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I am a hermit crab, beavering away in my burrow. A solitary squirrel sequestered with my plans and lonesome longings in a mystical, maniacal, animal monologue of mixed metaphor.

I get quite few joke names, which include things monk and hermit related.

Beset with the guilt, the grandeur, the hauteur – that I ought not to be … an auteur.

Can’t help it. Anyone else out there with lone wolf syndrome?

New service based entrepreneurial models tell us now that business, creativity, society is all about connectedness – the ‘we’ not the ‘I’. And the new spiritual paradigm, likewise. Social media platforms now join us together 24 hours a day. There’s a pressure to get out there and network – fill the diary with at least one ‘out there on the scene’ social thing per week.

I’m trying. I look from the very pretty, but seemingly dead and self-regarding pixels of my smooth running technology and gaze outwards and upwards at the sky. The multi-hued data of nature…the wild wind, the raw information of the elements, insects, birds and flowers – all speak more loudly to me than my social engagements and responsibilities. Nature speaks in non-verbal, non-linear blocks of light and shadow, silence, sound and memory, signature scent and rhythm. Repairing brain cells that I lost through gazing at the computer screen or tirelessly tapping out tedious tendrils of text. Minds more patient than my own have made perceptive, peaceful and functional parallels between technology and spirituality. In every sense we have reached peak information saturation that requires of us something more intelligent than previously. As departed writer and psychedelic adventure Terence McKenna noted, this expanding endless ‘novelty producing’ universe has reached warp speed where a quantum leap through hyper dimensions, as hyper-humans, is the only next step. I sense a split – some beings and places are already there – others have fallen into stasis, atrophy and living death. There is pain and a pulling sensation.

Whatever, I’m pretty sure that the internal quest for self-knowledge, the mythical inner journey through the souls terrain, is not via the technology of computer networks, or even actual social engagement, but through the older, more organic spiritualities of lucid dreaming, sleep, silence, reflection – contemplation and co-operation with the balance of time and the natural world, of death, birth, renewal, decay and transformation. For me, this means periodically enjoying the almost forbidden pleasure of allowing my phone batteries to die in the middle of nowhere leaving me, temporarily and genuinely – unreachable. For those in the know, I often joke, I can be reached more quickly on the telepathic frequencies – and I reckon this is one of the skills we should be (re) developing. This requires quantities of time, alone, listening, watching, catching the wisps and impressions that blow across the still waters of the mind. It’s a state of active receptivity that sends many people into a panic and which they’d rather fill with chatter.

It’s an age-old dilemma for performers and entertainers who are also solo flyers and contemplatives who find it difficult to breathe in crowds and who tend to prefer the silent, but instructive company of beetles. I suppose it is this magical and necessary cusp that is my material. The artists job is to bridge the gap between the twilight worlds of image and association and the broad daylight of ‘everyday’ consciousness. This is how we heal ourselves and others. I’ve heard that wolves, though misconceived of as ‘loners’, are in fact very social and communal. It’s all about the balance.  Let us all honour our own methods and rhythms for navigating our creative seasons.

 


 

 

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