from me to you – the art of spiritual cultivation
To cultivate means to create but not in a traditional sense; in the way you would initially think. The traditional mode of creation often relates to the assembling of materials to create something new or different. For example, the sculpturist uses the material we know as clay to craft their ceramic bowl. Thus, creating something unique from nothing extraordinary. Yes, in this sense cultivation is similar to creation but the process and definition of creation lacks the recognition of the internal courage, strength, and endurance it takes for any human to cultivate something out of nothing. And I mean nothing. No material means. Just you sitting down with yourself. Just that. You. You in your entirety. I can’t wait for you to experience this at some point in your life. It’s simply beautiful —
So, with this said.
Cultivation is not creation. Creation is merely a sub-product of cultivation itself. Cultivation exists without creation, but there is no creation without cultivation. I know this may seem like nothing more than a jumble of words. Like you’re tripping over your own two feet as you read — I get it. This is how I feel when talking with myself about this topic. Take it as you please and remember this piece — and any other I share — are up to your own interpretation. There is no right or wrong way to read or understand the words I share with you all. Don’t forget it!
Let’s use our imaginations for a minute or two.
Imagine. Just imagine.
—
You are the artist.
The essence of your existence is the medium used — paint, clay, acrylics — you choose.
Reality, then, is the entity in which you portray the expression of yourself; your ‘canvas’ for that matter.
To create is to take your paint (personal existence) and work away on your canvas (your reality). Plain. Simple. Neat and tidy.
This is creation. Light as a feather. Purest of the pure.
—
Unfortunately, the interpretation of life isn’t that simple. I mean, it can be if you want. If you desire to live a life on the surface of the deepest and widest Sea — not drowning, nor swimming, just floating; wasting away. What a waste, I think. I’m here. Doing this thing. Living this life. Why would I want to live it in a way where I feel as if I’m merely floating; staying a-float? Fuck, some people live their lives and they’re not even in the Sea, toes not even dipped, feet not even wet; staying ashore, staying safe, staying.
Staying.
To cultivate is to take — not your existence (the purity of one’s presence) — but is to take one’s life into one’s own two hands and say ‘fuck, let’s work with what we’ve got.’ Life is the messiness that expresses itself through our material existence.
You.
You’re soul —
that is existence.
In this, cultivation is the difficult balance between creation, existence, and reality. Thus, to cultivate something out of nothing is to practice the mastery of life. Of course, there is no inherent objective or ‘end-goal.’ In this sense, there is no ‘mastering’ only ‘practicing mastery.’ The two are very different. Pure cultivation is much like enlightenment in this sense. Siddhartha Gautama — the Buddha — emphasizes that there is no objective to the Buddhist journey. Enlightenment, alike cultivation, is something unacquirable. Immaterial. Something increasingly omnipresent as it continues to persist and pervade the everyday occurrences of life itself.
I don’t think people truly realize the power it takes within a person to cultivate a life that is authentically aligned and divine. It’s hard. Real fucking hard, you know? Things are thrown at you day-in-and-day-out. What should I do? What do I want? What should I say? No. Wait. What do I need to say? Does circumstantial importance triumph the need to express myself, my thoughts, my fucking Being — authentically? Who am I? What do I want? What if I disappoint myself; my loved ones? Am I doing this thing right? This thing we call life.
What about those being burned alive in Rafah? The bloodshed, the tears. Children maimed. Parents in the depths of insurmountable grief. Where is the remorse in this life? How are my problems comparative to such suffering and destruction? Such inhumanity?! Fuck. How?
Isobel Mae
