Inspiration from within
It is both a blessing and a curse that, as 'homo sapiens', we are obliged to think. Continuously. About everything and nothing. About the important and the trivial. Sometimes we think productively. More commonly, our mental activity is mechanical or semiconscious, obsessive or easily distracted, prey to any kind of stimulation. Neuroscientists speculate that there is an evolutionary advantage to be constantly collecting information. So we never really stop.
Nonetheless, our daily thought typically has a dull, ordinary quality to it. The internal dialogue seems quite important while it is happening Ð we certainly feel obliged to keep the commentary ticking over Ð but it does it actually produce much of value at the end of the day?
Amid that daily plod, however, we also have thoughts of an entirely different character. These are the bright ideas, the 'eureka' moments, that seem to leap forth fully grown, like the birth of the goddess Athena from the forehead of Zeus. Some of these flashes of inspiration give us the answer we've been looking for. More commonly, they give us a new angle, a different way of connecting the dots, but not quite the full picture. As Arthur Koestler said, even the most brilliant insights have to be checked out by reason, to see if they actually make sense.
If you are like me, you probably have dozens of these insights, big and small, every day. Of course, we hardly ever stop what we are doing and act upon them. Thoughts, even bright thoughts, are cheap. Any action based on a thought however, will consume time and effort at the expense of whatever else we might want to do. So insights refresh our thinking, but only subtly change our course of action.
Traditionally, inspiration was seen as a gift of grace from the gods. It was when the hero or the poet or the prophet was infused with the divine and went into an 'ecstasy'. This term literally means to 'stand outside oneself'. Inspiration, in other words, is a kind of thought or behaviour that stands right outside the ordinary.
Inspiration was when a god 'breathed through' a human being. Achilles fought on the battlefields of Troy infused with the bloodthirsty skill of Ares, the god of war. Homer sang the story of Troy with the divine elegance of Apollo. The prophets Jeremiah and Isaiah spoke with the belligerent authority of Yahweh.
This view of inspiration as a divine afflatus may seems very old-fashioned nowadays, but politicians and religious leaders still try to put on that mantle to influence us. Of course, a belief in oneself, or in someone else, as the charismatic spokesperson of God or Destiny is no guarantee of anything at all. Hitler and Churchill and Billy Graham, and their followers, had that belief in spades. Even Barack Obama with his flaccid mantra of 'change' (any kind of change, whatever you want), is inviting us to follow him as The Chosen One.
When we are young, we can't help but imitate those we admire or envy, whether they are parents or peers or sports people or rock stars. They mirror some part of our soul back to us. Unfortunately, people we admire often have a bad effect on us.
Sports stars will inspire millions of teenage boys to neglect their studies and muck around with balls instead, in the hope of instant fame. Of course, only one in a million will make it to the top that way. Teenage girls will sashay through school in the hope of becoming catwalk models or film stars or, more achievably, trophy wives.
By following unrealistic dreams at the expense of what is actually possible, we can finish up with nothing at all. To be inspired by others can make us fans or followers, or give a model to imitate. However, this is a poor substitute for finding the source of inspiration within us, and acting upon it.
We all have moments of inspiration or insight, but we rarely make much of them. Why is this so hard to do? Typically, an insight is not just verbal. It commonly emerges as a picture and a feeling and as words, all combined. An insight is often so unique to me personally, that it doesn't necessarily speak the language of the people around me. As a result, we often don't recognise insights when they do occur. They can seem odd.
Furthermore, insights can be big or small. They can appear singly in a split second, or as a stream of inspiration that runs for hours. Nor do they have to be on the scale of biblical revelations. They are simply a different mode of thought (non-linear, imagistic, spontaneous, outside of words), and they apply as much to small things as to large things. Insights are about solving a problem, whether it is about the meaning of life or the clothes to wear tonight.
What makes an insight so different from an ordinary thought is its conviction. It feels right, with no need for a supporting argument. Thoughts on their own can be quite unconvincing, even if they seem logical or moral. Instead, we attribute meaning and value to things according to our gut-feeling. When an idea resonates positively through our body, it is no longer just an idea. It has also been affirmed by the reservoir of memory within the body. This feeling of certainty Ð 'I know this is right for me' Ð is what makes inspiration so valuable.
Yet an inspiration, however wonderful it may be, is still just a spark, and it will soon sputter out if we don't translate it into action. Obviously, we can't follow up all our insights. As I said, I have dozens every day, and I suspect you do too. But do we have the skill to pick out and develop those insights that really are important? It could be a real mistake not to do so.
It is said that the secret of genius is '10% inspiration and 90% perspiration'. Before writing this article, I asked myself 'Who do I admire? Who inspire me?' and I came up with quite an odd bunch of characters (none of whom were political or religious leaders, I was pleased to see). All were talented, of course, but they also had another distinguishing personality trait.
They were plodders. They were willing to sweat for their dream. For all their genius, they still plodded away, year after year, often alone but dedicated to their vision. Some were rewarded. Others were not. Money and fame rarely seemed to matter to them. Many were somewhat gloomy and obsessive. But they were all able to convert a bright thought into action, and built something marvellous out of it.
This is why I admire Beethoven so much more than Mozart. I know Mozart had a good work ethic but, with so much talent and charm, he hardly seemed to raise a sweat. Beethoven on the other hand was a battler. Nothing could stop him, not deafness nor syphilis nor his own pigheadedness. He kept working to the bitter end, whether people understood him or not.
No matter how much these people inspire me, I also know I can't be like them. I'll never be a Beethoven or a Hendrix, a Kerouac or a Borges, an Aristotle or a Darwin. I can only be myself within my own limitations of age, talent and inclination. Like them, however, I can still trust and follow my own inner voice, modest as it is. I can still march to the beat of my own drum, if I choose to do so.
Fortunately, inspiration is not solely a gift of grace from the gods. It is also a kind of deep intelligence that can be systematically cultivated. It is beyond our usual rational mind, but not outside of human biology itself. We may not be able to turn on that brilliant thinking when we want it, but if we train ourselves well, it is more likely to happen.
Originally, inspiration used to be sought through a kind of exulted frenzy. Shamanic practices throughout the world typically involved hallucinogenics, singing and dancing, starvation (fasting), isolation and near-death experiences.
Gradually people came to realise that none of that was essential. Lucid states of mind could be attained much more simply and safely. The fifth Buddhist commandment was to give up on intoxicants. A clean, peaceful, yogic life in the wilderness could work wonders that would put the most powerful hallucinogenics to shame.
The formula is simple and indeed obvious. Firstly, be as physically relaxed and healthy as possible, and lead a life that supports that. Secondly, calm the mind as much as possible, and seek out a quality of inner silence and stillness. Thirdly, observe your moment-to-moment experience with gentle, tolerant curiosity. Get to know yourself as you really are, rather than how you would like to be. With these foundations in place, you are much more likely to be hear the inner messages.
Inspiration generally addresses the big questions: How do I deal with this problem? What will ultimately make me healthy or happy? What is the right thing to do right now? We've usually thought these matters to death already, and got no resolution. Often we aim too high or try to solve it all at once, or can't stop for long enough to hear the answer. What we need in these situations is not more thought but that gut-feeling that tells us the next thing to do.
A calm, clear, tolerant quality of mind is the essential platform for inspiration. When those bright ideas do arise, we'll know which ones are deceptive or indulgent, and which ones deserve to be acted upon. We are also likely to recognise how the deep mind, if left undisturbed, will do most of the crucial work for us anyway. To gradually become more conscious and self-aware can work miracles over time, and insights, those messages from the gods, can light the way.