Dredging truth from the bottom of my Atman is difficult; not easy because the sedimentary truth is ridiculously enigmatic, obscured by layers of steps and missteps. Then there was yesterday. I made a great effort to dredge truth. It was good practice. I opened myself to possibilities, left behind some of my self-inflicted education. This is practice, like meditation. The more I do it the easier it is; the more I do it the better I recognize my missteps and my false narratives.
Another thing happened. I have been complaining of frustration. In my 9/1/2019 blog post I wrote, "My frustration is obvious. I have never fully accepted Jackson Pollock's ultimate work as good work. To me, the drip paintings look born from frustration. I always wanted my work to be born from knowledge and skill. Perhaps I need to wake up, accept frustration as useful." A friend wrote to me: "...your art is the product of frustration. When you quit being frustrated you will take happily to the hammock on the porch, beer in hand, spinning yarns to the birds. By the way, they won't listen and you won't care. Seriously, do you think for a moment that El Greco wasn't angry, disturbed, thoroughly riddled with frustration?" Right On!
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