Art Is Never Linear, But It’s Always on Purpose

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Art is never linear.

I think about how my days are structured. To some, maybe it’s inefficient or unproductive. I never schedule anything before 11am EST. And I never work later then 5pm EST (except for our Sacred Circle Mastermind Calls on Wednesdays, when Garrett keeps his clinic open late). And I rarely have more than two or three calls per day.

So that gives me a lot of unbound time. To sit. To think. To process. To be creative.

I’ve been working on the new Sacred Mastermind Value content that’s coming through for next month. And, for those of you’ve never seen that content, it’s easily 10x more intense than any of the Circle content—probably closer to 100x. It’s intellectually tough stuff. But, more than that, it’s emotionally tough stuff. And it always takes me a lot to download.

In the past, we’ve explored thermodynamics, the root of duality, the formation of shame, and the way trauma is developed from collective containers to be housed in individual ones.

And I felt called to start creating it last week. I was carving out hours and hours to research what I was being asked to research, to contemplate how a society’s contexts of shame and praise form the basis for social structure and cultural capital, and to meditate on how Value’s shadows are playing out in our world today.

And then it stopped. It straight up stopped. And I wouldn’t dream of forcing it or trying to only intellectualize what wants to come through.

I’ve been feeling lots of time to pick up and explore other topics. In the background, I trusted that something was happening. That understanding was being infused in every layer of my energy system. But, consciously, I was pretty much done with the content.

And then, today, I woke up feeling more rested than I’d felt in months. And I’m buzzing with new understandings to add to the work.

Had I not created a schedule that can accommodate that sporadic—and sometimes frenetic—pattern of inspiration, I might not have time to capture the creativity when it’s present. But, fortunately, I’ve been doing this long enough to know that I can’t simply be “productive.”

I’ve started and stopped so many projects. Sometimes for years. Only to pick them back up one day without missing a beat. And I’ve had to let go of things that I worked really hard on, knowing that they were no longer necessary to share with the world. Or maybe they never were. Maybe the creation was all that matters.

Last week, in a Sacred Mastermind Lab, I had a profound experience. It was a rather simple lab—like all the Mastermind’s deceptively simple work. We were just to use a few simple supplies like tape, paper, scissors, a pen, and one mystery item to create our own visual representation of the Create Energy. That’s it. It couldn’t have been simpler.

And yet everyone had profound shifts. Me included. I felt called to write the word C-R-E-A-T-E across the page. And then channel a power on a sideways slant over the entire page. It was a very long poem. And it was so beautiful. Maybe some of the best poetry I’d written in years. And so profound. About creation as birth and death. About being enveloped in the flames of creation—much like how containers are formed. About creation as only the process, never the result.

And then, after writing this poem, I knew it’d be gone forever. So I cut the paper along the lines of each letter of C-R-E-A-T-E, into six different pieces. And I rearranged them in a new way with the tape. And then use my mystery item, a lighter, to burn the new creation. Until it felt burned enough.

On the remaining scraps, I twisted a part of the paper that said, “Death is rebirth” and placed all the pages together to write, “Create is Rebirth. Destruction and Creation.”

And then I threw the remaining scraps out.

I hadn’t created the poem to share with the world. Or even for my own memorabilia. It was created to be created. And then it was gone. And I had to process all the sadness and grief of creating and then dissolving that container.

I spoke to Sherri last Friday—as I always do—about our schedules. About how our work flows. About how we could be growing bigger, faster, stronger. And people like to remind us of that constantly. And yet I wouldn’t trade my schedule for the world. And she agreed.

Because, as she reminded me, “Art isn’t linear.” We’re expanding beyond these allusions that purpose is achievable. And that we have someone to “get” in the first place.

Instead, maybe, we can be present with whatever is rising up within us. And listening, patiently, to how it wants to be birthed.

As I write this, I’m reminded of another Mastermind member who is having (and likely had this week—though I haven’t gotten confirmation yet) a baby. And she spoke about knowing exactly what her body and the baby needs as far as treatment. Because, possibly, the baby—the thing that is being created—was speaking to her. She was already communing with this baby. It’s a relationship, a dialogue, a conversation. And, as such, she could feel what was best.

I wonder if we can have conversations with that which we’re birthing forth. If we can “subjectify” these things. If we can trust ourselves. And give ourselves the space we need to birth newness forth.

Art is never linear. Like the waves, it builds and crashes and draws in and out as it needs. And we have to have the courage to stand in that truth. To speak to that truth. To express what’s alive and present and real for us.

It’s what I practice every morning when I get up here, with no idea what I’m going to write, and just go. It’s what I practice when I continue refining my schedule, my work, my life.

I wonder if we can have the courage to birth forth the non-linear art that’s coming through us. It’s a tall order. Maybe the biggest of our lives.

But it also gifts the world our stunning, unmistakable art.

And nothing can replace that. Nothing can replicate our art.

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