It was William Faulkner, who said: “In writing, you must kill all your darlings.”
What is meant is that no matter how good, how beautiful, how attached one is to a part of the text, if it doesn't add value to the narrative, it must be removed, must be killed so it can no longer get in the way of the story. Deleted and forgotten.
I write a lot and I am more often than not, very wordy and not much of what I write would be considered 'darling material'. Many do suggest I should kill a few more of the sentences than I do. The reason I don't however, is that through all of these words, I am killing something else, myself. Actually, what I think is me, not what I truly am.
We all come to believe we are something or other but what we tend to do is identify with our thoughts, beliefs and behaviours and make them a part of us. We never really question though whether this is the truth or not but because we are attached, we cannot get enough distance to investigate thoroughly.
My writing is a sliver of my investigation, an opportunity to take a flashing cursor and the space on a blank page and fill it with what I discover. The process helps me slow down, disengage and examine what is in front of me. A hundred thousand thoughts can stream through as I write a text and for some reason, some stick, some seem relevant, some hurt.
Are my thoughts hurting me, is this self-harm? No, thoughts have no such power but what they can do is raise questions, contradict themselves and compete with each other for attention of the ego. And the ego picks and chooses which will be patted on the head this day, which will respond with stoic calm or play a victim card.
The ego likes to be stroked, and the thoughts that question it are seen as negative as the discomfort in discovery that points to it being wrong, feels like pain. So it tries to discount the thoughts that make it uncomfortable, it attempts to avoid what makes it feel bad.
I choose to explore these areas, look into myself and see what is within those dark corners, the ones that my ego looks to avoid. When I write, the fear that may accompany the unknown falls away, and is replaced by curiosity of what is hiding there. One step at a time, one word at a time, I move closer to a discovery.
What I find along the way, I inspect, consider and work out whether it is part of me or I have inherited it from another. Perhaps it is a belief handed down through family traditions and allows me to reminisce and maybe brings a warm feeling and a memory, along with the urge to protect it. I murder it instead.
In this quest, there is no space for sentiment, no leeway for history, this journey is about severing ties to all that is found that is not me. A detachment from the imagined self to find the true self. For many, just the thought of doing this brings discomfort and more than one will feel that this killing of the ego destroys who we are but, as I experience it, it frees.
For me, it removes the automatic pilot that guides thought, word and action and brings environmental sensitivity sharply into play. It allows for a broader view of experience that narrows my possibilities. This narrowing isn't because the other options are gone, it is that those options are increasingly out of sync with who I discover I am.
There is likely a long way to go on this journey as I feel I am nowhere near knowing what lies at the core once I have killed the attachment to what is not me. At times however, I think I have caught a glimpse, like a face on a train that rushes past and is held in view for a fraction of a moment. What I have seen scares me.
I think many hold the same fears. What if I never reach my potential, what if this is all I am capable of, what if I am living a life that is not mine? If I am living based solely on the beliefs installed by others, that makes my life programmed, automated, that makes me a robot.
Maybe at the core this is what I will find. Perhaps there will be no discovery at all, an empty space, a gap between worlds where nothing significant lays. I do not know but I intend to continue the journey anyway.
Through my thoughts, come my words and through my words, actions follow. Where it all leads, I cannot say. Enlightenment? Delusion? I chip away at the stone, peel back the layers that have been covering whatever I am for far too long, I push my mind where it does not want to go.
Weirdly, it is the most valuable experience I have as it leads to a whole range of better behaviours in my opinion. It helps me be a better husband and definitely a better father as I am more me than I have ever been and perhaps I will discover a way to help my daughter to always stay her, to never need to live automatically.
Killing my darlings doesn't mean they are gone and washed from memory, it is that they are not a force I must act upon or protect. They become tools in my shed if I need them and I can call upon them as necessary or leave them forever hanging on the wall.
It is this process that allows me to write as much as I do as the stream of thoughts that arrive lead to more thoughts, more ideas, more creativity. It seems the closer I get to the center, the more that comes pouring out.
I imagine it like rewinding the big bang, starting from the outskirts of the universe and slowly pulling it all back into the first moment of everything that is. All of what we are now was in that moment and the closer we get to it, the denser the environment. At that moment, the universe had no space, it was complete.
Is this the real me at my core when completely unfragmented? Who knows, but I find it all very interesting so I will think a little more, write another word, and take another step.
Taraz
[ a Steemit original ]