The tiny subsets within the cosmic set

 

We are connected to the larger dimensions of super-consciousness through the shadows in our subconscious. The latter mostly serves as the soil of manifestation, our consciousness, the platform of our conscious being, the awareness of our individual awareness, the sense of our identity.

The super-conscious is nothing yet everything at the same time. It is just pure potential, a probability for infinite manifestations. Our individual subconscious is just a tiny ripple in the super-conscious cosmic sea. With our conscious being we can perceive its vague shadows. These unresolved shadows flippantly drive our impulses, habits, fears, insecurities, desires, dreams, imagination. The acrid substratum smell casting its invisible layers over the fragrance of lovely spring around us. Life then seems just a random series of confronting coincidences.

There is a significant part of negative forces in the subconscious that works as a check-dam on the life-stream of manifestation at the conscious level. These shadows acquire the shape of invisible ghostly army that keeps ambushing the troops of our conscious effort to create and manifest a really meaningful life in broad daylight.

The shadows in our being. The antagonistic vituperations. A weird exasperation flaring up. Life becomes dreadfully wearied and perpetually harassed. Instead of becoming a nice storyteller, one is flung into the miserable, tattered corners of life in survival mode only. Self-tarnished. Turmoil and dissention within. Enthusiasm peters out.              

I think writing or journaling—or for that matter any form of art involving creation—is a very constructive means of allowing those unmanifested shadows to acquire shape and be present before us. The hidden impulses, fears, cravings and insecurities get embodied and stand there in front of us. We can then see them with clarity and analyze the pattern of our negativities.

Creative expression through art is a mirror in which the creator can have a specific outline of the haunting shadows that have tormented his soul and manipulated behavior. Because once you face something, it becomes very easy to deal with it. The fault lines within are put into light. The friction, the conflict, the restlessness all of them acquire a tangible shape that is clearly readable. The whirlpool of random energies that has been meaninglessly churning pain within gets an outlet. There is a release of the pent-up energies of pain like lava seeping out of a vent, avoiding an explosion.

Art is basically a vent on the existential surface of the artist. It slowly spews out the lava of discontent, unorthodox ideas, unique dreams, offbeat desires, alternative realities and exquisite imagination. That’s why art is so cherished and condemned simultaneously. It’s worshipped by the few for being a fresh manifestation, a goddess of originality. But it’s condemned as a rebel also for not yielding to the collective mass reality. But the artist still takes risks because outer condemnation is nothing in comparison to the inner damnation if it isn’t allowed to be manifested.