Procrastination vs The Artist..

Procrastination…

Well to start things off, procrastination is a bit of a bitch, but it doesn’t come without purpose.

It feels like procrastination empties the soul and feasts on the distractions with its mindlessness, leaving us in a shameful state of annoyances. Our body surrenders to the distractions, one because its easier, two because we know the work we must do is of such importance it can feel like a burden, (in this process of distractions our body is eased but our mind becomes foggy and restless in the knowing of something more important should be done, maybe we understand the mental exhaustion that comes with the doing of the "something" which has yet to be done) but ironically it can be what sets us free and fills our own cup of meaning, also perhaps we need the friction of resistance so we can test and expand to its opposite. All functions can serve a purpose, maybe we just bounce between dualism and when it is at the extreme angle it rises and demands our attention, whether it is at a positive or negative position. I guess we just need to find the right tools to shut up all the self-doubt and the denial of the “something” that needs doing. The greatest enemy is procrastination, so our greatest friend must be the creation which springs from the fountain of nothingness, which procrastination so eagerly tries to destroy. Maybe we become confused at times with what exactly it is we must do or create, but at the same time confusion can be the basis on which to think clearer.

I think the self-doubt is obviously accustomed to a projection of the outward appearance of things, but rarely a symptom of how things actually are, or about the thing in itself. The self-doubt is placed on the foundation of a diluted inferiority we cling to, which is totally independent from inside the perception of another, and I anxiously await for conformation or a validity of sorts, when in fact the absolute of any writing or Art is for it to be understood in its pure form with or without approval or applause. The understanding is in the Art being seen or felt in its depths in any way that relates to the subjectivity of one’s own perception of it. I think self-doubt can definitely be a huge downfall and the opposite of genuine confidence in ones work, it’s strange because the core of the self’s work can never be criticised in a way which undermines its intent or purposes but yet I cling to the perception another may have about the core identity of it. On deeper levels where the work is created there needn’t be anything but the thing, confidence or self-doubt is irrelevant and ceases to exist in those depths, the thing just is. If the Art is truth, then what does any of the outer or inner doubts have to do with it, but yet here I am seeking something outside of. I guess sometimes we need something to bounce off to compare, contrast and ultimately a frame of surface validity, (or perhaps ego) or ultimately it could be a resonance we seek, assuming that writing is a relational process. Sometimes I think the turmoil of inner neglect forever chases affirmation through the false validity of outside confirmation, and it needs to be worked on to determine why we create in the first place. In the depths it is all self-evident already, and the relationship we have with Art is a interwoven one with our conception, perception, and interconnectedness between ourselves and the Art, and the feedback loop between the two, and when you poke it further you realise it’s just two and the same anyway. I think my ranting is over, well actually it’s never over in my mind, but for it to be organised and make sense I need to limit the streams of thought-forms into context, anyhow Art, specifically poetry just sparks endless threads of thought, and the open edges give rise to endless interpretations which only close in when we seal them with our awareness.

~Leya Hunter.