johnmaconline

Steven Pressfield calls it the Muse. Rick Rubin calls it the Source. Some call it God. 

Their point is that creativity and ideas come from somewhere or someone else. It does not come from the artist. It’s otherworldly. The artist is the listener and the conduit. The typist. 

I, myself, have briefly experienced this otherworldly Source (I call it God, by the way) twice that I can remember vividly. One time, as a teenager, sitting behind my drum kit. Another time, standing at the front of a room talking to a group of people. In both cases, the sounds that came out were special, or at least felt special. 

I didn’t know where it came from, but for sure, it wasn’t me. I felt like a conduit. I felt tuned in. It’s definitely “flow,” but also different than the normal flow state, which is pedestrian by comparison. It’s full-out channeling. I’m hoping it/he/she visits me again. 

The bottom line is maybe we need less “I did this” and more recognition that it is, in fact, not us. Our job is simply to listen. 

If there are five people and four chairs, someone doesn’t get a seat when the music stops.

That’s not up for debate, nor is there an equality of outcome solution, nor is there a way to change the definitions of terminology to redefine the outcome. Someone is out.

Unless you change the rules. But if you do that, you’re no longer playing musical chairs.

Life is complex and nuanced — grey rather than black and white.

In fact, I ponder a lot here about that very fact because I believe that one of our biggest downfalls as a media culture is our inability to see, or at least acknowledge nuance. I believe it’s a lowest common denominator problem. That’s a discussion for another time.

But sometimes, it’s really not that complex. Sometimes, Occam’s Razor (in my house, we call it the “smell test”) leads you right to where you should go, or at least where you want to start. 

If the lawn mower doesn’t start, check if it has gas before disassembling the engine. 

If the light doesn’t turn on, check to see that it’s plugged in before you call the electrician. 

If the dishwasher didn’t run, check that you closed the door securely before buying a new one. 

The easy, simple, or obvious answer isn’t always the right one, but it is always a good place to start. You may have to go further, or you may not. 

The same concept applies to banned books, censorship, evil, war, politics, economics, gender, religion, pandemic response, science, and human relations. 

When you’re the newcomer, you have four options:

• Fit in and embrace
• Fit in and work with the group to change it to something you want it to be
• Don’t fit in and work against the group to change it to something you want it to be
• Leave

Any of those are OK. However, if you choose to not fit in and try to bend the group to what you want, don’t be surprised at the resistance.

Because just as you have the right to try to make it the way you want it, so does everyone else. Especially the ones who set up the rules. Rights go both ways. 

The breeze cools.
The air crisp.
Shadows stretch.
Twighlight encroaches.
Brown dominates.
Grey on its heels.
The wind whistles.
The air cuts.
White blankets.
Night expands.
Orion rises.
Silence deepens.
Everything wet.
The sun warms.
The buds whisper.
Light stretches.
Morning awakens.
Green sprouts.
The sun shouts.
The wind dries.
Roads sizzle.
Shadows shrink.
Evening lingers.
Gold reigns.

Right here, right now.

You know people stuck in the past. You also know people always trying to get somewhere in the future. It roughly maps to age. The older people you know nostalgically romanticize the past. The younger people you know are likely hell-bent on getting somewhere.

Where are you?

In truth, all we have is the present. This moment right now. This moment is where life happens. This morning. This dinner. This walk. This pain. This joy. This grief. This exuberance. This struggle. This relief.

The past and future are fine places, but don’t let this moment pass. There’s no time like the present.