There is a Zen saying that goes, “Before one studies Zen, mountains are mountains and waters are waters; after a first glimpse into the truth of Zen, mountains are no longer mountains and waters are no longer waters; after enlightenment, mountains are once again mountains and waters once again waters.”
I’m not sure why this comes to mind now, except that reaching the end of The Artist’s Way and coming to the final chapter, where Cameron quotes Joseph Campbell’s “follow your bliss and doors will open where there were no doors before”, has brought me full circle.
Because it’s really this very concept – or how I’d come to interpret it – that brought me to The Artist’s Way in the first place. Except now I fully get what this phrase might mean and how I’ve been creatively self-harming with it.
So here I am now. At the end of the 12 weeks, where everything has changed and nothing has changed.
I hesitate to go into details. I straddle the line between wanting to share what might be valuable to someone for their journey and not wanting to expose my particular creative vulnerabilities before I’ve fully integrated it all.
But I will say that what brought me to my a-ha moment with the “follow your bliss” phrase was actually the one of the very first sentences in this chapter:
“Our resistance to our creativity is a form of self-destruction”.
So obvious and yet it only clicked for me now. For years I’ve been putting myself through a kind of creative anorexia: “I want to, I need to, I desire to … but I don’t. I won’t.”
Where’s the bliss in that?
I’ve had to admit that I’ve never followed my bliss to get to where I am. I’ve been chased by the fear of regret, a bigger demon than any of my others, whispering into my ear always: do the thing before it’s too late; before death comes.
It’s not pretty or inspiring, but it’s the way it’s been.
And by “where I am”, I barely mean success as it’s understood by pop culture. I mean mental health, good relationships, peace within myself, inner alignment, a spiritual centre that holds.
That I was still creatively blocked and blocking myself seemed like one of the last strongholds of my old patterns. But my usual go-to, “fear of regret”, while a good motivating factor to action in general, wasn’t the most useful to overcoming my creative anorexia.
It twisted everything into itself and amplified the worst of my fears: the regret of not trying, the regret of trying and failing…
So I feel like completing The Artist’s Way helped me build a bridge for myself from the old to the new; from using regret as a motivating factor to feeling for and listening to the quiet impulse towards bliss, that which brings joy.
“We will arrive at that place where we can learn, not from pain, but from joy and love.”
– Melodie Beattie
Does knowing this – like, finally, really getting it in my gut – mean that my creative landscape is any different? Nope. Does it mean opportunities are suddenly falling out of the sky? Nope.
But it does mean that I can finally see my creative landscape and enjoy it for the first time, without getting in my own way about it. Without expecting anything from it. Without using it to mentally and emotionally self-harm.
Each recovery programme has its “promises of recovery”. Cameron didn’t include a list since I suppose technically this isn’t a traditional recovery programme. But I can’t help feeling that Melodie Beattie’s “We will arrive at that place where we can learn, not from pain, but from joy and love” is as close to what this The Artist’s Way recovery can deliver if you engage with it fully.
And I mean fully. The only way over something is through it and the only way through it sometimes is just one hard step in front of the other. No matter how scary.
I was reminded again this weekend about the role that fear and trust play on the road to recovery – any recovery. The fear that keeps us from healing is the signpost to our very healing and yet, without the trust that healing is possible, there can seem very little reason to pursue the hard road; to face the demons, to embrace them.
But it’s a very rare instance when trying isn’t worth it.
Coming to grips with my creative blocks might not have been the biggest or scariest demon I’ve ever gotten cosy with, but the outcome has been as satisfying as any other. It’s not over yet, of course. Like with every new way of being there is practice and doing and embodying new realities. But I’ve started. I’ve finished the beginning and there is the rest to discover.
I’m glad I persevered with this. If you start it, I hope you do too.
t
x
TANYA MEESON 