017: temptations
do you know what it feels like to wake up with words in your head? to be tapped into the conscious realm by spiraling metaphors yearning for a home on your page. as your eyes lift to behold the day’s first light, you see beyond what can be felt with hands. you see a world that overlaps with this terrestrial, a world that reverberates silently for only a few to hear. but, i hear it. and, it’s clamour is deafening at times.
i took time away—again—to be tempted. dare i say that i was driven into the wilderness, not to check if i would turn stones to bread, for i had done that already. i had consumed my lusts upon the stones meant for building, for my belly instead. and in this wilderness, i saw how i had fallen into the deep.
there is an urge that comes with this age. it has a familiar pull, a slave master that we call friend. it crawls into our space with a deception that is easily overlooked. it sits with us in the dark, in the corner of our rooms and watches us as we plan our lives in oblivion to the Creator’s will. it lurks in the shadows of our ambitions and gives them a voice. it gives our hands the strength to keep on writing our vision on plain tables of our hearts, but it is a great deception, i tell you.
i took time away—again—to find out this monster. i spent all the while combing him out; in the sharp corners and smooth surfaces, in the hidden spaces where the sun doesn’t get to and at the heights where my hands cannot reach. i needed this. i craved the taste of this freedom.
for i know one thing, i must write. but, i must also do it well.
without the applause. without the need for validation. without the hope of popularity. without the quest to be seen one day as a literary genius.
i write because when i wake up, these words hover in my mind, and it is my temptation. for i am never able to silent them easily. thus, i was caught in-between a rock and a hard place: for how do i write and not give this monster a voice?
i took time away, but it was one of the most difficult things i would ever do.
i know a bit about temptations — of seductions and resistance responses. i have read of Joseph and Potiphar’s wife — how fear of the divine preserved a Man. i know what it feels like to be tugged at the helm of your shirt by a woman. to have her call your name in lustful reverberation. i am conversant with the fragrance of desire and uncontrolled passion, how they sit like peas in a pod.
i write in the fields of temptation, by the brooks where quiet thoughts settle and will no longer wills. i am sat beneath the rocky elevation, where the heads of the literary greats tumble from up to bottom, in grand descent. for these heads, as they fall, carry words that ride on stubborn winds.
the voices of the brave have a sound and it is my temptation, to waltz to their stylistic brilliance and poetic phenomena. but i must be different. i must learn of them, of their style, of their patterns, of the artistic beauty with which they colour their thoughts. but, i must not take with me; their beliefs, their ways and their idols. for when i do, i invite the monster in. it might be a wild beast, but it loves the warmth of my room.
it has been a long journey back to my Eden, where God first sat and spoke light into my creative mind. within these walls, i find reason again. i fetch pure intentions from deeper, long-lasting wells that won’t run dry.
writing the world is a very tricky thing to do, because the world is more than just your oyster, it is your enemy. it is your beast, it is your monster.
in all you do, whatever it is, always remember, that there is a world beyond what the eyes can see. and if we are able to express it, to paint it, to give it form, to live it; we must do it with sincere purity and reverence.
random update about me: i have taken a liking for reading about medieval paintings, thanks to AJ. call us weird, but we find it fascinating. you can read about art daily on getdailyart.com. they also have an app for a seamless experience.
till next friday, my friend.
with all the love and strength to write the world,
benny.
I do.
I also know what it feels like to realize that you've come out of literary hibernation. You may not think of yourself as a poet, but to me you are.
Now, about the post—it reminds me of a quote by Steven Pressfield from War of Art:
“The professional concentrates on the work and allows rewards to come or not come, whatever they like.”
And Rainer Maria Rilke:
“Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write.”
Get it?
"in all you do, whatever it is, always remember, that there is a world beyond what the eyes can see. and if we are able to express it, to paint it, to give it form, to live it; we must do it with sincere purity and reverence."
Suffice it to say, this has made my end of year print list. I loved this. Thank you Benny🙏❤️