Exploring the Explorable
Exploring the Explorable
By Tony DeLorger © 2012
I sometimes wonder why I so often walk a tightrope between reality and what I can do to dissect it until it no longer resembles reality. In a way I liken creativity to madness as perceived by people who do not understand the thought processes of a mind such as mine.
From a child I always felt different, in one sense social and empathetic, and in another quite separate and isolated, mentally. Always creative and cerebral, searching for truths along a plethora of lines of inquiry, I could be rather withdrawn at times, very much living in my own head. This of course can create problems if one chooses to withdraw noticeably from social contact. I have always managed to find balance between the two, but I continue to go where perhaps no brain should, in search of definable traits and realities that many people would never even consider in their life.
As a writer I think this helps my cause, gives me extended parameters in which to explore the possibilities of life and experience, but it is easy to become lost in the confusion of potential. Being the person I am, there seems to be no filter in my writing, every nuance and feeling, no matter how personal just seems to find its way into words and onto a public platform. In that sense I understand how some people get me and many others do not.
In my pursuit of truth and understanding this human condition, my writing both mirrors what I deem beauty and also the darker side, each one of us the potential of those expressions. What we judge in life is more often the recognition of what we ourselves are capable, thus is revealed yet another irony of being human. I have no qualms about my own potential and realised a long time ago I was more than capable of committing heinous acts as well as compassionate and loving ones. I of course try very hard to imbue my life with the positive, but sometimes even that is a trial.
In the deepest and darkest recesses of my psyche I delve into possibilities and truths that defy rational reasoning, yet I move through it with a sense of destiny, knowing I must be who I am at my core. What I find is often disturbing and we as a race of beings are in our infancy, with such a long way to go. But I, as a writer, must persist in my discoveries, for what we do is the stark and untethered expression of thought, to be considered and hopefully shedding light on this miraculous life we've been given.
I try to take nothing for granted, try to respond to each moment of life anew, and in that sense be open to whatever appears before me, without judgement and with an open mind. My madness is not one of lack of control, but one of daring to edge closer to the truth, no matter how outwardly disturbing. These considerations and conclusions may seem madness to some, but in the end I believe the broadest perspective comes from sitting at the edge of the abyss, seeing forward and back, remaining steady between the two.
Where my mind goes I often play with fire, and become singed for my efforts, but without that honesty of purpose where would truth end up: on a plate served with all your favourite sides? Now that wouldn't be truth would it, just an approximation for our convenience.
Words flow from me like an avalanche, like silken honey, like bile, and with each one my heart is moved to accept who I am. The privilege of life is only surpassed by the expression of it, and as long as I breath, that is my cause.
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