Honeycomb Club #5: We Forget the Truth Again and Again
On the spiral of life, and revisiting the same realizations over the years.
Hi there, pal—
Why is it that even our most earth-shattering epiphanies struggle to stick?
The other night I was standing outside my apartment looking up at the sky. Even though the sun had gone down, it was still warm out—that telltale sign that summer really is coming, when the air on your face is balmy even in the dark.
My mind was meandering through the labyrinth of my short term memory, thinking back to hours before when I had been at dinner with some old family friends. I was caught in a loop: replaying something silly I said, wondering if I had offended anyone, wishing I had offered more vehemently to help clean up.
These are all rather typical patterns of thought, in which I fixate on the myriad of things that may have gone wrong during time spent with a group of people. All around me were chirping toads, humming traffic, and a breeze that whispered through the treetops, but my mind was completely tangled up in the events of a few hours before.
Then with a jolt, I was struck by a thought I’ve had before but which bowled me over with its precise clarity:
the past over which I’m obsessing doesn’t exist anymore.
I could feel the flesh of my skin raise into scaly bumps, a chill washing over my body. As I stared out at a line of cars picking their way down the road behind my apartment, I felt in awe of the moment unfolding before me. The toads, the traffic, the breeze—they all suddenly rose up to meet me, making the present moment all-consuming and unavoidable.
How beautiful and fleeting, that all we ever have is the sliver of the scene taking place directly around us. How cruel and unusual, that our brains should be programmed by millennia of evolutionary pressures to get stuck in thought loops about events that no longer exist or have yet come to pass (and good chance, never will).
How silly that I worry so much—and this is when I remembered a line I began placating myself with in high school, that was handed to me by the same flavor of epiphany, over a decade ago now:
I can always just be here.
This begged the question: how many times have I been struck by this same realization—that all the memories of the past and projections of the future clabbering for my brain’s attention don’t actually exist? That I can be here, now, and find a quiet stillness that’s always accessible, even if often obscured?
In moments like these, I’m reminded of what the writer Lucy Grealy once said:
“I used to think truth was eternal, that once I knew, once I saw, it would be with me forever, a constant by which everything else could be measured. I know now that this isn’t so, that most truths are inherently unretainable, that we have to work hard all our lives to remember the most basic things.”
*****
I’ve come to understand that the truth is meant to be experienced. Touched, tasted, poked, embraced.
Your creative practice doesn’t need you sitting in an armchair, intellectually wrestling it into submission. It needs you down on the floor. It needs you finger painting about your dreams, braiding your best friend’s hair, collecting the flower petals you find on the ground and messily arranging them into a collage.
And so that’s where my focus has lain this week.
How can I choose to show up to my creative practice present, awake, ready to engage with whatever presents itself?
How can I repeatedly create the space for myself to experiment, get my hands dirty, and find the kernel of truth that sits at the core of creating something new?
I like to think of life like a spiral. We’re not walking on some linear path through time and space. We’re moving around and around, circling the same patterns, thoughts, struggles—slowly getting to see everything from all angles as we work our way up, up, and up.
When I first thought to myself in high school, “I can always just be here,” I had no idea I’d still be murmuring it to myself over a decade later, on the other side of this distant ocean of time. Simultaneously a different person entirely, and yet also that same scared teenager inside.
It’s my hope that we can all walk the spiral of life with humility, grace, and a healthy dose of curiosity.
May we comfort ourselves with the knowledge that if we’re lucky enough to continue existing on this planet, we’ll get to learn the same things over and over and over again.
For what a thrill it is, to learn the same old things in new ways. I can’t wait to forget how this particular epiphany tasted, all so that I can revel in it again at another point down the road.
As for now? Well, I can always just be here, in the moment unfolding before my eyes.
***The following are two pieces of creative input. Consider them inspiration to refill your creative cup. I encourage you to give your inner artist a sweet treat this week—even when you don’t think you deserve it, even when you’re hesitant to call yourself a creative person.
1. “We’re All Reading Wrong”
By Alexandra Moe for The Atlantic
An enchanting article exploring the ancient origins and modern-day wonders of reading aloud.
Why should you care? The author makes the case for reading aloud, revealing that it boosts your memory, your mood, and even enhances the emotional experience of reading. In fact, “to reap the full benefits of reading, we should be doing it out loud, all the time, with everyone we know.” Very high chances that it inspires you to create a new reading ritual with a lover, friends, or the children in your life!
A teeny tiny taste to entice you:
“Until approximately the tenth century, when the practice of silent reading expanded thanks to the invention of punctuation, reading was synonymous with reading aloud.”
“The health benefits of reading aloud are so profound that some doctors in England now refer their chronic-pain patients to read-aloud groups… In Billington’s 2017 study, everyone who read aloud in a group felt emotionally better and reported less pain for two days afterward.”
2. Shirkers
By Sandi Tan
A documentary about creativity, friendship, and loss. In 1992, filmmaker Sandi Tan and her friends set out to make an indie road movie in Singapore. However, their project took a dark turn when their director, Georges Cardona, vanished with all the footage. Decades later, Tan revisits this painful chapter to uncover the truth behind Cardona's actions and the impact it had on their lives.
Why should you care? Shirkers is more than just a story about lost footage; it's a testament to the resilience of creativity. Tan's journey to reclaim her lost film is a reminder that setbacks and betrayals can fuel rather than stifle artistic expression. In an age where digital media makes it easier to create and share art, Shirkers can inspire us to pursue our creative endeavors with passion and purpose, knowing that even in the face of adversity, our art can endure.
A teeny tiny taste to entice you: watch the trailer here.
***The following are three ideas for creative output. Consider them as prompts for creative living in action. Because you have every right to get out there, practice your craft, engage your innate human creativity, and have a fuckin’ good time doing it. Enjoy, cutie!
1. HELP PALESTINIAN CHILDREN via 7 SPELLS FOR PEACE
We are all in a moment of reckoning. Surrounded by terror, destruction, genocide. And as we fight to be heard, as we call on our governments to free Palestine and its people, we come up against so much raw grief, rage, and despair.
Why? I made this simple guide for two reasons: to help nourish your spirit, and to help raise funds for the Palestine Children's Relief Fund. 100% of proceeds will be donated. Consider it a form of creative caretaking for your soul as you work to make our world a better place.
How? Make a donation today, starting at just $1.11, and get immediate access to the guide. Feel free to forward to friends, family, your ex girlfriend, your sworn enemy, whoever!
Pay what you can here, starting at $1.11>>
2. FIND PEACE WITH THE NEEDLE-PULLING-THREAD MEDITATION
A simple visualization meditation that I dreamed up during an anxious bout while living in Vietnam years ago.
Why? By visualizing your breath as a needle moving through the fabric of space and time, you can deepen your awareness of the present moment and the connection between your breath and the passage of time. This meditation can help you feel more grounded, reduce stress, and enhance your sense of peace and well-being.
How? Excerpted from the 7 SPELLS FOR PEACE, here’s a breakdown on one of my favorite forms of meditating that I dreamed up during an anxious period a few years ago:
Find a comfortable position, either seated or lying down. Do all you need to support, bolster, and comfort yourself in this position: put a pillow under your head, a scarf over your eyes, a blanket over your midsection.
Ground into your body with three of the biggest breaths you’ve taken today. Aim to make your exhale even longer than your inhale. On the third exhale, close down your eyes.
Keep a light focus on your breath as you enter a meditative state.
As you inhale, visualize your breath as a needle piercing up through two layers of fabric (on the left: space, on the right: time) and sewing them together. Feel the expansiveness and openness of this upward movement, as your breath literally ties together space and time in this precise moment.
On the exhale, visualize the needle piercing back down through those fabric layers of space and time, grounding you in the present moment.
Repeat this visualization with each breath, focusing on the sensation of the needle moving and the connection between your breath and the flow of time and space.
Practice for a few minutes, allowing yourself to fully experience each breath and the movement of the needle.
Return to this practice whenever you’d like to feel grounded into the present moment, and reminded of the truth that your breath is the holy thing that moves you from one second into the next, in each and every moment of your life.
3. WATCH A VERY SMALL CRITTER MAKE A VERY SMALL JOURNEY
Why? There is something simultaneously humbling and inspiring about watching a little living thing embark on a grandiose journey. Whether a worm on a sidewalk, a grasshopper in a field, or an itsy bitsy spider on a tree, these critters make quick work of large journeys by charging fearlessly towards the great reaches of their universes, one step at a time.
How? Go outside. Find a little living thing: a roly poly bug, a spider, an ant. Spend a few moments watching it travel from one point to another.
See how long you can keep your eyes trained on this tiny being, and watch as its great adventure unfolds in the crevice of a curb, the nook in a tree, the side of a house.
And maybe later, when on your own journey around town, consider yourself like the roly poly or spider or ant: just a very small critter on a humble mission through space and time.
That’s all for now. Talk soon!
Katie
I’m so happy to be here; thank you for what you’re doing❤️