I've been writing about The Moneylender in my journal
Or in my Notes app
Every few days I'll explain the concept to a live person
Then judge their reaction and subsequent conversation to see how well I'd understood
After deleting several drafts on my laptop, (one I thought might work with some revision--the others were didactic or stiff, the prose too noun-y)
Frankly, it all read like corporate memo
Afraid to appear narcissistic, I tried using second person point-of-view
It read as if I was accusing someone I know personally but was too cowardly to reveal
This morning I tried "writing into my doubt,"
A principle implied by author Steve Almond throughout one of the essays from his new book, Truth is the Arrow, Mercy is the Bow (Zando, 2024)
I still felt without a handle on the subject,
This archetype of the unconscious mind that represents the bargains we make in our creative, and also addictive patterns of thought
Bargaining is one of the stages of grief, or ways that we seek some measure of control over our circumstances
Every addict will be familiar with grasping at control
I met with a close friend this morning over coffee
In various ways he described a longing to return to a state of creative inspiration
I could relate
Each new idea, project, or piece involves grieving a former version of myself
He assured me that he was not depressed in that "manic depressive way"
I understood that there was more to what he was telling me than just an episode of mental illness
Maybe he's on a search for meaning,
The awareness that choices made, and actions taken are leading to something
We all bare some responsibility toward meaning
When I read about The Moneylender, I had to look up "existential guilt"
The term was coined by Sartre and denotes the cost each human must pay for free will
To recognize human potential is to imply a responsibility to actualize it
Is this akin to "Faith without works is dead"?
The Moneylender deals in potential
But can't thrive in the soul that creates
To create is to accept the compromise that must happen in order to bring the imagined into being
Imperfection is like broccoli: uncomfortably chewed and swallowed for vitality
To accept my imperfections, I have to try to take my potential and accept the best I can express
What happens to me is that I want to remain inert
I can get comfortable in the misery, navel gazing until my soul rots from an overload of existential guilt
I'm probably grieving my twenties, or my inner drug addict
He could get away with all kinds of selfish behavior
Flaking on commitments, using people solely as sources of feelings, performing all of his emotions, never stopping his riotous routine to consider anyone else's needs, and capping it all off with bouts of immoral and anti-social choices, convinced he would one day redeem himself via one lucky break
He wanted to feel like a success without having to do any of the actual work
To say that the feeling was enough for him however, would be false
Nothing was ever enough for him
I'm still seduced by the feeling, the imagined version of life
That's what the Moneylender sells
A fantasy
Entheogens and Synthetic psychotropic drugs may have taken me to spiritual experiences
Spiritualists and psychologists both have used the analogy of taking a helicopter to the top of the mountain
The Moneylender sells those rides
He's the one that chides me
"Ten thousand hours is for the masochists. It's all nepotism these days."
Shortcuts are his product, and he'd have you think they come free.
Somedays, albeit still infrequently, I remember (thanks entirely to the words of others) to turn around and look at what I do have.
In those moments I see how beautiful imperfection can be
Besides that, what has ever satisfied me with consistence?
I have a myopic tendency to become solopsistic and pathologize everything that happens
When I am unhealthy it feels like I've caused the outcomes of my life by taking too much or too little of something
I used to obsess over booze, weed, sex (solo or tandem), cocaine, opoids, xanax, mushrooms, LSD, spending money, acclaim and adulation.
Today I can just as easily obsess over espresso, nicotine, neurotransmitters, ibuprofen, twelve step meetings, insights from books,and sugar.
While the latter set is certainly preferable for a more stable and social life
Obsession should not be confused with actual life
Which goes where it pleases, independent of what I've demanded or tried to control
The Moneylender in my soul, when he is on his game, persuades me that its better to find the feeling of the dream than to risk destroying it by its realization through slow progress.
When I'm buying him, dreams are my reality
I very much need dreams and reality to stay independent of each other
And I need both
Dreams are better as dreams, and reality can only be what is
I do much better when I watch my dreams for clues about how I might respond to reality
The Moneylender would rather I try to fix myself
That is to become fixed on a dream against which I can measure reality
He seems to like to drive a wedge between the two
Ever widening the distance
That's the reason its taken me six weeks to make this post
I listened to the Moneylender sing to me about the possibility of perfection
Instead of accepting a lesser but real product of effort.
When I tell you this piece of writing was exquisite in my head, you'll have to take my word for it
The reality is I have limits
At thirty eight years old, I took English Composition twice at community college and failed both times...
At most, on any given day I have ninety minutes of uninterrupted time to write.
I don't regularly show my work to anyone for editing, proofreading, or a simple critique
It's doesn't so much terrify me to fail, or even to be rejected
I hate disappointment but I can handle it
What terrifies me is possibly achieving or receiving success by mistake
I'm not sure if this is what people mean when they use the phrase, "impostor syndrome," but I wouldn't be surprised.
Dreams won't satisfy me. And neither will reality if it were to become them.
Maybe I've just burned out my pleasure terminals
But when you hear people express their gratitude after their lives have been transformed
It's curious to me that many of them refer to being able to live a life, beyond their wildest dreams
The implication is often missed
But since I've gotten sober, I've actually made this claim from a podium or two
And I suspect it has more to do with a feeling of usefulness, than anything else
We can talk another time about whether art can or should be thought of as "useful"
People who make art have been useful in my life
When I first converted my Substack pledges into paid subscribers I went to the same friend, mentioned above.
I complained that it was harder to make things knowing that I was accepting money for them.
He set me straight.
"Those people aren't paying you for a service," he said.
"It may be different for somebody with millions of subscribers, I don't know. Those people are likely your friends and family, maybe a few strangers who can see what you're trying to do, and they want to come along for the ride."
I can't say if that's objectively true, but I do know it helped.
If the Moneylender in your soul bombards you with his bullshit, and you struggle like I do to get out of the possibilities and into the work, know you are not alone, it happens to me by some degree everytime I'm inspired
Perhaps its the only way that works to get me to reflect on what it would actually take to actually satisfy the urge.
Anyway, thanks for continuing to visit! I'm having the time of my life getting to do this, with all of its imperfection.
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