Writing into the Abyss

This morning I ponder the exercise of writing. Generally, I come to substack to read the perspectives of higher minds, and sometimes get caught up in the addicting thrill of ravaging through the writings of a lower mind (or at least one without clarity). Do these writers, from whom I draw wisdom or entertainment, write for me? For the audiences that they might reach? Substack clearly wants to promote readership, and for writers, there are a plethora of buttons to add, reminders to build an email list and a following, and many writers cross promote to other platforms. Indeed, that is likely how many of them end up in front of my eyes.

If you happen to be reading this? First off, why are you reading me? I don’t think I am writing for you. Or for an audience. I write for the void. Much like commenting on 4chan as anon, there is nothing gained, nothing of worth, other than putting your thoughts into the great ether out there to be read, or not read.

I believe the writing itself is the act of value. My posting herein is read by no one. Is it for future me? I don’t think so. Is it for present me? Maybe. But the other aspect to writing, especially under Nom de plum, is the liberty to release a thought and an idea and, once put into prose form, it becomes its own creation. The words are not my own, they are their own. Each word is consumed by a mind in that moment, hurtling through the 4th dimensional void of time, created for us to experience linear, divided by microsecond existence, a million moments uncompressed from the singularity of the Creator. Being made for time, my mind has difficulties comprehending a non-linear experience, one where all created moments coalesce into a single universal is. So I write some words down, and they come out, one by one.

The Jews have this concept of “hitbodedut", which they attribute to some Kabbalah Talmud Rabbi. Hitbodedut is a “meditation practice”. The Jews describe hitbodedut as a non-normative concept, talking to God freed from whatever they normally do— which is probably like a bunch of prescribed prayers in Hebrew and a bunch of rocking back and forth, if I had to guess. Talking to God does not sound so odd to me, but that’s because Christ came in the flesh to atone with His blood, and sanctification is a more personal that Laws, and Orders, and tricks when you just don’t feel like listening to Him. Talking to the Father as Jesus instructed is, well, different from whatever the jay’s are up to. The hitbodedut sounds like they are trying to re-invent what was already given, properly.

I digress, but only slightly. Writing might be for God. I’ll go with that.