Where Do Artists Go When They Hurt?

This is always a bit of a touchy subject.  Yet, it is one that touches all artists most intimately.  It is a matter of the heart, battered or broken.  Where do we go when we hurt?

Well, all kinds of places.  It depends on the artist.

For example, the greatest setback I've suffered in the last years was a coup a few months ago.

I was invited in to help a high school rebuild its broken theatre company.  After five successful shows mounted over fifteen months of hard work, and the first acting award the company has seen in years, another teacher and a group of parents decided they wanted to run things.

They charged me with precasting shows with my favorite students (thereby cheating all other students of a fair shot).  They refused to allow me to defend myself.  Then, when I called their bluff and agreed to work with the casting committee they insisted upon, they refused to answer.  In short, I was out and they took over.  That they did this two weeks before the fifth show opened only rubbed salt in the wound.

(I know that some will say it was only a high school theatre company.  Yet, those kids meant a lot to me.  They still do.)

Regardless, when hurt, where do artists go?

I went to Mu.

But that's me.  I truly think that each of us must choose our own way.  We must each choose that explanation of the unseen that makes the most sense to us.

The point, then, is not so much where you go, but that you go there.

You go there, and you stay there.  For as long as it takes to heal the battered or broken heart, no matter what anyone else has to say about the matter.

After that, you pick up your art, and get back to work.

Bring on the Juvies

This morning brought our first sight of a "juvie" as we call 'em.  The spring's new-born, fluffy wings and all, brought out of the nest and forth into our world.

For good or ill.

In this case, it was a father sparrow (all dads, take note) feeding his three babies from one of the backyard feeders.  He would flutter down to the feeder, grab a grain or two, flutter back up to the three balls of fluff waiting, impatiently, for him to drop the grain in one of their mouths.  Then, he'd flutter back down to the feeder, repeating the process for the second.  Then, the third.  On and on it went.

There is something really quite reassuring about this.  In the midst of this spring's struggles - and I've heard of many, this year in particular - nevertheless, life does go on.

Not callously.  Of course not.  It's just that the world keeps on rotating, life continues unfolding.  The Grand Mosaic - as one of my characters calls it - forms and reforms each day, endlessly.

And that helps.  When it comes to life's disappointments, I believe that it is precisely in the watching of the world's continuing rhythms that we are able to, initially, accept and, finally, release our pain.

So, bring on the juvies, I say.  Their excitement for life reminds us all that our lives, too, are beginning anew.

The Artist and Mu (II)

Who knew there would be so much interest in Mu?

That serenity known through lack of fear or desire.  How do we get there?  Specifically?

Well, it's a lot like baking cookies.  Really.

Before we go there, however, it's probably best to talk about what we don't need to get to Mu...

• a special room, sound-proofed from the neighborhood
• painted in a special color
• with Om and Yin/Yang symbols 
• and burning candles and incense

Nor do we require...

• a special haircut or robe
• sitting in a special posture
• with our hands turned in just the right manner
• chanting a particular sound or prayer

Nor, either, do we need to...

• find a labyrinth or
• do so many circuits clock-wise (or non) around a stupa
• breathing in some sort of esoteric pattern

Nope.  None of these.  Getting to Mu is quite simply a matter of practice - wherever, whenever, however.  And the more you practice teaching your mind not to give way to fear or desire, the less your mind will.  

Which brings us back to baking cookies.

After all, the more you bake cookies, the better you get at it, right?  Fewer burned cookies, not so much sugar that everyone's teeth hurt, or forgetting the egg or mistaking baking soda for baking powder, etc.  Surprisingly common, isn't it?  

Which makes us wonder whether it really could be all that simple.  After all, we are talking about an ancient Asian religious belief.  And yet...

Cue the artists again.  

This is a concept every artist knows.  For our job as artists is to make sure that our brushwork (so to speak) is excellent and not embarrassing.  And there is only one way to get there: spend those hours in the studio working it, practicing.

We get to Mu in precisely the same way.  Practice.

The Artist and Mu

I'm getting a number of questions about Mu.  Not least, the overall question of... "Say, what?"

First, Mu.  To use Christian language, I would say that Mu is like Ecstasy.  (No, not that ecstasy.  And not that one, either.)  Nevertheless, they are similar.

Mu is that inner peace that comes through lack of fears or desires.  You get there through practice, disciplining the mind not to give way to fear and desire.

As a result, you know greater clarity of sight and mind (because you are no longer distracted with useless clutter).

That's the textbook answer.  There's a deeper one, too:  Mu, like Ecstasy, is a metaphor.

Which isn't too surprising.  I've long thought that all religious concepts are handy metaphors for the feelings we struggle to explain.  Mu is no different.

Take Salvation, for example.  All faith traditions that I know of focus on Salvation.  From what, though?  From either a burning Hell or the absence of God altogether (Judaism, Christianity and Islam).  From the curse of rebirth, from daily fear or desire (Buddhism).  From delusions that you exist apart from the Brahman (Hinduism).  From rigidity in thinking and, therefore, life choices (Taoism).  The list goes on...

Interesting how universal the question.  Also interesting how different the answers turn out to be.  And that's the cool part.

Cue the artists.

Throughout all time and place, it's the artists who come up with the metaphors that give us a handle on abstruse explanations to...well, you name it:  Resurrection, Detachment, Divinity, Damnation, Delusion, Creation, Redemption, Singularity, Grace, whatever.  Point to any religious concept and you'll find a bevy of artists who've crafted wildly different metaphors to help us all get a handle on it.

(They can't help being wildly different.   They're artists, after all.)

Even so, that the question is universal to all religions, inevitably leads to some similarity among the answers.  Take Mu again  - with its serenity borne from lack of fear or desire - one does not have to search very far among the mystic traditions in any of the religions to find similar metaphors.

For example, in Christian mysticism, Mu strikes me as remarkably similar to the Ecstasy one knows from union with God here and now.  (Rather than waiting until after you die.)

Funny, that.  I expect it will always be that way, so long as humans continue to dream up their own faith traditions.

Which means, I suppose, artists will be helping us grapple with our religious dreams...well...forever.

Fun With Mu

Mu, the character at the center, is a central Zen concept.  (For Zen, think Buddhism meets Taoism.)  

Mu refers to that inner peace that arises from the absence of fears or desires.  

How do we do it?  Why, we practice our way there, of course.  ô¿ô