20. Trusting the Process

Fiona and Kaspa invited me to contribute a short essay about writing for their website during this month's "River of Stones." Here's what I sent them, and it's to be posted on "Writing Our Way Home" today. There've been some excellent, inspiring, and helpful essays this month - hope you'll read all of them!

TRUSTING THE PROCESS

January brings a new River of Stones to the literary and spiritual blogsphere, right at a time when our attention to the world around us might be flagging, along with our spirits. This challenge -- to write one small observation each day -- inspired large numbers of us last year and I have no doubts that it will be the same in 2012. For some, this is the beginning, or renewal, of a daily writing practice. For others, it's the first taste of what that might be like. But the real challenge for all of us, no matter how long we've been doing this, is how to keep going.

There are lots of reasons why we find it hard to continue writing every day, and I'm only going to talk about one of them here, but it's a big one. Somehow, as we read what others have done, and re-read our own efforts, a little voice in our head starts making comparisons and judgments, almost always at our own expense. Maybe we hoped for more comments, more support, more encouragement. Maybe what we've done falls short of our own expectations. Maybe we think other people's writing always tends to be more___________ -- fill in the blank -- creative, interesting, unusual, perceptive, clever, intelligent, poetic. Most of us, I think, have been in this kind of negative, paralyzing place whose sole purpose seems to be to tell us, "You aren't good enough, this is too painful, this is pointless...just stop."

Of course, all the arts can be problematic in this way: it doesn't matter whether we're writing small stones or a blog or a novel, or trying to practice the piano, or make a drawing every day. My worst crisis over my own work came in my mid-thirties, when I was mostly working in the fine arts. I had had some conventional "success" but was convinced I was missing something significant; that something inside me was holding me back. I became so discouraged and frustrated about art that I gave up painting and drawing for five years, but I was equally determined to find answers.

During that time I learned to meditate, and studied the writings and teachings of masters of Zen and Tibetan Buddhism, Hinduism, and the contemplatives and mystics of my own Christian tradition. There were common threads, one of which was mindfulness and attentiveness to the present moment. With the experience of meditation as a practice, I gradually found a new way, which still continues to deepen twenty-five years later. The point of making art, I gradually realized, is not the finished piece of writing or art and the praise we hope to receive for it, but the process of creation and what it teaches us.

Shunryu Suzuki helped me a great deal. I still remember the first time I read his essay, "The Marrow of Zen," in Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind, in which he wrote:

...almost all of us want to be the best horse. if it is impossible to be the best one, we want to be second best. This, I think, is the usual understanding of this story, and of Zen. You may think that when you sit in zazen you will find out whether you are one of the best horses or one of the worst ones. Here, however, there is a misunderstanding of Zen. If you think the aim of Zen practice is to train you to become one of the best horses, you will have a big problem. This is not the right understanding. If you practice Zen in the right way it does not matter whether you are the best horse or the worst one...

--

If you study calligraphy you will find that those who are not so clever usually become the best calligraphers. Those who are very clever with their hands often encounter great difficulty after they have reached a certain stage. This is also true in art and in Zen. It is true in life.

--

The awareness that you are here, right now, is the ultimate fact...In continuous practice, under a series of agreeable and disagreeable situations, you will realize the marrow of Zen and acquire its true strength.

Eventually, I began again. I learned not to judge my work, or continually compare it to others: just to do it, and let it go, moving on to the next piece of art or writing. It's one thing to be inspired, and to study work we admire, and quite another to allow our expectations and fragile ego to rule us. In meditation we follow our breath, noticing thoughts as they arise but not judging them, and then we let them go. We try to do this, we fail over and over, but we continue practicing anyway. Likewise, a daily writing practice is an opportunity to observe, think, and write to the best of our best ability right now, and then let that work go without judging, simply moving on to the next day, the next small stone. It's important to have faith in the process and its ability to teach us. That's difficult at the beginning, but -- please trust me -- it gets easier.

We are all meant to be creative beings; I firmly believe this is a big part of why we are here. Eventually, changes are wrought within us as we practice being observant, mindful, and creative. These changes have almost nothing to do with "success" in the eyes of the world, and everything to do with the contentment and peace and quiet wisdom that come from feeling our deep connection to everything around us. There is no hierarchy or limit to this potential; it is within each and every one of us. Even in the face of great difficulties, knowledge of our deeper selves -- including our own inherent creativity which is one with the inexhaustible creativity of the universe -- sustains us, and is a great gift which we both receive and give.

Comments

[Dale Favier]

I do all my best work, of any sort, for particular persons. I usually dismiss the abstract, hypothetical, evaluating audience, which generally (as I imagine it) wants to hear something I don't know anything about, and talk to one real person I think I can really speak to. There's something that one person should hear.

Afterwards, maybe I revise that person out and maybe I don't (it's the ubiquitous "you" I address in so many pieces, different people at different times.) I don't even think about whether something is "worth saying" in some absolute sense: I only ask, "is this worth saying *to you*?"

[Anne]

The picture is lovely and as usual your essay is full of wisdom and careful analysis. I find that resolutions about doing something every day make me tense because I'm afraid I will fail. But I also know that any day I write or draw or paint, at the end of the day I feel better. Literally feel healthier. I can't dissect the feeling to find out what its parts are, but you are exactly right that it's not the finished product it's the process of making it that matters.

[Vivian]

I took a little (too little for this) break in the middle of trying to finish a commercial assignment to read your reflection which tantalizes, nourishes and frustrates me like the scent of a homemade spaghetti sauce might, if I were as I sometimes confess I am, driving down my street towards the McDonald's drive thru. Keep telling me this, and I will keep trying to listen. (I did do writing practice this morning tho).

[Sue]

Sometimes the biggest problem I have with writing every day is when I DO get attention. I have an interest in sculpting clay, and a few years ago I went to a class to learn more. I couldn't do it. Under the benevolent gaze of kindly people, I felt totally exposed. I couldn't do stuff while other people were there watching me. So I quit the class after going a few times and resolved that I must learn to sculpt by myself, in that case.

I get this way when I'm writing all alone, too, and sometimes a lovely comment from someone can arouse that feeling of exposure, that it's unsafe to write, and then it takes several days to shake off that feeling and return back to forgetting about such boring self-conscious things, and returning to just trusting and enjoying the process and the space from where these observations come that have the ability to surprise me. Because it's me observing them, but it's like the expanded me, the one who knows far more than my conscious mind knows. And I want to be with her all the time, and I get frustrated when I get flustered by what other people are going to think and I lose sight of her. Because when I just listen to her and let it flow out through my hands like sand, then that is when I write something that surprises even me, even though it was me that wrote it.

I've been struggling with this uber sensitivity for many years. It's interesting and edifying what I'm picking up along the road with this. Thank you for your lovely post.

[Natalie]

Hear hear Beth! And each of the commenters too, you are all speaking to me.

And this quote in particular resonates for me:
"...Those who are very clever with their hands often encounter great difficulty after they have reached a certain stage. This is also true in art and in Zen. It is true in life."

And what an extraordinary photo! Is it of a hollowed out tree trunk? Or a stone? Absolutely stunning.

[Kel]

The point of making art, I gradually realized, is not the finished piece of writing or art and the praise we hope to receive for it, but the process of creation and what it teaches us.

YES!!!

that is part of my calling, my life work
not, as some may see it, a self-absorbed action, but as a way of modelling to others where the true power of creating lies... in the process

for the product will only ever have as much power as the process

[Beth]

Natalie, that same quote stopped me in my tracks, years ago, and made me turn in a different direction. Now I think of it as one of the kindest and most helpful things anyone ever "said" to me - a lesson that came at exactly the right time, when I was pretty desperate.

The photo is of a tree root, on the shore of Lake Champlain, that's been polished and hollowed by waves and ice. I thought it was as beautiful as any sculpture.

[Marja-Leena]

YES to all of this, Beth! The last paragraph is the perfect conclusion, for me. When I do my visual art, I do it for myself and am thrilled, of course, when viewers "get it". I'm not a writer so when I started to blog, it was a quite a struggle to express myself and overcome a feeling of self-consciousness and exposure, which I did/do not feel about showing my prints. It's gotten a little easier but I'm still a bit shocked when I meet someone who tells me he/she reads my blog. Still, it has become a kind of diary for me, who rarely ever kept one. The writing has often helped in clarifying many thoughts about my creative process, often helped by many supportive comments. Reading beautifully written and thoughtful blogs like yours inpire and enhance it all for me.

The image is truly astounding, Beth! Really speaks to me at so many levels.

[Lilian Nattel]

This is beautiful, both photo and text, and it's timely for me as my own anxiety is rising up more strongly the closer it gets to pub date for Web of Angels. It's ironic because the novel began one day when I let go of a project that wasn't going anywhere and sat down just to write. I've been thinking about that and about beginning something new. It's all clear and calm while I meditate, but when I get up, not so much. Thank you for reminding me.

[Beth]

Thanks, Marja-Leena -- you are a great example of someone who just keeps at it, and has done so over a lifetime. I'm glad that you've overcome your reticence about writing and that it helps you the way you describe, because we all get to benefit from it!

Believe me, Lilian, the only reason I can write this with any assurance is because I've struggled with the negative emotions and anxiety so much myself! It's funny, isn't it, the way when we let go things sometimes start flowing in a new way? I think that may be precisely because we've let go of all those external judging voices saying "its not good enough" or those who we're desperately trying to please. Trusting the process often means trusting ourselves, doesn't it? Thanks for commenting, and best of luck with Web of Angels!

[marly youmans]

I like the quote about the calligraphy as well. I often find that young writers and artists compare themselves too much, judge themselves too much. Sometimes they want a judgment from outside as well. But how can one know what growth and life events will do to a young person to make him or her widen and be a bigger vessel for creation? The one little regarded and working quietly in the corner may be the one who has the strength and growth to keep to the work when others fall away...

We are back to Hawthorne's "Artist of the Beautiful" here, in which the artist's creation is an outward and visible sign of inner transformation.

[James]

Very well said. If small stoning has taught me anything it's the beauty of process and practice. I'm always reminded of a quote from Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenence: "The real cycle you’re working on is a cycle called yourself. The machine that appears to be “out there” and the person that appears to be “in here” are not two separate things." That's always stuck with me and it's one if the best explanations I've found for my own creativity.