Thursday, February 9, 2017
I haven't been writing despite a fairly serious commitment to do so. Been blaming it on various culprits- Tropical heat and humidity induced sloth and torpor (Buddhist hindrances). Hesitancy to face and perhaps surface barely repressed fear and anger re you-know-who. Plus a whole slew of other hollow excuses..
My rationale for avoiding the keyboard seems to change with the mood du jour. Today I think my writing is a pathetic, hollow gesture, signifying nothing. I'm convinced that my progressively more desperate search for a true, personal, authentic voice will once again end up in a blind alley. And how can anyone justify such self absorption during these dark days. Yadayadayada.
I think this swirling down the toilet mindset has a lot to do, ironically, with our wonderful trip today to Merida's Museum of Contemporary Art. (MACAY). It left me feeling, once again, staggered by the power of art and again convinced of the personal and social redemptive power that can be found in true self-expression. These artists were able to capture something fine and rare and then set it free to thrill the rest of us earthbound slobs. What a gift to receive and give. Why can't I leave it at that. Having the opportunity to experience and be deeply moved by art should be enough. But here I am sullenly pecking at these keys, hoping for a shortcut to the transcendent. Desire leading to dukkha once again.