Stillness

What happens when we stop and close our eyes? Do we see what is to come, what has already occurred, or what we hope to achieve? Do we achieve a higher sense of purpose?

These are the most common questions that have been stirring in my mind as of late. Closing your eyes, letting the world dissolve around you, and taking a part of it into yourself is wildly underrated.

Most cultures would most likely classify this as some type of meditation. Some people would consider it sleep, day-dreaming, or letting your imagination run free. I guess the truth lies somewhere in between all of those.

Coming from a person who has a tough time sitting still, my mind reeling with thoughts, ideas, different numbers, different scripts, different ways I could be making a difference, stillness is the hardest thing to achieve.

Why would you want to be still in the first place other than sleep?

Being still is something that I have always struggled with. My mind works too quick for me to be anything other than still. Constantly juggling words, numbers, and trying to balance everything in between so my mind so it stops screaming at me.

Artists often want to perfect their work, but how can you perfect something that no one has seen?

The mere fact that people aren't reading my scripts or looking at my budgets doesn't irritate me. In fact, quite the opposite. It has given me an opportunity to perfect them. Now having eight complete, the ninth and final script a quarter finished.

Every time I open the page, I see that number, 42, staring blankly at me. Unchanging. Trying to write dialogue that isn't mechanical and scenes that aren't cliche has become somewhat difficult. Every writer hits their blocks, mine just happen to deal with numbers; an unfinished script is an unfunded project (or potential).

What is the purpose? What is the goal? Creating different worlds so you can be a god? You may be able to create and perfect, but it doesn't change the fact that you are alone. At the end of the day, after those thousands of words that you've typed, you close your laptop and stare into the black screen, feeling yourself fade into the pages. You're still completely and utterly alone.

Writing scenes that I know that I'd love to act in, or do is calming. It makes me feel in complete control when it's quite the opposite. No one can control the world. With just one sentence, an entire world can collapse on itself or a whole universe can be born.

Words are what you make them out to be. Thoughts, actions, and feelings are different. That's what poetry is for. When you can't filter your own feelings, you write; or at least that's what I do.

Words are what I turn to instead of death. Something that no longer scares me. The only disappointing thing about death, is that my work would be left unfinished, the 42nd page still waiting to become the 43rd, the 44th, until the final 90th page. Even if I achieved that goal, what would change?

Can change be anything other than the stillness of death?

Achieving that middle state; meditation has become difficult, and my obsession. Everything else is secondary. Perhaps because most of my work is finished, but undiscovered. That fear of discovery, all those hours perfecting each page, the punctuation; my world.

What happens when it gets uprooted? Will everything change? Will I be forced to be constricted or limited? What if I never create again?

These questions have been stirring in my mind, preventing me from achieving the stillness.

The stillness of not having your brain scream at you at three in the morning about your half-finished script.

The stillness of not feeling like a failure every-time you second guess your budgeting skills.

The stillness of not feeling like you will never fit into the world.

The stillness of a middle-state of death.

Becoming one with the world, letting myself dissolve into it, leaving my work; my perfect universe. Even if someone read my work, will they understand me? The level of emotions that I have poured into my projects are unlike anything I could have ever hoped to achieve. Now I'm just stuck waiting for my mind to stop.

That is the best thing I could hope to dream of...