Discussions versus Action

As part of my personal strategy of action, I partner with Word Quotient (www.wordquotient.com) as a committed creative professional. As Director, Web Presence Management (WPM) at WQ, my present aim is to find clients and freelancers who are committed to recognising and implementing change (not only from a business perspective but also by being personally invested in it).

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I recently posted a blog entry on the WQ website blog talking about Discussion versus Action, which is something I feel very strongly about both out of personal interest and also as a professional when it comes to innovation, collaboration and collective action.

Groping for an A-ha.

I think we're all looking for something to believe in. Deep enough that we make it through to another day - looking forward to it.

When we eagerly stare at another and are taken in by their sense of content, we aren't necessarily hating (although there are parts of us that would like to...hate), but sensing something that there is something being believed in.

Is that why chefs wake up to a tumultuous day at their restaurant and loves every minute of it? Is that why audition lines string across the street and around the corner? Could it be the reason for nine year novels in the making and lonely hours spent in space?

Why do we do the things we do?

What is it that compels us so much?

Does it matter to anyone else past a certain degree of obvious? Personally, the feeling is, it doesn't (matter to anyone past a certain degree of obvious). So what makes you or him or her do it?

What I've heard from the handful of people I've seen in this state of zen is, "I couldn't fathom doing anything else, this is what makes me happy."

Okay, but why?

"It matters..."

What does?

"I do, what I do matters, what it does for me matters, what it does for others...I don't know, it's quite obvious to me and therefore I cannot do anything else."

Okay...


Almost all of the time, I find myself almost willing that epiphany to come to life. forcing it out of incubation or thrusting my hand into a sac of nothing and groping for an a-ha.

Bursts and spurts, bursts and spurts. People and reason. Situations and places. Silence and noise. Sullen and joyous.

People. Situations. Silence. Sullen.

reason. places. noise. joyous.

Patterns out of nowhere. Faces on the bathroom tiles. Messages in condensation. Signs leading nowhere.

Scanning: pages, faces, posts, emotions, conversation, noise, colours, textures, food, liquid, pieces, juice, waves, slippers, feet, hands, fingers, ring, nails, brow, mouth, tongue, chin, neck...

Heart.

I think it starts here.

What is it that they say about insight? Today, I'm leaning toward Herodotus...“The worst pain a man can suffer: to have insight into much and power over nothing”

I'd be lying if I didn't say it was an ability. Some of us just have it in us to see beyond the layers, hear behind the words and feel behind the projections.

When you're sitting there and you're seeing things for what they are, instead of feeling powerful, you feel overwhelmed with what you're able to discern that others are joyfully oblivious about.

In the beginning, you want it all to stop - the noise, the real words, the hypocrisy of of being in something, knowing fully well that is isn't what everyone thinks it is. You feel alone, despite being surrounded by stimuli of every type, class and form you can imagine.

I see and hear a head talking, its mouth moves and shapes words, and like a badly dubbed movie with a delay, I hear the real thoughts spiral out after their mouths stop moving. I get sucked into their streams of thought, while they sip on drinks and laugh.

I spiral down their water slides. Sometimes its loads of fun...especially when I cannot relate to anyone or anything that I am thrust into/at forcibly. It's like the Simply Red video (pleasure at the fairground on the way...), but only you're in it alone. Don't get me wrong; I do have insane fun most of the time!

About the pain. You do feel that too. Insane shots of it, in your head, your heart, your soul. It tries every portal, shaking the door knobs, rattling the locks, trying to get out and manifest. Harnessing this pain requires immense sacrifice, it is the only way to gain mastery of the ability and reverse your powerlessness.

My expectations from life have been debilitating to say the least. I often out-expect everyone out of the park and end up sitting on a bench all alone wondering why it is quiet and lonesome.

It isn't what but why?

If it isn't the battle against meaningless or the rage against the mundane, I am otherwise consumed with thoughts that have little or no meaning in the cosmos. Except for the odd principle and code, the others are wisps in grey smoke, which I replenish when it is about to disappear.

I upset someone very dear today. It's the smoke! I promise you.
I am addicted to its acrid smell and its foggy countenance. It shielded me from so much; and now I have run out of reasons to envelope myself.

What is down to a few clouds will become mere shadows. All I ask for is understanding and you.

Moving Stills

Solitude makes you see how animated your surroundings are when all along you thought it was just you.

The past few weeks has seen me locked up in my room after work, reading or watching television for a few hours or just listening to the silence around me. It was unnerving at first. Discomfort. Pure and unadulterated.

I have grown accustomed to this extended splodge of loneliness; like a heated balm it stung at first, then it burned and now it's a deep and beautiful warm pulse. The stillness around me has lost its inhibition. It now moves, darts and orbits magnificently; and then...suddenly - will lie dead, willing me to believe that I'm seeing things.

But I'm not. I see the dark spots on the marble floor slither to another section of the floor; wisps of shadows dart behind the chairs that face my bed; specks of light bullet into the ether like shooting stars - but only faster.

All of this happens simultaneously or at random and I dart my eye to the motion only to see it settle or hide.

I close my eyes and tried to replay them in my head...and all at once, all of those phantasmal '!did-its?' play out like a complete tape. And it is terrifying and beautiful at the same time.

I once leapt up and switched off the light and lay with my eyes wide open. The pitch black of the room waned to a milky-grey and then a tinge of blue dove into the room. Literally. I could see every square-inch of my cube.

As the coloured light crashed and receded; the decrescent night shook out its music. Zzzzzzzzzz...