What I have learned for what it is worth:
I have creative inclinations I chase wildly, a romantic idea at best, a sleepless night spotting the month, the occasional panic attack, or defining hospital visit at the grim pits of the spectrum. During the creative process, internal monolouge multiplies into a seminar of diatribes of multi-faceted perspectives; each facet a peice of my truth, each facet my voice, each facet authentic, each facet sharing a similar foundation amongst them, in that they are founded within “I”, yet each facet distinguishable between them, and at times, diametrically opposed. I am inherently a hypocrite. Although there is no way for me to claim with certainty that this phemonemon is greater than myself and resides within each cognisant mind like the severed connection of the corpus colosum, I imagine that I am not alone.
The pioneer modernist poet T.S. Eliot demonstrates the harmony of dissonance in both “The Waste Land” and “The Four Quartets.” The ancient Greek cosmogony “Theogony” is a myth that depicts the creation of the universe, where opposing forces of Love and Strife cause a combustion greater than the sum of the parts. Contemporary cognitive psychologists share a common rule of thumb theoretical consensus of cognitive dissonance. When ones beliefs are not aligned accordingly with ones actions, the animal in man unknowingly or knowingly shifts either the cognition or behavior to relieve the inner tension triggered by the discordant pair. Alleviation from the cacophony increases comfort; however, the high cost is often disillusionment. I chase my creative inspirations. I accept my hypocrisy, and hold no grudge or judgement against owning the very human quality.
The synaptic wrath of atomic fusion, the combustion of dialectics per say, feels like a force that can swallow me whole. Like Jonah and the Fish, the human condition grows tremendously on an individual and societal level from the act of rebirth: revolutions arise like harmony from dissonance, and so often the leaders are simultaneously suffers of swimming beneath the waters of their unconscious psyche.
The product created from the process, down the rabbit hole, is an authentic artifact, a tiny representation that can be invalidated, criticized, discounted, and rejected, but not destroyed. I realized at a young age that I am the only one who authentically knows what it is like to be me: affects, behaviors, cognitions, the bermuda triangle at large. For the rest of the world, strangers at bus stops and parents alike, I am nothing more than a canvas to paint projections unto. Likewise, You represent reflections of Me, through my eyes. Seeking a voice through which I feel understood is my motivation to create. In due time, the products of this process will pass on and no longer to relevant expressions. And yet, I hardly feel defeated. The more I fully grasp the concept that we are all wholes in the hole, we are all one, the less motivated I am to produce. Fancy that.