Clever Magazine, Vol. V, #6, Spr 03 " Suffering is good for the soul " (www.clevermag.com)

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Suffering is Good for the Soul

by Joseph Arechavala

It’s a blank page, and it’s staring at me, waiting for me and almost saying, “Well? What are you going to put on me?” A blank page is the most terrible thing a writer can see, because it means you’re expected to fill it with something. And not just anything, something good. Something that inspires, amuses, scares, cheers, somehow grabs the reader and yells, “Read this!” Actually, it’s not really the most terrible thing. The most terrible thing is having a blank page sitting in front of you and having not an inkling of what to fill it with.

Waiting for an idea is an interminable, long, drawn out process. When the light goes on it’s wonderful, a magical thing, a Godsend. But until it does, it’s agony. It’s the price the writer pays for those brief, fleeting moments of glory when the words flow freely, like water spilling out of your soul, the water of life, when your Muse chooses to bless you. And take it from me, they’re fickle, those Muses. I love mine dearly, but she is just like the rest of them. No wonder they’re depicted as women. Sorry. I know, I know. It’s a sexist comment, but so help me, it’s true.

But until it comes, that glorious moment, the desert.

The desert of searching for an idea is a horrible place, like a real one only worse, because it is inside you. You can’t explain it to someone who isn’t a creative person. They just don’t understand. But an artist, any kind of artist, an actor, a painter, a musician, even a chef (yes, they’re artists too), any creative person does. They know. Because at some point, they’ve experienced it, just like you. They know the pain. They’ve felt it. And believe me, if you’ve ever felt it, you remember. And hope and pray that when it does come, because it always will, it’ll be a short, fleeting visit, and you’ll quickly find an oasis of inspiration.

Oh, but those oases are incredibly great. You can splash the dust of the sterile desert off you in a beautiful, cool pool of water of revelation and refreshment. You can revive yourself, drinking it in. It’s life, in the midst of no life, and you want to stay as long as possible. The shade of the trees cools and comforts you, the food nourishes your soul, and for an all too brief time, it’s paradise.

But you can’t stay, because the life flows out of you. You give it away freely to your creation, not because you want to, but because you have to. It’s a need, one of the deepest needs a person can feel. It cannot be held inside you. Nothing will allow that. You have to let it out, otherwise it will die from being imprisoned. That’s probably the worst thing of all, to allow a creative idea to die inside of you.

When an idea dies, a tiny piece of you dies with it. You feel it go, and it almost never returns. On those rare occasions when it does, redemption. Most often it does not, which means death.

Ever wonder why most great artists are tortured souls? This is why. The torture of creativity. It comes and it goes, bringing exquisite joy and unimaginable depths of despair. They know. And it will always be like that, God help us. But we can’t have it any other way. And most us wouldn’t want it any other way, because when it’s on, when those juices are flowing and your mind is filled with ideas and they’re flowing out of you, it’s the most marvelous high, better than alcohol or any drug. There may be some hangover or withdrawal, but it’s still better. So, we artists will keep right on suffering, thank you. It’s what we do, it’s what we’re good at. And to do anything else is unimaginable.