There are no rules. Ever. They only exist in our own minds although they can seem as concrete as the buildings around us. My thoughts are telling me that I can’t write these words. That I can’t write. In. This. Disjointed. Way. (ha, ha). But they are just thoughts, ephemeral clouds that pass through and go on their way. I don’t have to listen to them, I certainly don’t have to heed them.
There can’t be rules because everything is changing in every moment. What was true a minute ago may seem nonsense now. What inspires now may bore tomorrow.
Rules are simply a mental tethering of a concept that we construct to help us live with uncomfortable feelings. Of uncertainty, insecurity, fear, panic, hatred, sadness, disappointment, helplessness. Even the good things such as joy and bliss and happiness.
And most of these feelings come from thoughts about the future or regrets about the past. Neither of which are now.
I have now frightened myself with the thought that there are no rules! Because I want to explore living without them. In total trust and faith and knowing that I will be looked after, that all my needs will be met. I thought I had gone some way to doing this, following my inspiration even though my mind is screaming at me to get a job. A year ago I told a friend who was going to India for 6 months that I couldn’t visit because I didn’t have any money.
But I am still here, and the money has come in. In trickles, in dollops, sporadically or regularly. From little photographic assignments, a generous partner, the disposal of unwanted items, surprise gifts and from card sales. I am writing a book, something that I have only dreamed of before, without knowing how or if it will be published, and I have ideas for a second. But at the back of my mind has been the constant fear of how I am going to earn a living without getting a conventional job. A job that restricts my freedom and drains me of my life-force. A job that makes me follow another’s inspiration rather than my own. A job which dismisses my ideas and self-expression as inappropriate or self indulgent and suppresses my natural curiosity and exploration of life.
I want to write. And I can’t not write. Even if it comes to nothing. Even though nothing ‘comes to nothing’. If it takes me in a certain direction, if it reveals insights to me, if it allows me to release what needs to be said and heard by myself, regardless of whether or not it has an impact on others, then I have done my job. Physically expressing the essence of my individual character out into the world.
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