True artists are filled with an ability to see at least one aspect of the world around them in ways that others find impossible, improbable, and generally imperceptible; at best, their recognition may be intermittent or fleeting, or otherwise constant but foggy. Not only are the artists among us blessed with this ability, but they have a corresponding will to bathe in it as an essential part of their lives: it is simply part of them; it forms the empty canvases, the uncut stones, the blank pages, the unsung notes and the un-danced steps among which they search and breathe, strive and dream.
What makes them artists in the minds of others is their desire to express themselves and to reveal to the world at least a glimpse of what they have seen: to those unable to see for themselves and to those who may see but are unable to express and condense their attraction into the skilfully worked end-products we call works of art. Artists live in a balance of two abilities: the ability to see (to hear and to feel) and the ability to express what they see, the two being linked and brought into ever closer harmony by their desire to unite the two and by their longing for others to share in the experience. They are filled to overflowing with whatever inspires them to produce their artistic creations. Their art is the expression of, and the product of their absorption.
Insofar as I do not regularly draw, or paint, or sculpt, or compose, or perform, I am not an artist; but there is a hidden part of me that knows well that I am an artist. I write a little, most of what I complete ending up among the pages I post here, but even without that, and with little if any other evidence to support my instinctive awareness, there is much in me that feels that I am an artist. I have always shied away from any realization of those feelings in purposeful forms of proclamation or action, but I have never avoided my natural tendency toward stillness and a quiet that allows entry to a more than superficial awareness of the natural world around me. That tendency has placed me at the disposal of a leading that takes me deeper into, rather than further out in, that world; toward something that beckons me even further into the beauty and the quiet of which so many seem unaware.
The artist is absorbed in a direct experience of beauty; I am absorbed in the Presence that underlies the tranquillity and harmony which enable the manifestation of beauty. The artist is driven to create an expression of his or her interpretation of the experience; I am compelled to express my awareness of the Presence. The artist strives to create a form that conveys the interpretation to his or her own satisfaction, while hoping that others will correctly interpret the work for themselves. I struggle to achieve similar ends with whatever I write, hoping to convey something of the underlying peace and truth – the Presence – in ways that are accessible to those who may read it, and in a form that speaks back to me.
When I began writing here, with consciousness overfilled and pressing with a sense of having something to say, but with no real idea of what it was I should speak of, I knew that attempts to unravel my thoughts would take me closer to wherever I was meant to be going. My very first words summed up my feeling at the time; - ‘Wherever this may lead, I hope it will lead both of us there: not just you, and not just me’ - and in knowing that those words still ring as true for me today, I find confirmation that I am heading in the right direction: ‘that quiet "Amen" to the sometimes doubted validity of our journey’ that we all need from time to time.
I wander along my path, trying not to move far from the edge beyond which I find an increasingly unfathomable but compelling attraction: an untouchable certainty somewhere out there in the mists of an eternal paradox. I hope I shall continue my walk until I have no more steps in me, and if my future overflowing happens to include the continuation of this trail of words scattered among my footsteps, I hope anyone picking them up will find something for themselves among them: a seed that may lodge and take root within their own prepared and fertile ground.
Just as artists must come to terms with the fact that many viewers of their work will not grasp the message they are conveying, so too I am aware that however I attempt to convey my thoughts in words, they will have little meaning for many who dip into them. I must trust that those who do grasp whatever I try to say will benefit in some way from what they find, and I must hope that those who do not will find the expressions of other writers and artists full of meaning for them. We must each follow our own leads, and for me, on these pages, that means writing in the only way I can: in the way that comes naturally to me.
Such thoughts raise within me the possibility of doing something I have not done before.
It is possible that the absence of any list of blogs I read, and the fact that there is no facility for posting comments at The Very Edge suggests that I was never likely to include here any reference to other blogs. However, I am aware that many who visit here will be looking for something I cannot give, or for the same theme but expressed in different, and for them more meaningful ways, and will benefit from such offerings if only they could find them. There are an awful lot of blogs out there, and once the choice has been narrowed down to more manageable numbers, it is still easy to believe that what you are searching for does not exist, or that the very words you need may have been written but you will never know it because you will never find them.
Anyone feeling compelled to write for others on spiritual matters is, at heart, an artist; some of course are a great deal more. We see, hear and feel something in a way that has simply become a part of us, and in a way we long to share with others. Our experiences differ but the Presence that gives rise to our fullness, and to our wish to communicate it to others, is the same: the same Spirit dwells within each of us.
‘There are many different gifts, but it is always the same Spirit; there are many different ways of serving, but it is always the same Lord. There are many different forms of activity, but in everybody it is the same God who is at work in them all.’ (1 Corinthians 12:4-6)
Any one of us can walk through an Art Gallery regarding some exhibits as rubbish, others as passable, and recognizing others as works of art, in each case judgement being based on our own tastes and sensibilities, not on what others might say. In the midst of all this variety it is the occasional vision from which we cannot easily tear ourselves away that makes us continue our search, longing for more. In our own ways, we who write in this wordy web are providing the same possibilities for all who wander the internet galleries. Those of us who are absorbed in our faith, following a lead and feeling compelled to share our spiritual imperatives, are here for a reason: we are to attempt the production, not of works of art, but of meaningful seed-sowing invitations to others to take their place, to trust and to persevere on their own spiritual paths toward the life God holds out to all mankind. Through our own absorption we hope to attract others, not to ourselves, but to the Presence in which we are absorbed. Each of us is writing for someone, somewhere.
I have recently been reminded of how diverse we all are in our spiritual lives, even when rooted in the same traditions; past experiences have been recalled where differences have become apparent between people who are outwardly the same; sharing the same faith, the same priests and other religious contacts, and the same parish communities and church buildings. But having spent time reading a blog that brought these things to mind, I recognized within it the same essential similarity underlying our differences that holds together the diversity of belief and interpretation within any spiritual community. We are following parallel paths, always seeking for ourselves but knowing that we are far enough into our journeys to feel the responsibility to hold our hands out to others whose paths we may cross. Every one of us needs a steadying hand at some time, whether as encouragement, consolation or in the unsteadiness of overwhelming joy.
If you should find that my offerings are not for you, I hope you will continue to search for the words you seek; it matters that you do.
They are out there somewhere, and you will know them when they are found.
Dear Lord, grant that my words among these pages may never be evidence of my foolishness. Grant that I may, as did Francesco Bernadone, ‘not so much seek to be understood as to understand.’
They are out there somewhere, and you will know them when they are found.
Dear Lord, grant that my words among these pages may never be evidence of my foolishness. Grant that I may, as did Francesco Bernadone, ‘not so much seek to be understood as to understand.’
‘A fool takes no pleasure in understanding but only in airing an opinion.’
(Proverbs 18:2)
