What's he building in there?

On the obsessive creative urge, building a warm home, and an extra appearance with my guitar by the campfire singing Amazing Grace

Hey,

I’m tired. I had a cold or flu this week and now my body hurts. I’m writing this reclined into the best and most familiar of human poses - the shrimp pose - in a deep sofa that is soft as cotton candy. I never liked cotton candy, not even as a child. It is not particularly soft either, sticky and brittle if my somatic memory serves me right. But still it is hard to argue against it as a metaphor for blissful softness.

A strangely full week. I have recently started a new job. This is a major event because I haven’t had a job in more than six years. And naturally then, I am now in the full process of rekindling and reintegrating the engineer - a part of me who has been reclined as well, sipping watermelon smoothies on the beach somewhere in my vast inner world. He is a programmer by trade, creating complex algorithms in a digital world. Now he’s been brought back to work. You can imagine him with an orange overall full of oil stains, in a purposefully built environment like a flight hangar, some kind of welding goggles on his forehead, and a huge wrench in his strong hand. He is working on something - a heavy machine. A hidden machinery existing only in that mental parallel dimension that stretches forth out of the back of every screen.

A lonely place.

But he’s in there. Obsessed by the machine. Pale and thin from neglecting to eat and hiding for weeks by himself in his lab. Dark circles around darting eyes from days without neither sleep nor breaks. Every cog of his mind spinning fervently. He’s the kind of scattered brained genius who would never come home for dinner. He wouldn’t have a dinner to come home to. Married to his work, not so much from love as from that creeping pressing urge to finish his masterpiece.

Yeah alright now we are perhaps going a bit too grim. But who doesn’t love a pinch of drama? What is definitely true about this picture is how I loose myself in my work. The mental urge is so strong, that even after years of exploring and learning about myself and my mind, it still gets me. Almost every time. I find myself pulled into that mental virtual reality that we have built behind every word and thought and behind every letter and pixel. And in there I have a job to do. And for some reason it appears more important… more important than anything else.

Although not exactly delightful, getting lost in there is now perfect - the perfect alchemical cauldron. It’s my gym, my next growth edge and current theme. A challenge. So I observe and learn, and attempt to find the wisdom necessary to be able to be, also with this, with love. Training the subtle muscle that would allow me the mastery to choose to not be pulled by the thought that dives into the machine. Training the ability to stay aware of and not be enchanted by its anxious trickery. To not allow myself to be consumed. But also: Choosing when to let it loose and play. Because he also represents flow, and excited creativity. It is about loosing oneself to the creative urge, and it is not something to be banished. Instead it is a powerful force to manage wisely.

Ultimately, I am aiming for a posture that can retain both. Can I sit in front of my programming with a relaxed posture, feeling the creative flow and somatic inspiration as I work with and reshape the structured thoughts in the hidden machine? Can I feel both the nourishing depth of my breath and the joy of my reaching creativity? Can I allow the creative play before me? And can I close the lid and softly turn away and leave when home is calling?

He shall be allowed to play and create. But I need to stay here. I keep the home lit and warm. I put food on the table and invite the family. I build a close circle of dear friends. I shave and breathe and move this body. I feel.

And as long as I do so, he will always have a home to return to.

Until next time,
Alexander

Intermission

Take a moment. Take a breath. Look around. Listen… Feel.

Further trails

• Amazing Grace by the campfire (song). I joined an online campfire last week (basically an online chat with a fire emoji and wonderful warm shared intentions) initiated by the resourceful

  joy on earth
  . Gathered were many caring and creative people from all over. I brought my guitar and shared a fireside classic: Amazing Grace. A simple and playful rendition. Of course I want to invite you to listen to it as well, so here it is 🙏 You can read more about it here: a night to remember around the campfire.

• Silly Goose (substack note). This illustration by

  Srinidhi
  , made my day, and will continue to make many more of my days. When I get my own home one day I will make her sell it to me as a print and I will put it square wherever I can see it most.

• What's He Building? (youtube). The image of the lonely builder from todays post brought up this old piece by Tom Waits from 1999 that I haven’t thought of in ages. A very grim badass piece indeed. For some reason I was enchanted by this track and listened to it a lot in the days of… LunarStorm. If you don’t know what LunarStorm was, don’t worry. Only Swedes born in the 80s will have a chance of getting this reference.

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❤️A