Writing is a Spiritual Practice
So you've clicked on the "writing" page of my website. I suppose I should try to convince you that my writing is really good. But I'm not very interested in "good" writing. I'm interested in true writing.
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What's true right now? The truth is, I'm putting a lot of pressure on myself to write something good here. I know, I just said I'm not interested in "good" writing. I don't know about you, but I've noticed that contradictions are part of being human.
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Here's another one: putting pressure on ourselves is usually counter-productive, especially when creativity is involved. To write something true, I have to give up on writing something good. Easier said than done.
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It's hard because you have to let go of desired outcomes. One outcome I want is for thousands of people to subscribe to my Substack, so I can feel like my writing is important, and maybe even make some money from it. To achieve that outcome, I would have to construct an argument that subscribing to my Substack will change your life.
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There's nothing wrong with constructing an argument. I did that for my philosophy of music page.
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But here, it doesn't feel right. Instead, I suppose I'm giving you a window into my writing process. I question everything. I try to find the deeper layers of truth. I wrote this short thing over the course of a few days. I had to sleep on it, go for a couple walks, distract myself with other tasks, meditate, pray.
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In the first version, I indeed began constructing an argument. But I got bored of it. Then, I was angry. I had failed. How are thousands of people going to subscribe to my Substack if I don't construct a brilliant argument using all my marketing skills?
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But I let go of that, for now. Letting go. It's a spiritual thing. I've heard the Taoists say, "force is not the way... the way to do is to be." You could say the whole Bible is about people trying to force things to go their way, rather than trusting God. It doesn't go well for the humans. Taking the forbidden fruit was an act of force.
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So here I am, trying to trust in the truth.
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If reading this ramble has been intriguing for you, you might like my Substack, where I write about purpose, the Bible, spirituality, mental health, and sometimes politics.
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I'll leave you with a story:
A walk to the bridge
I saw geese playing on thin ice.
They were too heavy, and a sheet broke off.
Three of them balanced on their half-sunken raft
like a summer camp game
until they got bored
and the lonely iceberg spiralled down the slow river.
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I chose the perfect time to walk to the bridge.
But it didn't feel like a choice.
I'd never walked to the bridge alone before.
But I thought, "This is what I need to do."
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Maybe the geese called me,
thinking, "Paul will enjoy this."
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And of course I did
But I wanted more
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"Enjoyment is not enough," I thought,
and still think.
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"I should learn to be satisfied with enjoyment," I think,
and will think again.
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"I shouldn't 'should' on myself," is my final thought,
before I realize I'm thinking too much.
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Then I remember
that right now
somewhere not too far away
Animals are having a great time
doing something pointless.
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