustain the blow to its inflated estimation of its capacities. Wanting to exert control over the process of venturing forward so as to save its face, the presence of the muse is unable to reveal itself. Part of what defines the muse is courage and faith in its ability to lead us in the creative process, but we are incapable of embodying these generative virtues when we are focused on what we have to lose by relinquishing this control. This reactivity to what the ego is prompting in us, precludes us from following the muse’s lead in what should be a participatory and engaging co-creative experience. This is what I was referring to in Part 1 of this entry when I wrote that my spiritual muse chose me as a dance partner.

Only the ego thinks it has permission to show up at the ball alone and take centre stage on the dance floor, but it finds no willing partner by having that expectation. Part of what makes our dance with the muse graceful and beautiful is the organic nature of what emerges when we accept its invitation to partake in that act. By allowing what arises to take a form that reflects our muse’s intentionality, we are released of the temptation to judge what is produced as being deficient in some respect. Before we can get in the flow of any creative endeavour we are involved in, we need to suspend the proclivity of the ego to judge as ‘right’ or ‘perfect’ what we are expressing on the page or canvas that frames our contribution. As I write these words, I can’t be preoccupied with the concern of whether what I am writing is perfect in its substance or communication, for if I was burdened by that filter I would never complete a sentence, let alone proceed to press the ‘publish’ button that allows you to read these words on the screen.

In essence, perfectionism is a projection of the ego’s fear that we will never be good enough. Being an acknowledgement of its own fallibility, it is the illusion that it has us believe we need to aspire to in order to achieve worthiness in a chosen endeavour. I say ‘chosen’ because often the field that we feel the need to achieve perfection in is not aligned with our spiritual calling. Such is the artificial void that is the antithesis of humility, which itself is a precondition of creativity. To be humble is to be open, receptive and trusting of the muse which seeks to infuse our lived experience with higher order understandings, or revelations of wisdom, that make for great art. Look at any transcendent piece of literature, painting, design or sculpture and what you will find is that in an authentically novel way it will reflect either these ultimate truths of existence, or the awe-inspiring potentiality of the human spirit that can’t be denied.

The masterworks of Shakespeare, Leonardo da Vinci or Michelangelo attest to this reality, and in their presence we can’t resist affixing our gaze on them. While they no doubt aren’t perfect in any objective sense, by the subjective measure of how these artists gave expression to the creative muse that animated their work, there is a collective recognition that these manifestations are as good as it gets. Such excellence in creative endeavour is a more accurate goal, if I can even call it that, than perfection, which places a finite constraint on what we think should be capable of production by our own hands.  

Making Sense of my Muse (Part 2)

How we feel when we are able to move in the right environment can’t be overstated, and the effect it has is to open up dimensions of our being that had previously been dormant when our soul and role were out of sync. In such a state of resistance, creativity and the other fruits of the spirit cannot find proper expression, as anyone who has worked in a job they despised can attest. Amongst the storm of negative emotions that are produced in such a scenario, we become consumed by them, and amidst this tempest we are incapable of cutting through that chaos to draw the novel associations or insights that are a feature of creative thought. Going through particularly difficult personal events also has a similar effect as we find our focus becoming consumed by the various details of the malaise that afflicts us. While we may be able to engage in different forms of art to help us process the suffering that we have experienced, normally this occurs retrospectively after the flood of intense emotions have been allowed to subside, and some semblance of equilibrium and perspective has been found.    

I find it notable that in his hierarchy of needs, Abraham Maslow situated creativity at the peak of his personal development pyramid in the category of self-actualisation, along with the reaching of one’s potential. Essentially, what he was saying through this placement is that in the absence of our more fundamental needs being met, such as for love, freedom and safety, we won’t be able to summon our creative capacities to their fullest extent. From what I have observed in my own life, he is right. If, for example, you were to work in a toxic environment that was psychologically unsafe to express yourself in, you would understandably be very hesitant in meetings to put forward new ideas or strategies that could be seen to go against the standard way of operating in that organisation. In this type of situation, two of the primary constraints on your creativity are likely to be (i) the felt need to keep your job so that your standard of living won’t be adversely impacted, and (ii) loss aversion concerning your relationships with your colleagues if your speaking up risks alienation or a diminishing of respect for you having acted contrary to those set norms.

The great tragedy in this situation is what you have had to sacrifice of yourself, or your spirit, to preserve these lower order needs. Where an opportunity existed to bring an innovative solution to a challenge that the organisation faced which could have produced a net benefit for all involved, that had to be foregone to save your own face, and that of the organisation so that it did not have to confront its own dysfunctionality. While of course we exercise free will and aren’t mandated to forgo the making of these authentic contributions, the reality is that we are enviro-organisms, who are as dependent on our environment for our flourishing as our environment is on us for its realisation. When viewed through this integral lens it becomes clear why our progress as a species is ever more vital, for without being able to move through those stages of deficit, we won’t be able to collectively ascend to reach our potential where fullness is attained.  

While it appears to be a daunting task when framed this way, the most effective place to start is with ourselves, and nurturing our capacity to make the unique contribution which best serves that end. Here, I am not referring to self-care, though that is no doubt important, but to grounding ourselves in the presence of spirit so that we can become receptive to what is has to teach and speak through us. These means of receptivity are the contrast to the forms of resistance that move us out of alignment with where our spirit wants us to be. As a writer, one of the forms of resistance that I am often tempted towards is procrastination. Whether it is putting together one of these blog entries or completing work on an academic article or book, as I attempt to go about the task I will invariably experience the desire to check my phone, the internet, or deal with other aspects of work that are much less difficult to confront. Before I can clear the space in my mind to allow my muse to enliven it, I have to reconcile the feelings that create these thoughts by first recognising them as being present. Whether it is fear, anxiety or doubt that is animating me at that moment in time, those emotions won’t be denied, despite how irrational I might conceive them as being.

Making Sense of my Muse (Part 1)

Regardless of the form of art that one seeks to create, there is a process that they will follow to open the creative channels for what they want to express, or perhaps more accurately, for that which seeks expression through them. Just the other day, I was asked by a friend about the creative process behind my writing and after giving it some thought, my mind turned to the principal role that my source of creativity (what is sometimes referred to as a or the muse) plays in enabling my writing. Given that I am currently in the process of researching for my second book, with my writing on it to commence next year, his probing provided a pertinent opportunity to reflect on how I go about the task, and perhaps refine my writing routine. When it comes to my writing, I am not one who has really ever thought about strategies to optimise the process because that has never been my focus, but the process itself does interest me very deeply, hence me wanting to explore it here and perhaps draw out some useful insights.

The more that I have partaken in writing over the years, the more I have experienced it as a calling that is central to my life purpose. At no stage have I ever felt that I chose it as something to pursue for either intrinsic or extrinsic rewards, and a more accurate characterisation of how I came to engage with it is that it chose me as a dance partner. The labels that could be given to the source of this vocation, or the one who calls to us or chooses us to find life in a particular domain, are numerous, and I think that God, our spirit or the universal life force are all apt descriptors of it. A fundamental feature of that source energy is its creative capacity. To be animated by it is to be endowed with the ability to create, or act upon the world in ways that are unique to our disposition, talents, native interests and the moment in time that we are born into. Here, it is worth appreciating that being by its essence, necessitates or mandates doing, for without a purpose for being that determined and meaningful action gives expression to, there is no reason for its existence.  

Through no effort or conscious desire of my own, I am drawn to writing, I love it, and there is no other outlet, other than perhaps speaking about the things I write about, that gives me the feeling that I am manifesting my greatest possible contribution to the world of which I am a part. Of all the potential things that I could have possibly been drawn to, or have a natural capacity for, it is this art that weaves together who I am with the need that the world has for my being. While some may just reduce this integral association down to randomness, I think that what that perspective misses is the intentionality and purpose that is so clearly present from having an internal orienting force that moves one towards something in a meaningful way. Were it just something I inherited from my parents DNA, like their physical features or personality traits, it would be unsurprising, yet, there is very little in my family history to suggest that I would grow up to be a writer.

Over the course of my life journey, there have been numerous instances of being prompted by forces external to myself that I didn’t understand at the time towards a union with my spirit from which this calling could be more clearly heard. Whether those forces are referred to as serendipity or grace, the effect of their intervention was a clarity around the very nature of things that I was given life to explore and decipher truth about. As an example, before I could write about what distinguishes a job from a career or a calling, I had to experience these divergent paths for myself. For another person whose path doesn’t involve writing but some other field of endeavour, the journey that led them there would be very different and particularised for the time and place that they occupied. Just as each of us has been created for a specific purpose, so has the world been created to accommodate the enactment of that purpose. When we come to connect with our calling and find this niche in which can flourish, we learn that this fit is not random but coincidental, in the sense of the word that sees things come together as they were meant to. Just as the three sides of a triangle come together to form that shape, so does the shape of our life cohere and make sense when we honour the providential nature of life that blesses us not only with the gifts to make our novel contribution, but with a place to belong as that offering is made. A large part of why we feel so unfulfilled as we eschew our spiritual nature to partake in a job or career that doesn’t have this deep resonance with who we are or what we have been called to do is that in the domains where that job or career is worked, we don’t feel that we belong there. How that is experienced is as an unhospitable and jarring dissonance that lays waste to the means of our authentic service and thriving.