What I write here should not be picking coral from the sea for when so picked, all one will find is white coral and not the amazing colour that would once be the coral’s own life. We love being scientific, we seek to be poetic yet invariably we end up existing in a life that is far more irrational then we would care to admit. I personally think carnal centered life that is driven around fame or money is a vastly different reward scenario than abundance and authority – the first mindset is one of a scampering rat, the latter is more divine. Why do we have a term for the rat race unless we have significantly lost the ownership of our own attention. If I open up my medicine cabinet and find hardly anything there, am I living a better life than a medicated togetherness? While this is introspection at what point do I become a narc?
When I look at what I was writing a decade ago and compare it to today, I recognize that I have lost a level of poetic naturalness. It is was there in early pieces at the beginning of 1998 and then I got more and more dragged into the dotcom magazine view of the world and so I began to meander and pick up and play with the stuff that only mattered for a blogrolling minute rather than a liferolling decade. Far too often it is distraction which stops me short of reaching that depth. Distractions which are common place are the ones we never really consider as our thieves. Even the Bible talks about how the thief can come in the night and rob our destiny, but we don’t need to know this text for us to understand that there is an earthly meaning to this truth. If the Christians are right how do you spend an eternity and if the Hindu’s are right, one soul improved by last householder, have fun next person in the chain of life rebirth, that is my attitude – I am not right now focusing on gurudom, I want to live my life right here, right now. Like King Canute I can order the attention sea to go forth back but it proves absolutely nothing, if all I end up doing is to drown. What drowns is opportunity cost and lost attention or the life that should have been but now just is.
Once I wrote a beautiful story in my school and my teacher was so blown away he asked me to read it to the class, but then he told me that he wanted me to read out my next great story out to the class – I rebelliously hashed out 36 pages of such utter nonsense that human rights laws should have been duly enforced to ensure that I could never give a reading of it; and he halted the painful proceedings about the fourth pages into the tiresome said reading, he actually believed that the magic he had seen in my writing would appear at his beck and call, for his gift was there to teach me, not marry his ego to my attention. Instead of building on a poetic moment that came with flow, his enthusiasm for my art forced the issue and I reacted likewise. If only I had been writing a womblog then, then my second story would have been close to a masterpiece rather than spewed out as a protest that both embarassed him and wasted a brief 10 minutes of a classroom life – for if I had written a womblgo back then, I would have begun the same day with a new psychic intent. The womblog therefore isn’t just a horizontal flow, it has a vertical flow that can trigger and set up the start of a brand new day. I am not going to find the quality of the day ahead in a book, it has be made, it is to be shaped and executed – all of this is within me before bit by bit I forfeit this.
The world is Picasso when it should be Matisse. Picasso drew with his mind but his mind’s principal target was Matisse, but Matisse painted with his heart and so he was original and he didn’t care for Picasso’s ego for achieving public greatness, he focused on his art and IMHO he was the greater between the two. Picasso simply consumed those who lived around him, taking their lives and turning them into paint strokes. He required his ego to fuel his desire and competition with Matisse, but Matisse was a quieter personality, a far more intelligent one – so the world is not to be trusted, it often heaps praise on idols, not the true hearts, we can see that in one minute with Matisse, a painter who had a sacred heart rather than a carnal mind. Most of us are still like that today because we were not taught how to write with our hearts and can become inhibited living in a world full of people who write with their minds, and we quickly and easily can lose any art. What did our industrial age education system do to us that we cannot ultimately cannot undo with a focused free will?
My best writing comes when I write with my heart but just like my ability to paint it has withered without use, I have over the last decade lost the poetry of my flow. There are times when I can see a faint resemblance to the potential that I realize exists within me, but having ceased to cultivate that core, this is why I need to enable concentration practice now. The same may be true for others, but I am not and will not be responsible for ownership of attention of others. When I rekindle this flow as an innate part of my ability rather than an isolated effort, I expect it to crossover into all aspects of my life choice and life voice. That is theory right now, for the only thing that matters to me is the evidence of personal practice not the showmanship of it. If I talk of theft yesterday, it is because the world does not have an attention deficit problem, it has an attention accumulation problem. We don’t take time to come from our deepest core, we grab from each other and improve the known, while leaving undiscovered at the mercy of our collective attention span that which we never found out, in the carnal world, it’s like leaving money on the table, are anyone of us unsure that we have never done that. We create better software this way but we don’t create better lives.
We are more concerned about identity theft that might take our physical possessions from us, than we are of the daily theft of our imagination. We might wonder what John Lennon would have given us if he had not been shot but think less about what he would have personally given to be still alive. The answers to that is self-evident on his last album Double Fantasy – Sean, not simply getting off the merry-go-round or more watching of the wheels – Lennon died with an album that suggested he had begun to find his life and not more media. At the very time he got comfortable some lunatic decided that aura is something you can steal – are we a John Lennon tragedy waiting to happen or are we clued in to his swansong on Double Fantasy?
Today I write manufactured, thoughtful and directed – yet there were days in the last few days when the words began to roll out just like Mihalyi Csiksentimalyi suggested in his book flow. How does anyone reading any previous single page relate to the optimal experience within it – unless they experienced that experience themselves – who cares about what I wrote, the plot is lost if the moment of writing is lost, for this is where the greatest benefit acrues, not in the stream of new content or product which is simply one more addition to an ocean full of information and entertainment.
I know when I am not thinking fully with my heart because I take forever to write; simply going back and forth, editing, trying to make things fit rather than letting them flow – all of those things that just seem to fall into place when my fingers type with furious flow and my head is facing upwards with my eyes in a trance like state. If my heart impure then I am open to conviction, if my heart becomes pure, I must learn a brutal life lesson from John Lennon. There is no or little risk in writing that which is thoughtful rather than that which is heartful, but occassionally a line or two occasionally flies out, before thought shines another red light on the red heart and tells the heart to do its basic rhythm job and to forget about the flow. My english teacher began to control my thoughts when he should have taught me how I could turn my own thoughts into creating a life – they didn’t teach that at school back then and they sure don’t teach that school today, it is the same piss pot – people who talk about change rather than become what Gandhi said – to be the change you want to see in the world – and if people are left alone, people can learn to trust who they are, then all the resources in the world become a heaven and not an idlyic prison.
There is also a thinking with the guts and we call being professional, it provides us the power to remove the waste and eek out the essence for highly productive applications. This is how great authors shape great novels – from a mass of material refined and refined and refined until the guts of thinking carve out a distinct masterpiece. I don’t need to show my guts online for this is not being written for a consumer or a mass market, it is written so I can reach or rekindle something deeper into myself and maybe find something I did not think I had. I am not using a pseudonym to hide, just as Ma.rk 7:24 wasn’t about hiding. Thinking with guts is for my clients because they pay for execution of answers and working innovations, not just arts or smarts. Who am I telling all of this to other than myself and if the outside world think there is something here of value. Mihalyi is right, this stuff can’t sit inside of one, it has to be written out and then you have honest material from which to base the decisions of one’s own attention.
I have never been a great book reader and MAN IN A WOMB is the mechanism that is meant to support me to change the way I absorb and relate to information. Yet I continue to allow the offline interuption and the online interuption to play havoc with my concentration. This havoc is also a challenge that has to be overcome. The poetic isn’t some Rumi inspired poetic ability, the poetic is a way of thinking which is superior to the mechanical. I continue to foster a mechanical mind because I considerably taught myself these very fatal flaws over the span of the last decade. Yes I became more aware as a person as any active or involved individual would, but I also learned to focus on everything and nothing. A poetic mind is an awe-inspiring mind – a mind which recognizes the value of mind thinking, heart thinking and gut thinking and more importantly combine all that thinking to make ones life live and dance rather than simply work & play.
If I cannot achieve this concentration ability throughout and by the end of the year, I will have failed not just in finding more honest words but my very own life. Right now I begin to think that it is not a feasible proposition to go a full 270 days – not the with what his happening in that black box called my private life but the ideal is to finish up on December 20th with a posting called 21. I am not trying to write a 280 page poem, I am trying to discover a more poetic life.
If I have to write the posting “21” before that given day, it will signal the abortion of MAN IN A WOMB but I can’t blame the cause of that will be failure of others to comprehend that what I am doing, it will be a personal resignation that the world is far to big for me. “The MAN” in the title of the blog does not mean a man, it is the first three letters of my name and it means mind, and note that “Mark Zorro” is simply the name of a process, not an identity. The rest of the letters of my name mean victory. If I don’t achieve that victory over the mind here, I won’t have the opportunity to do so again – not unless I want to kiss goodbye to a highly promising future. The last paragraph isn’t really for my attention, it is for Kevin, an honest barefoot doctor whose surgical ability is his personal skill not mine, but Kevin cannot be my teacher here, my attention must singularly serve that purpose. The fact that I can still be so easily sidetracked is my chief takeaway today if not an immediate concern. Life is not a vaudeville act, it is does not comprise of provocation to awaken society, it requires provocation to wake up one’s own self.