It's been "proven" by science that the vibrational frequency experienced during peak moments enhances your health. Fairly obvious, maybe. But let's do the math. If I am half-empty and dark most of the day, odds are high that my health will notice. My immune system suppresses, I attract negative clouds (like attracts like), and generally things just feel crappy. If this goes on for too long, incremental, compounding affects stack the deck against me. Perhaps I'll be fine. But perhaps my life force will drain itself of all vital resistance to the great horror that awaits.
That brings me to art. Peak experiences come in many shapes and sizes. When you are in the groove, in the flow of creating, when mind is suspended and judgment and ego shut off, everything is as it should be. You are walking on water. Rainbows flow through your persistent, rushing veins, channels of chi kneading new life into hungry cells. There is a nirvanna-like no-thought, no-worry, blissful surrender. It's similar to sex, let's be honest. But we can't be having sex all the time. There are too many other interesting things in ADDITION to sex. So we create something, carve out the power of ourselves into some external expression and we are reborn, even if just for a moment.
Imagine how diseased we would all be if art never existed. That's not even worth thinking about actually. Cave painters rummaged their psyches for iconic memes and stories to express what was before inexpressible. How is one to convey the beauty of the hunt or the transferable power of the spear if cave painting and fire dances are a non-option? Okay, let's say you have this feeling, a haunted gut thing but you don't know what it is or what it wants from you. What to do. You want to talk about it, get it out. Maybe it shrieks out in a new grunge tune. Or spills its waggy essence on the dance floor. Or, maybe you paint your body then roll on a giant sheet of white butcher paper and pound your fists against the floor? Feels better.
Or perhaps, you just keep it locked inside you, push it deeper, deeper into the dark fathoms of your being. Forget about it. Kind of like a wart you never have to look at.
Then, one day in your mid 40's somebody says just the right thing at the right time, maybe a stranger in the store or the bus driver or your boss. And... you fall to pieces. What to do with all those pieces?
Make some art, baby.
