The Carpenter and the talking tree

Replacing the one true voice.

A talking tree? My version in oil paint, you know, the stuff they used to sell in art shops….

Ending the one voice

I have heard say many times: we need a new paradigm. Too often almost immediately translated into a longing for a new collective narrative. It sends shivers down my spine. Like peace depends on us all agreeing? On everyone subscribing to the same story. The True Story?

I object. A ‘true’ story is one that reflects the truth of the teller. A limited truth, yes, a truth limited to the ‘one’ telling it. It expresses a one off vision, a unique version of what happened, a single perspective, a single voice¹.

I do not mean a voice on its own. Freedom of expression is often defended as this boundless freedom. A voice detached however, should fill us with concern, with a reluctance to accept, because what is told gets less ‘true’ with distance. Distance in space, in time, in translation, in communication, in mutuality. A close proximity teller can be looked in the eye, experienced in the physical context, nuance can be heard, picked up. Shared values can be left unsaid. Embedded voices is what I long for. Voices held, embraced, carried.

A recorded voice has lost some quality, a voice simply repeated by another voice has even less ‘substance’. A collective voice is not much more than a repeated chorus, or an echo. Not unimportant, but way less significant to us at this point in time than original voices. I prefer voices that are alive.

And the one voice, drains out all others. High time to end that paradigm. Shush.

The listening voice

The job of the writer (and the artist in general) is expressing that ‘true voice’ and I deeply believe the paradigm shift we need is about a new respect for both the telling voices, and the time spent listening to them. But what the big F is a true voice? And how can we tell the difference between the authentics and the liars. Is there even a thing like authenticity? I don't have answers, just thoughts.

Writers are professional listeners. They make it their job to listen carefully to what is being told, to listen to the many, many ‘true’ voices, and to try and express that in writing, in story. The listening needed for that is full scope, inward and outward. It includes the distant historic voices as well as the unsung future ones. It entails the real and the unreal. The has been, the now, and the not yet. The possible and the impossible. The plausible and the completely over the top improbable. This is what informs our actions. Artists are, or try to be, the mediators of the many voices. Their skill is to tune in, to hear, to see, to feel what lies beyond the perception and make it heard, seen, felt. To give us a voice that is alive and embedded. Why?

Because the world, this reality, constantly renews and keeps us posted on these changes. If we are willing to listen, if we pay attention. Oh, here we go again. Pay attention?! The mental exercise that guilt-trips you into some cross-eyed focus. As long as you think ‘do not think’ hard enough the locked prison door will evaporate?

I don't think it is a lack of attention we suffer from. I don't even think it is too important what we pay attention to. It is how we attend that matters. This should be totally obvious. To the hands it is. To the body. To the bits that act and interact with the ‘real’ world. The physical one.

Wood

It is the mind that is worried with the what because to the mind the word wood is just a sound, an abstract idea of a thing vaguely remembered. To the carpenter wood demands attention. The wood speaks to a carpenter who is authentic. She does not act from how it is supposed to be done, even though she knows, she does not stick meticulously to the plans, but keeps them at hand, she does not force the material into a pre-set form. No, she must, yes must, listen to the wood with all her being, knowledge, previous experiences, expectations, with her senses, in direct contact, with an open mind, not too busy thinking, but available and willing to move with, to adjust, to calibrate, to know when to stop, how to move, to find the right moment, the force needed, the tool suitable. And who is in charge here? The carpenters will? The wood? The plans? The goal? Tradition? The client?

I can only find one image to describe the balance of attending in a process like that. The carpenters soul is open, that deep node where her center of gravity lies, where incoming and outgoing streams of energy pass through, her soul is open to the soul of whatever participates in that bigger proces. And that's a lot. It is the weather, the time of year, the objects place, the material at hand, the state of her body, the learned habits, the lighting, the available tools, the whole set of relations way too complex to ever work into your consciousness but that still need to be part of the desired action. The whole of her being embedded and alive forms the ‘voice’ of the carpenter.

This inner stance is applicable to any action. Also the ones that transcend this relatively simple ‘one on one’ of the craftspeople and their materials. Collective action must adhere to the same full how or produce horrible results. It’s not the fact that she builds a staircase, it is how she does it that gives us something we’d enjoy.

Culture is the delegation of that type of attending to dedicated places and people capable of communicating the found how. Like books. Concerts. Newspapers. Maps. Movies. Cathedrals. Gatherings. And on and on.

All of those forms are susceptible to being infected by a shifted focus. A focus away from that core point-of-view we own. Or simply by focusing on one aspect. By emphasis on a part. Putting that in charge of a goal, of a predestined outcome, of an intended effect, of a person, a company, a government or institution. Thus becoming voices that make you do and feel and see and ignore and focus and repeat and listen as a service for something out there. Bypassing the soul by doing so.

Paying someone to do a specific job, to acquire a desired outcome, creates inauthentic results. It asks to repeat what is done before. It tells you to ignore one or more of the attending voices in a process. Because authentic action needs openness. It needs the voluntary stance of listening while doing. And that openness is not a yes or no, not either/or. It is a valve. A river. It is the illusive flow.

Soulvoice

What is that soul-voice? Glad you asked. We have many parts that come in two’s. Eyes, ears, hands, buttocks. The physical single voice sits deep in our throat. It is sole.²

If we pay artists to decorate the ceiling of the chapel and give them a detailed printout of what we want, if we hire musicians to play the hit song at the inauguration, if we pay artists to work for us we loose the artist. We, humanity, must pay the artist to do what they do best. Listen to the soul of this world and try, try, try to find ways to communicate what is heard. With true stories. In whatever form that professional listener sees fit.

Artificial Imitation

We now have machines that mimic art. Imagery, music, stories, games, architecture, and anything else that can be rehashed. Great, I have nothing against technology. In the short term however it will reduce the payment of artists to an unprecedented low. We will be swept of our feet by the spitting out of stunning uncanny beauty. We will listen to, look at, follow, be kept busy with, be confused by inauthentic results. Things that are not what they look like, not what they sound like. Only surface, no depth. Stuff unconnected to our lives and limits, to the place we find ourselves, to the available. It makes meaningless because the voice speaking has not listened to the inner stream shared by all things. Lost because there is no inner guidance, no substance.

Art does the opposite. And now is the time to restore the artists role in our lives. Yes, by paying the artist respect. The one in you, and the ones out there. By allowing them to make a living and listen. And by God we need listeners. By God, we need musicians. By God, we need new ways of dealing with and people unafraid to try, by God we need to renew our game, by God we need the soul-voice to be restored in so many of us.

And we do not need institutions to tell us what is good art. You choose. You find some you like, love, are moved by, brings you insight, joy, or a way forward and pay some. Attend to their work, be readers, listeners, users, followers, give them the tools to do what they are good at. The space, the freedom, the time. Don't spoil them by worship, or celebrity status. But give many a chance. Find your own good artist to cherish and enjoy the rich discoveries that lie waiting. There is a local talent, a writer starting out, a painter struggling, a filmmaker trying, a luthier longing for another client, so pay what you can. Spread your choice, make your own mistakes and move on to your next listen.

If anything we must turn away from the ‘one story’.

We are in need of stories. As many as we can find. In any form possible. Stories will hold us together. Culture is build from listening.

True stories allow for things to happen while keeping the response open. Both telling and listening are forms of communication, not manipulation.

household stuff…

To not flood your mailbox, I will no longer post the weekly chapter separately as an email but as a link in the essay. The fiction followers can expect the new episode of TCOTNK to be online every Sunday-morning at 7.00 CET (which is 1.00 am EST)

• If you upgrade to paid (or do the 7-day free trial), you can download the finished seasons as an e-book.

• Season 3 starts this week. After two appetizers, the main dish is rolled in. The support acts have done what they should do, and now the crowd will gather to come see the main act. It might be arrogant to say this, but I really think too many are missing out on a very special live event. Will you be able to say, I was there? It's not too late to catch up. (By now my editor is begging me to post new chapters). Yes I know, you cannot see it yet. But would you want to find out Woodstock was last month and you missed it? (God, have I just compared my story to that most famous of all festivals?)

• My son of thirteen had saved up for a VR headset and was able to buy the contraption just before Christmas. If you haven't yet experienced this incredible tech you cannot judge the potential impact of last year’s breakthroughs in AI. I haven't written about the oncoming tech-rapids much but did do a lot of thinking on it. Hands on thinking, as you may expect of me. I used Chat GPT as a virtual librarian, have dipped my drawing pen in the image rendering apps, had some surprisingly deep talks with my iPad, used the improved translation software, had my writings read back to me by an artificial voice, and watched the scare-mongering by the tech brothers and sisters. And it did what it should do in me, start a new story….writing like crazy at the moment, twelve chapters in one week. Very curious if I can pull this off.

  

  This image captures the atmosphere of the sci-fi story pretty good, Virtual Fiction? Is that a thing?

• Publishing Going Back, last week’s short story, gave me a great glimpse of where I am as a writer. I am very proud of that one and got a pile of praise and great feedback from writers I admire

  @Hannah Holm

  "Goodness, I really loved this. I felt such a variety of emotions. Great job, truly. I would like the next chapter, please. This is one of my favourites so far."

  @Demian Elaine' Yumei

  "This is devastatingly beautiful. Just wow. I have to sit with this a while. Amazing storytelling, Bertus. I was right there. Her anxiety was my anxiety, but so was the love."

  @Eleanor Anstruther

  "Beautiful: ...When I’m done, he says, “You’re my home, mom.” His mouth full of pastry....

  @Virginia Neely

  "I can’t find the right words to describe this. So much subtext, a story that grabs you by the throat and shakes you. One of the best I’ve read in a long time."

• The whole project gave me a better feel for what I am good at and the parts that have ample space for improving. I have learned so much this last half year on Substack. Here is my conclusion: I am a writer. And I am not done yet.

• After writing for decades without feedback, without comments and likes and editors I can really sense the impact of coming out. The prompt I got for the short story was about a father who told his adult daughter he was gay and how he had kept this a secret since his early teens. I am not gay, but I am different in a way that is not generally accepted. I think it took me even longer to openly state how I am. To be proud of my way. I have started my coming out. Word by word, week by week, story by story, I am reclaiming what is mine. I am one of the ‘true’ voices because I long to listen without judgement. Because I choose to be open. To come out. And it is absolutely not because what I say is true. There is a lot of anger in me about the way the dominant form shuts up so many ‘true’ voices. And I feel connected to all those voices. Be it women's, indigenous, nature's or whatever else is labelled or categorised to serve the prevailing false order. Coming out is making a path for the love. It claims back power and place. It says I am here and have a right to be here as I am. It doesn't mean I am right. It does not mean I can do as I like. It does mean I have something meaningful to contribute.

• Sometimes letting go of the old makes room for the new. Exposure to light and warmth brings dormant seeds to sprout.

2024?

So, resolutions? No, don't think so. I do see extended lines. More to come on creativity, painting lessons for non-painters so to speak. Less memoirs; dwelling in the past is not for me. It was good to share bits and pieces but I am here for the more imaginative ones, the new stories. And here is my last thought.

While I do not believe the end of the world is imminent, things will very likely change dramatically for many of us pretty soon. Know this, you will not survive. Which sounds like a nasty thing to say. But the you that existed when you started reading this newsletter no longer exists. It is still, with you, in you, but no longer alive. The one that still is here, the ongoing bit, might be worth discovering. No better time than now to get to know you and where you find yourself. Where are you in all this? And how do you respond to what or who is on your path. So this is my ultimate question.

How are you…

The last episode of Season 2

The beginning of Season 3

Or start at the beginning of Season 1

Or download both seasons as e-book here (almost 300 pages of feel-good epic mystery;)

Still trying to find/make imagery for the cover of Season 3… and I am considering to disclose the full title from the start and not use TCOTNK, let me know what you think….

1. A single voice can of course use the full spectrum of ‘sounds’ available. Every person has a wide range of characters and forms available that all can be played. As a writer you get the chance to explore the many facets of ‘the one voice’ that you are. And still this bundle is yours and intentionally different from any other voice-bundle out there.

2. If we see the soul energy as a torus, the voice sits at the point where the ‘fountain’ starts. From that bundled core of everything it begins spreading, is ‘released’, poured out to the outer, it lands, thins, radiates. It don't matter if you think of this as real or as a metaphor. Soul doesn't care for that distinction.