To enter a new experience is a peculiar phenomenon. How does one begin? Tonight, for instance, I ponder the ramifications of diving into the all-too-familiar sea of white once again, poised to break an imaginary boundary and unleash the production of immanent creativity.
But how does creative potential become manifest? A proliferation of words or ideas must first start with the creation – a discernment – of some thing. What is a beginning, after all, if not a separation of a particular thing from its originating constitution? To understand this phenomena, perhaps it is necessary to take things slower.
What do I experience when I encounter some monolithic whole? Truly, the indivisible power of the white space can overwhelm, like the disorientation of encountering the sublime. To begin, I merely jump!
Now, diving into the middle with no sense of orientation seems ill-advised. So, maybe we dip our toe, so-to-speak; or take a sip, as the platform advises. The journey begins with the very first key stroke. We've done this so many times that we forget to appreciate what this represents.
When I type something--even the simplest thing, like a single period, for example--I create a distinction. I have brought some thing to life on the empty page, some concept that I wish to distinguish from that monolithic whole. What happens when I introduce another character to the creation, to be contrasted not only against the sea of white but similarly against a different character?
Unity rapidly gives way to duality which begets multiplicity. Without careful thought, things soon spiral out of hand or at least become more unwieldy to manage. That's why philosophy--and writing--for me, is about carefully considering the impact that each step--or distinction--will make.