Monday, October 18, 2010

Making Something out of Nothing ...


this is the end
Originally uploaded by bogotagothic

My schedule as of late has not afforded me time to write. I also have not been called or motivated to write. Perhaps a block or too many daily things that are wanting of my attention more so than the empty page. I have actually thought, at times, when I am answering emails or doing other work on my computer, "Why am I not writing?" It is fleeting and then vanishes. "How can I make something out of nothing?" is the delayed response I am having to the first question about not writing.

I have learned in my non-dual training that everything is information and has a place and even has nutrients. This would then mean that believing I have nothing to say is indeed information about my current state and that I need to give this a place and see the nourishment in it.

Which brings me to my AA Big Book meeting tonight which looked at the chapter entitled: "We Agnostics". When it was my turn , it was clear to me that there was no mistake that I should read this passage: "Imagine life without faith ! Were nothing left but pure reason, it wouldn't be life. But we believed in life -- of course we did. We could not prove life in the sense that you can prove a straight line is the shortest distance between 2 points, yet there it was. Could we still say the whole thing was nothing but a mass of electrons, created out of nothing, meaning nothing, whirling on to a destiny of nothingness? Of course we couldn't. The electrons themselves seemed more intelligent than that. At least, so the chemist said."

The threads of seemingly nothing that have been blamed for my writing roadblock are actually the gateway into something much larger than I.     Let me stay here and see what arises ...

My body is pulsing with a highway of sensory activity. Hands tingling, in-breath, out-breath, heart thumping, solar plexus throbbing, swirling thoughts put pressure on my temples. I place each thought in front of me:
"There's nothing interesting here."
"You'll only be making it up."
"Just go to sleep."
"This is stupid."
"Give it up !"
" Who cares?"

Heart racing. Head hurts.

"God does." This is the response to "who cares?"

It is very, very quiet now. A rhythm in my body feels like a gentle wave.

It doesn't matter if there is nothing to say or write or to be profound about. God cares. It matters only that I am here. Whether or not I write is secondary. Perhaps my quandry was this: "Am I actually enough, just as I am, if I have nothing interesting to say?" Can it just be this ? Do I actually have the balls to hit the "post entry" button and leave this mish-mosh of nothing here on the page ?

I am back to the Big Book passage. "Imagine life without faith!"

I need to trust this nothingness. Having nothing to say is my truth in this moment. I am not going to analyze this or dig deeper or beat myself up over it. This is what is here.

I feel the tired press into my eyeballs. The screen is getting blurry.

Nothing more.

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