There are moments when I survey the content on this blog and question my sense of purpose. When I step back to analyze the connections between posts–the ideas, philosophies, and forms of creative expression that have proliferated within this space over the past eight months–in order to decipher the meaning of what I’ve built. And, more importantly, what I desire to build. It is true that my vision, under such circumstances, can be myopic. I have to force myself to think differently. To shift lenses. To release my own anxieties, trepidations, and conformist patterns of thinking completely enough that I can tap into a grander, more authentic, more totalizing internal vision. If only temporarily.
This morning, as I was penning my thoughts (I always write longhand when I feel a need to reconnect with myself or my creative vision.), it occurred to me that what I really need to do is to use the material on this blog to articulate a specific purpose (after all, it’s already embedded in all of my work, a direct extension of my broader interests in eroticism) and to allow that purpose to propel me to the next phase. To innovate. To achieve greater freedom through goal-directed action.
I continued to free-write, my mind vacillating between thoughts on creativity, eroticism, sexuality, vitality, and womanhood. I found myself considering three texts, to which I then looked for guidance: Rollo May’s The Courage to Create, Octavio Paz’s The Double Flame, and Anaïs Nin’s In Favor of the Sensitive Man, and Other Essays. And I wrote this:
It occurs to me that I desire to be instrumental in the creation of a new woman. The woman beyond sight. Of seeking her, defining her, and bringing her into being.
How’s THAT for purpose? Of course, it sounds lofty, but I had to ask myself, first, what I meant by the “woman beyond sight.” Is she a product of my imagination–a self-created vision? An authentic self? A future self? A wellspring of vitality, love, and sensuality? A source, maybe, of a particular kind of wisdom? Does she look different for each one of us? Yes.
I think of her as an inner self. Perhaps the inner self. She is at once an awareness, a source, and an ideal. The manifestation of my strivings toward authenticity. She’s the me who is possible, and I often feel she already exists, though perhaps just beyond my reach. I catch glimpses of her. Of her power, intensity, vastness.
To me, she is raw sensibility. She is felt. The aesthetics of animation, revelation, and a push toward the ecstatic. When I conceive of her in tangible terms, I think of the most free-flowing version of myself. The me that—when I am able to suspend compulsive thoughts, fears, and hurriedness—is the easiest me to be. She is me, unencumbered. When I am relaxed, gregarious, creating, in love, cooking, giving, seeking adventure, fully desirous of feeding my soul. She is enchantment. And she is easy to be. The walls that keep her from my reach take a great deal of energy to maintain. Distractions. Shoulds. Chastisements. Turmoil. Anxieties. Fears. All she wants is simply to be. I believe our ideal selves exist and are waiting to be fashioned into being. I believe there are moments in which I see mine. Do you see yours?
It occurs to me that, if my purpose, best articulated, is to be somehow instrumental in the creation of a new woman, then my interests in the erotic and in dissecting those internal states that I identify as being reflective of the feminine, are congruent with that aim. It also occurs to me that our notions of love, eroticism, and the human person are all deeply intertwined. That to re-envision one is to, at least partially, reinvent the others. I desire to contribute to that reinvention. As Paz says:
I believe that under the pain of extinction we must find a vision of man and woman that restores to us the awareness of the singularity and identity of both. A vision at once new and old, a vision in which each human being is a unique, unrepeatable, and precious creature. It is incumbent on the creative imagination of our philosophers, artists, and scientists to rediscover not what is most distant but what is most near and everyday: the mystery that each one of us is. To reinvent love, as the poet seeks to do, we must reinvent the human person.