In my spiritual research, into the social-spiritual history of human Earth existence, I discovered a harsh but recurring pattern. Often we do not have something, and then feel the suffering of absence. We yearn for what is missing, and this yearning is the very power by which social-spiritual life changes and evolves over time.
For some folk this sense of loss is more acute. We call them “artists”. Art requires something of the heart, and these feelings need to find expression, but are destined to not achieve completion. In fact, it is the living history of Art that reveals the most about humanity’s inner nature and life.
Over time Art grows and becomes, reflecting in each Age the yearnings that many feel but cannot express. We need the artist to expose their deeps, whether of joy or of despair, and which cannot be communicated in words.
The poet tries to use words, yet is doomed to a kind of failure – not of their own will or striving – but of the need for dissonance, in the sense of social-sandpaper roughing up delicate souls. The wrong note helps those who sense it find the right melody.
Yet, part of that melody is the lurking sense of something missing. The artist fills in spaces in the soul and spirit of us all, with the sweet smell of the future, at the cost of knowing more fully the pains of the present.
Hopefully, all will find their way, in one life or another, to art, for surely the Gods&Goddesses have blessed us all with the possibility of going beyond the what-is to the what-needs-to-become.
In an odd Way, the what-is is the stick, and the what-needs-to-become the carrot. People do live lives of quiet desperation (Thoreau), or as the First Noble Truth of the Buddha expresses with stark simplicity: “Life is suffering”.
It is pain of soul that moves one person from one state to another. It is dissatisfaction that breeds social dissent. If we hadn’t left the Garden, we would not try so hard to find at least a bit of it still within us.
Art is of the Garden, for while the offering/creation can be torture, and sadly sometimes include a cost of innocence, the resulting beauty reminds us of our dreams of Return, and the Feast that is laid out for us, that comes to all in their own time.
Sometimes we wonder about Love, a word/idea that seems fleeting and mysterious. A wile-oh-wisp hiding right in front of us.
Love has given us the Day. The primary cycle of existence, Night and Day. Yet, this can only be lived one moment of now followed by an infinite number of next-nows as Eternity Beacons.
A recent wonderful bit of Art is the movie Groundhog Day. Everyday is another opportunity for change, and the secret is to make tiny changes. A bit here, and a bit there. Dreams hungering to be realized are still built one bit of now at a time.
The Day is a recurring maze-labyrinth, which we solve moment to moment, while dancing to the lyre of experience. Appreciating this is why the ancient Mayans counted Days, as their primary sense of the cycles within cycles.
At dawn the sun rises, the stars recede, and the sky is ruled by fire and light. During the night, the sun sleeps, and its dreams are the moon and the stars. Wonder lives in the day by day tides and burdens in the souls of human beings.
We are all shamans and alchemists, saints and sinners, learning about Love.
Fake Ancient Alien Theorist Foolishly Visits the Collective Imagination 