In the beginning I was born in a midst of a river-stream. In this progression of events I was brought forth -from the past to the future. But in reality -there is no time. The past and future are both illusions -made up by the conscious mind. We assume we are involved in a series of events -but in actuality we are in the centre of a moment -that stretches out into eternity. Even more than this we are moving from crossroads to crossroads. We are always faced with a choice -to one side or the other. In this way we are a soul -and the soul is a book. It is a story of our life -where we posit a mystery that has no clues. In this way the book is revealing and a returning. To be standing in a tale -is to stand in the midst of a labyrinth. In the soul -that is book -that is labyrinth -we walk endlessly. In the maze of events -we face realization only when we abandon the ultimate truth -and know that all life is a fiction.
How does this relate to art and mental illness? If we know the illusion -then we know the truth. We are all full of questions -and we throw them out like fishing lines -seeking an answer. But the purpose of art is not to answer. Leave that to the philosophers -Art is only about questions. A mystery without clues -and enigma without understanding -such is our expression. Mental illness is also about such strange and inscrutable things. We do not know what lies beyond the plastic curtain. We are all stuck in our ways -and only in a moment of crisis -do we rise above. Art is all about uncertainty -and involves an amount of pain -it is a thing of accident -as life is also accidental. Some think that the process of creation is itself a thing of madness. The mania that we feel as we form things -is almost a trance of furious work -whereby we forget the world outside. This alternative state of mind is not insanity -but a deeper more profound state of sanity. In this way we discover ourselves.
And in the self is the labyrinth. What is that which eludes us? What is waiting for us in the secret room in the centre of the maze? Is it the end of the karmic battle -and the beginning of happiness? I do not know for sure. To struggle with the heart and to wrestle with the angel -and seek to be blessed -this is all a part of our strivings. In the labyrinth -we are ever-searching. In the craft of our Art -we are sharpening the blade -we are improving our instrument. In the labyrinth -we return to our self -we meet our past -as it comes back to us -we know the child we once were. In Time -we know we are many different personas – variations on a theme. What is the theme -but the endless fight between Good and Evil -a moral tension of rising and falling. In the maze -we see the dim light that falls -we cannot see clearly -we are doubtful and lost. In art -we affect the role of the saviour -we have compassion for others. We try to guide and to show the way -but we are ourselves as ignorant as anybody else. Our creative urge is one of hunger -and its resolution. Yet it is far better to want something -than to have it -this is creative ecstasy. We seek the impossible.
When you are troubled by ghosts -you are aware of another country. This country is the place of the spirit -that which waits in the back-stage -when the play is being enacted. We are all actors in this way -and when we are standing under the lights -we speak the truth. Even so we know that there is no ultimate truth -only many small truths. Art is about intimations -and allegations as well. In the labyrinth -that lives inside my soul -I hear echoes resounding. I am aware of things coming and going -I see apparitions at the edge of my sight -I have traces of smoke in my mind. To put down the words or to use my paintbrush -is to forget myself -and to evoke the deep, dark well of the heart. I see you there -as we pass each other. We walk into dead ends -and we are turned in circles. We could spend a thousand years in the place of many mirrors -in this garden of forking paths -we reshape the future. And at last we come to see reflections as nothing more than a thing of belief -of wishes and hopes. To see beyond -is to know the denotation. This is the comprehended reality -of a subtle light too pure to be realized. It is forced into shapes and forms -and becomes a created thing -a miracle of sorts.
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