The Seeking Spot for Insatiable Curiosity

The hiding spot is the seeking spot. What we conceal, reveals us. Where we are mistaken is what redeems us. Where we suffer is what heals us. What we fear is our weapon of abuse. How we walk is how we sleep, how we sleep is how we dream, what we dream is what we eat, what we eat is how we live, how we live is how we think, how we think is what we read, what we read is what we seek, what we seek is what we believe. 

Imagine a crowd of strangers from all across the globe meeting in a busy street of a foreign city. Imagine standing there still, as their paths meet in time never to be replicated quite the same again. Each one of these strangers distinctively embodies a story. They each sit, walk, speak, and reach according to their narrative. If you stand to notice, you will recognize that in the case of humanity, the cover reveals the plot. Some are thin, with covers in style, these books are popular and predictable. Some are keen, with covers made to dream in pristine designer lounges, these are books suited for an informed crowd and only a few find them inspiring and sound. Some books are of discreet covers with prominent names, their pages are dense and read by fundamentalists esteemed by their interest in histories and psalms.

RULES OF ATELIERS

Some years ago, a mentor of mine explained to me the role of a painter, she said it is our job to create the illusion of the third dimension, space or depth, on a two-dimensional frame, that contains only height and width. Such a simple truth was an extraordinary discovery for me. So we are magicians, I excitingly but cautiously exclaimed. More like, illusionists, she patiently returned. Paintings hide mathematical correlations in their works while writers must abide by grammatical rules. Unlike creative arts that give shape to the abstract in shape, color, line, or note and sound, language aims to find a way to most accurately contain the abstract in descriptive words that condense the situation at hand and expand the imagination of it at the same time. Language is culturally and contextually determined as is art and aesthetic.

Writing also reveals unseen dimensions but unlike painting, good writing is perspective but it is not illusionary. Writers are truth seekers while painters are the ones that have to bend. What is concealed is what the writer reveals. Musicians can be understood as alchemists, painters as illusionists, and writers as seers. Learning to write is learning to examine reality from new perspectives in order to expand the ability to grasp the truth of a situation, a person, or a place. Writers aim to present their case in such a way that it is closest to the absolute truth.

LIBRARY CARD

For years I refused a library card. I was absorbed in the stories that I could study in my walking life. I wanted to see if life was tailored to satiate the appetite of a writer. It was only in my early twenties that I started to read physical copies of books. When I purchased my first library card, I was suddenly enthralled by the richness of dialogue sitting on these wooden shelves. Amazed by how many books existed and how many were destined to be written. My reading engagement persisted since. I rumbled through repositories of noteworthy mouths, kneeled on carpentry floors, and tugged at inclosing walls. I frowned through passages and was childishly candid through illustrations and gravure. I drank tea and considered if I found a thought written down that was worth leading a mind. Then I ate wrapped chocolate candy while Giants read me stories of epoch-making circumstances. In the end, I appreciated my library card.

IN SEARCH OF WORDS WORTHY OF BEING WRITTEN

I realised that knowledge gave me a transcendent ability to move the immovable material conditions of this life. I could reach into places my feet would never be able to touch. These voices would echo through the pavilions of my internal space and I would be changed. And in that way, I too would become a meaningful part of the unraveling of collective awareness. However, it was crucial to see for myself before considering what somebody else had to say about it. My preferred libraries remain, the bustling city streets, untouched hillsides and gardens sheltering bird nests and war crimes, narrow pathways where lovers met, and shadows under willow trees where hopes were left. My devotion remained in places from which words originated. My curiosity came before literacy. Before considering speech, I consolidated an investigation of the unspoken living world. I wondered where else life remains outside of books. In the endless pastures where time mattered less is where I first found words worthy of being written.