My shoulders are rosy for the first time in a year, a little kiss to remember yesterday’s unplanned hike among the mustard flowers. I’m usually good about sunscreening beyond the face, but my mind reaching towards a thousand places and my back was aching from going too hard in an aerobics class (lol I know). I took to the trail and thought about nothing, scraping the edges of this silence, trying to pick up a thread that might lead to something.
The last couple weeks I’ve walked through the house with thought bubbles floating around my head like a damn cartoon. I’ve been able to take ideas and turn them into words. Sentences flew from my head to my fingertips. It was great.
I wish there was a special equation I could use to replicate this again and again. I put on the same playlist, sat in the same spot, ate the same-ish breakfast. But it wasn’t enough. Often my work dips align with a sadness or stress. This was a perfectly chill week. With Chris on a long job, I’ve had an empty house to fully focus. I even had time to make an apple cake.
There’s only so much that I can mimic. I can’t bottle the perfect alchemy of social experiences and bursts of time I spent alone. Maybe it was the sunsets that I avoided so I could get a couple more paragraphs down. Or it could be some magic in the cracked sidewalks I followed to walk the dog.
Could it just be that creativity really is an ebb and flow—
I happen to be in the ebb?
I’m still showing up, gazing at my altar (computer screen) and searching for a sign. I’ve started at least five documents with an idea, only to hit a wall with no window. I save every false start—sometimes I’m able to open old files and it’s as though my subconscious was hard at work on a full fledged concept the whole time. So it’s not for nothing, but maybe it is.
The trick is being okay with Nothing. Double points for learning to fully hold and be held by it. When that shift occurs, Nothing opens into The Infinite. At least that’s what I want to believe. Maintaining this belief requires a sense of active faith and a religious level of devotion.
A couple weeks ago in my Judaism 101 class, we scratched the surface of “God”. A fairly big topic, but somehow the class ended ten minutes early. In Judaism there are many names for God, each one surrounded by a specific context. To me, this is tied to the very Jewish essence of questioning everything. Through questions, we form a personal relationship to the Divine, to each other and ourselves. All of it brings us closer to the many faces of existence.
Our textbook (yes we have a textbook) has a list of 49 names for God, that run the gamut of godly archetypes.
A few of the names I love:
El Nistar - The Hidden One
Ayin - Nothingness
Ein Hof - The Infinite
Shekhina- The Presence
Anochi - I Am
Echad - Oneness
I gravitated toward the more open-ended names, feeling a flash of kinship with the mystery person who thought “The Hidden One” was appropriate. When I contemplate the Divine, it always finds in me in the unknowing. There’s only a sensation that can transport me beyond the earth bound limitations. It is within and without, it is fullness and emptiness.
During a week where every action feels like a half-drawn circle, maybe I’m just creating a bit of space for Ayin, or Nothingness. Maybe that’s more than enough, in the infinite realm of spirit. I’ll draw a little comfort knowing that in the layers of Echad or Oneness, everything exists. I may not be feeling clever right now, but the clever James didn’t leave forever.
Maybe, just maybe, she’ll be back next week.
xx
James
Nothing this is one of my favorite topics, especially in the realm religion. And anytime nothingness comes up, this quote comes to mind: “She grasped the idea that nothing was ever lost or destroyed. Even if something was burned up or left to rot away, it did not disappear from the face of the earth; it changed into something else—gases, liquids, and powders. Everything, decided Francie after that first lecture, was vibrant with life and there was no death in chemistry. She was puzzled as to why learned people didn’t adopt chemistry as a religion.” pg 429 of A Tree Grows In Brooklyn ❤️
I'm contemplating the idea that "Nothing worth knowing can be known." What do you think?