I don't have a choice

I've been in my own little world lately. I've had to be. Blocked off from reality. No travel. Social media dead zone. Completely absorbed. The normal chaos of me has been whittled precisely down to the most intimate interactions and actions. My brain needs to be at it's best. Focused. Dedicated. Unswerving. What I'm trying to create is so persistent and insistent that I have no choice but to invest my whole life, my whole soul in making it come into existence. The abyss is calling my name. And that's scary when it happens because of what it means. The universe has chosen me at this point and time to birth something into reality. And giving birth is painful.

Alot of interviewers have asked me why I do what I do. Maybe hoping I have some dum story about growing up with a sick dog that inspired me to pursue science. Even I have had trouble myself understanding myself. But today, maybe this morning, while abstaining from the influence of the secular world when I avoid my phone for the first few hours of every day, I was reading Rilke, recommended to me by the lovely Michael Gibson of 1517 fame. in between passages and walking around my backyard garden barefoot tasting the too often bitter lettuce leaves growing, I came to a realization. I don't have motivations for my work. I don't wake up in the morning inspired to change the world or make alot of money. Sometimes even the pursuit of happiness seems irrelevant. I do because I have to. I think, this is true for all great artists. It's what separates the mundane from the spiritual. The artist can only give everything.

Inside me there is thirst so deep I could drink the whole universe and still not be quenched. The only thing that for a brief moment quells the gnawing is creating beautiful things. As Rilke said(paraphrasing), an artist has an inherent need to create art.

I find myself again too close to the edge of the abyss. And I hope if you find yourself there, you invite me for chamomile tea.