I look for in other writers what
I could find more easily in myself. Why,
then, is writing seen as a struggle? It is
nothing in comparison to the struggle not
to write. Writing is hard but everything
else is harder.
This is a distinction I never saw before.
Creating to me was the great
martyrdom, the inner sacrifice. Endurance,
living, is the hardest thing. Even now,
the happiest time in my life.
No escape from anxiety. Trying to
escape it is neurosis and then some. Trying
to relieve it is not neurotic but noble.
Seeking relief by hiding or burying yourself
or clinging is like chasing your own tail.
I was thinking before that creativity
as a relief from anxiety is futile, the
wrong motivation.This is incorrect.
In our time it is the core, the essential,
the *raison d'etre* of creativity. This does
not have to be so and maybe it isn't
the whole incentive. Communication, seeking
out of universals, love and hatred of
humanity are still very much a part of
the creative spirit. But because anxiety
is central in our lives (death is prevalent;
imminent destruction surrounds our lives,
real destruction is near us now and in
extreme form in recent history) it is
a main part of the creative urge- we
have embraced it not out of choice but
out of necessity. We are seeking a cure,
or a solution, within and without us.
Explanations can come later.
Analysis is not the way out of a
dark room like I thought.Like Mrs.
Kurz said, it lights the room. Or better
still, it is a window to the world outside
the room. When one realizes, after the
tumult within us is somewhat calmer,
that the chaos without is more insane,
cruel, thoughtless, irrational than one's
own relatively hopeful state of mind (hopeful
because one has so much power, if he has
the will, to make peace with it) he is
shocked. So with me. Thank God (or
Grossman) (Alan Grossman) or Susie (Susan Braiman) or my parents or fate
or myself). I am not afraid of death.
It's strange- because I am afraid of
practically everything else. Because I am
not afraid of death I will be able to
do so much. Soon I will no longer permit
myself the luxury of fearing people and
myself. I will be doing so many things.
The last thing left is
the fear. Anxiety will be the reminder
and the spur to create. The giving out
of warmth will make the opening for the
world to flow in. What I give out again
will be the mixture of that and myself.
As Pavese wrote- one's past ("one's
forgotten memories") is the richness of
life.When I can look at my past with
warmth and the present with energy...