The Fifth String-The Prideful
Week 15
As the burns on my body began to dissipate, burns that stemmed directly from over-exposure, I began to feel deep amounts of gratitude for my ability to draw boundaries. I had placed limits on the amount of information I was ingesting. I had placed limits on the types of information I’d allowed myself to take in. I recognized that the content and messaging that I had so carelessly allowed through my eyes and ears began to burn me alive from the inside. Having the space to give consent as well as to deny certain storylines had allowed me a quiet that I had needed to answer most pressing and most pertinent questions within. I had needed those boundaries to keep the wolves at bay while allowing my internal garden to flourish as best as it could given my unique circumstances. My fourth rope snapped from my right forearm. Five to go. The less amount of rope, or weakness I had to support myself hanging from the rafters of the Unknown, the more painful the experience was becoming. No one said this would be easy. I had already learned to love this kind of pain.
I looked downwards because I thought I saw a brief glimmer of light. It was Dante, smiling, and pointing in the direction of a certain quality of sound. It sounded like a studio audience; a group of people pleased and happily entertained. The swell of their roar became louder and louder, and then a spotlight shone on a stage where three performers were expressing their crafts. There was a juggler, a musician, and a dancer. All of them were there to please and to entertain. From what I could tell, from my vantage point, it was a very successful show. There were lights, exciting transitions, and loud pulsing music. I had to admit that even I was having a great time. It is one of the most miraculous insights about art; to see how a great and thoughtful performance can cut through and even heal vast amounts of pain! The show was now finished, and the abyss I had found myself in filled with the most thunderous applause. I was happy for the artists. I know how difficult it is for them to find themselves proper validation and appreciation for what they do.
These three artists then placed all of their accessories down onto the stage and blissfully walked down a long staircase and found themselves standing amongst the crowd. As the people applauded and applauded the artists found themselves trapped. I tried calling to them from the rafters to attempt to direct them out, but it was already too late. The musician had caught his ears between the clapping hands of two voracious observers. His ears had been crushed, then this arms, his legs, torso, and finally his head was clobbered by the coming together of palms in adoration. The artists left their stage and followed their approval far too far. All three artists were laid in pieces while the aching and insatiable rabble called and called for more. MORE! MORE! I was stunned. Praise could kill?
Dante, is this true?
“David, you must begin to see the praise and damnation are equal parts of the same whole. You, cannot follow either into it’s domain for then you BECOME one or the other. Opinions are just that, futile expressions of momentary emotional responses by people who are for the most part untrained in the greatness of character. To entertain praise is to become a slave to it. To entertain damnation is to become a slave to it. It doesn’t matter if the King himself wishes to draw you to his castle to shower you with gifts and praise, you must not fall for his trap. He wishes to silence you. If the council of the arts wishes to shower you with awards and accolades in the name of your Muse, you must burn them and deny their entrance into your sphere. Once accepted, your Muse dies. Once accepted, you die.”
I attempted to see that my Pride was a vulnerability that needed to be filled with something even more substantial; and quickly!
Self Love. Self Validation. Focus on the task at hand.
“Those poor artists,” I pondered. “They believed their own hype!”
AHND
