on creativity

I feel sad that I've not produced any writing for a while. This lack of prolific creativity doesn't bother me. What bothers me is that there are people in the world who never tap their creative outlet, and find no loss for never having done so.

I truly believe that the availability of "canned entertainment" is destroying our natural human evolution. Canned entertainment being anything which is produced by a person but is inaccessible without technology. Something that can be placed in a box, etched on a disk, trapped behind a computer screen. While this entertainment may be created by people, those who consume it have no requirement for creativity to enjoy it. How easy it is to be passively entertained.

Im not saying that all canned entertainment is passive, as there are transgressive films, music, and media which provokes the mind and aims to push us forward. But this type of entertainment is heavily outweighed by the garbage which is produced, consumed, and obeyed.

Weve taken our natural progression, centuries of human social advancement, and have become all too complacent. Convinced we have no further sociological development, we have thrust our energies into the lucrative and spiraling faith of technology. Technology. How I loathe and love that word. We sit on the cusp of a technological explosion which threatens to either thrust us to the heavens or shoot us down, down into hell. It threatens like a juggernaut to destroy our true evolutionary path, a path toward meaning and enlightenment.

I believe that the world is being emptied. That people are being made hollow. Crack open the sands of our time and you will find yourself in a desolate place. A desert of a wasteland, where little is heard, but much noise is being spread. Where there is always hope that things will be better, but there is little truth to the promises which are made.

Complacent. How did we become so easily complacent? To accept so easily what is being given, being done, being said to us. Happy to have our shadows of pleasure. Failing to connect, failing to trust, failing to love. It is in finding connections, truths, and love that one begins to realize that everything else is an apparition. Almost like living in a ghost town where you are the only thing which breathes.

Will we allow ourselves, truly allow ourselves, to wake up from our comatose state? Will we find ways to wake up the sleeping giants that dwell within each of us? Will we open the curtains to let in the sun which promises us light, warmth, and love? Or will we continue to overpower our senses, dull our minds, and continue to walk through the dust?

Can we remember what it was like to be ten years old and create entire stories on a rainy afternoon? To talk to the animals and hope that one day they might speak back? Remember the promises that we made to ourselves, as I made, to not suffocate creativity with adulthood distractions? To continue to dream, and play, and search for wonder that lies within all of us. I keep trying to find the stories within those I meet. Sometimes its harder to dig them out, but I have faith they can always be discovered. And I promise to the ten-year-old me that I won't stop writing her story.