I am a writer. Writing books is my profession but it's more than that, of course. It is also my great lifelong love and fascination. And I don't expect that that's ever going to change. But, that said, something kind of peculiar has happened recently in my life and in my career, which has caused me to have to recalibrate my whole relationship with this work. And the peculiar thing is that I recently wrote this book, this memoir called "Eat, Pray, Love" which, decidedly unlike any of my previous books, went out in the world for some reason, and became this big, mega-sensation, international bestseller thing. The result of which is that everywhere I go now, people treat me like I'm doomed. Seriously -- doomed, doomed! Like, they come up to me now, all worried, and they say, "Aren't you afraid you're never going to be able to top that? Aren't you afraid you're going to keep writing for your whole life and you're never again going to create a book that anybody in the world cares about at all, ever again?"
Ako ay isang manunulat Ang pagsusulat ng mga libro ang aking hanapbuhay, datapuwa't hindi lang iyan at hindi diyan nagtatapos. Ang pagsusulat din ay ang aking habambuhay na pag-ibig at pagkahalina. At tingin ko'y iyan ay hindi kailanman magbabago. Gayunpaman, may kakaibang pangyayari kamakailan lang sa aking buhay at sa aking karera, na nagdulot sa akin na muling usisatin ang kabuuan ng aking relasyon sa aking trabaho. At ang kakaibang pangyayaring ito ay ang pagsulat ko ng libro, kamakailan lang, isang talambuhay, na may pamagat na "Eat, Pray, Love" na walang kaduda duda, hindi katulad sa mga nauna kong libro sapagkat, sa hindi ko mawaring dahilan, ito ay naging isang malaki, napakasikat, at lubhang mabiling libro sa buong mundo. Dahil dito, saan man ako magtungo ngayon, tinuturing ako ng mga tao na tila ako ay nasa isang tiyak na na pahamak tiyak, tiyak na pahamak! Heto't lumalapit sila, balisa, at sinasabing "Hindi ka ba natatakot? -- hindi ka ba natatakot na hindi mo na mahihigitan pa ang librong iyan? Hindi ka ba natatakot na mula ngayon hanggang sa natitirang bahagi ng iyong buhay, ikaw ay magsusulat at hindi ka na muli makakagawa ng isang libro na magugustuhan ng kahit isang tao kailan pa man?"
So that's reassuring, you know. But it would be worse, except for that I happen to remember that over 20 years ago, when I was a teenager, when I first started telling people that I wanted to be a writer, I was met with this same sort of fear-based reaction. And people would say, "Aren't you afraid you're never going to have any success? Aren't you afraid the humiliation of rejection will kill you? Aren't you afraid that you're going to work your whole life at this craft and nothing's ever going to come of it and you're going to die on a scrap heap of broken dreams with your mouth filled with bitter ash of failure?"
Tila nakakaluwag ng damdamin, hindi ba. Maaaring mas may masidhi pa nito, liban na nga lang sa isa kong naalalang pangyayari may 20 taon nang nakalilipas, noong una ko pa lang pinamamahagi sa mga tao - nung ako ay nagdadalaga pa lamang - na gusto kong maging isang manunulat. Sinalubong ako ng reaksyon na natutulad din sa reaksyon ng mga tao ngayon, reaksyon na nababase sa takot. At sasabihin ng mga tao, "Hindi ka ba natatakot na hindi ka kailanman magtatagumpay? Hindi ka ba natatakot na mamamatay ka sa kahihiyan dahil sa hindi pagtanggap sa iyo? Hindi ka ba natatakot na sa buong buhay mo, patuloy kang maglilikha sa sining na ito subalit ni kailanman ay hindi ito magbubunga at mamamatay ka na lamang sa pira-piraso't santambak na bigong pangarap kung saan ang iyong bibig ay puno ng mapait na abo ng kabiguan?
(Laughter)
(Tawanan)
Like that, you know.
Parang ganun, alam nyo yun.
The answer -- the short answer to all those questions is, "Yes." Yes, I'm afraid of all those things. And I always have been. And I'm afraid of many, many more things besides that people can't even guess at, like seaweed and other things that are scary. But, when it comes to writing, the thing that I've been sort of thinking about lately, and wondering about lately, is why? You know, is it rational? Is it logical that anybody should be expected to be afraid of the work that they feel they were put on this Earth to do. And what is it specifically about creative ventures that seems to make us really nervous about each other's mental health in a way that other careers kind of don't do, you know? Like my dad, for example, was a chemical engineer and I don't recall once in his 40 years of chemical engineering anybody asking him if he was afraid to be a chemical engineer, you know? "That chemical-engineering block, John, how's it going?" It just didn't come up like that, you know? But to be fair, chemical engineers as a group haven't really earned a reputation over the centuries for being alcoholic manic-depressives.
Ang sagot - ang maiksing sagot sa lahat ng mga katanungang iyon ay, "Oo." Oo, ako ay natatakot sa lahat ng mga bagay na iyon. Noon pa man, ako ay takot na. Liban pa doon, ako din ay takot sa marami pang ibang bagay na maaring hindi mawari ng ibang mga tao. Tulad ng damong-dagat, at iba pang bagay na nakakatakot. Subalit, kung pagsusulat na ang pag-uusapan ang tanong na tila pinag-iisipan ko kamakailan lang, at pinagtatakhan kamakailan, ay bakit? Iyong tipong, eto ba ay makatwiran? Na makatwiran nga bang asahan ang isang tao na matakot sa trabahong sa tingin nila ay syang itinalaga na gawin nila sa mundong ito. Alam mo yun, ano nga ba ang meron sa pagngangahas na lumikha na wari baga'y tayo ay nangangamba na sa katinuan ng ating pag-iisip taliwas sa ibang karera? Bilang halimbawa, ang aking ama ay isang Chemical Engineer at sa buong 40 taon na iginugol nya sa Chemical Engineering, 'ni minsan ay 'di ko naalalang may nagtanong sa kanya kung siya ba ay natatakot maging isang Chemical Engineer. Wala akong narinig na - kamusta na ang mga sagabal natin sa Chemical Engineering John? Walang ganuong pangyayari sa kanila. Gayunpaman, ang mga Chemical Engineers, bilang isang pangkat ay hindi naturingan nitong mga nakaraang siglo bilang mga lasenggong malimit malumbay.
(Laughter)
(Tawanan)
We writers, we kind of do have that reputation, and not just writers, but creative people across all genres, it seems, have this reputation for being enormously mentally unstable. And all you have to do is look at the very grim death count in the 20th century alone, of really magnificent creative minds who died young and often at their own hands, you know? And even the ones who didn't literally commit suicide seem to be really undone by their gifts, you know. Norman Mailer, just before he died, last interview, he said, "Every one of my books has killed me a little more." An extraordinary statement to make about your life's work. But we don't even blink when we hear somebody say this, because we've heard that kind of stuff for so long and somehow we've completely internalized and accepted collectively this notion that creativity and suffering are somehow inherently linked and that artistry, in the end, will always ultimately lead to anguish.
Tayong mga manunulat, tila may ganoon tayong reputasyon, at hindi lamang manunulat, kundi pati lahat ng mga malikhaing tao sa lahat ng kategorya, ay tila may reputasyon sa pagkakaroon ng hindi matatag na katinuan. Tingnan na lamang natin ang nakapanghihilakbot na bilang ng mga namatay nitong ika-20 siglo pa lang, ng mga batikang manlilikha na namatay sa murang edad at kalimitan ay sa kanilang mga sariling kamay. At kahit pa man may iba na hindi pa literal na nagpapakamatay ay tila bagang nawawasak ang katinuan dahil sa kanilang angking talento. Norman Mailer, sa huling panayam sa kanya bago sya mamatay, ay nagsabi na "Bawat isa ng aking mga libro, ay pinatay ako nang paunti-unti." 'Di ba't isa itong kakaibang pahayag ukol sa gawaing pinaggugulan mo ng iyong buhay? Subalit hindi man lang tayo kumukurap 'pag naririnig natin ito sapagkat nasanay na tayo dahil sa ilang beses na natin ito narinig at tila baga'y naisaloob na natin at natanggap na ang pagiging malikhain at ang pagdurusa ay tila magkaakibat at magkapatid at ang pagiging malikhain, sa huli, ay magdudulot ng ibayong sakit at pagdurusa.
And the question that I want to ask everybody here today is are you guys all cool with that idea? Are you comfortable with that? Because you look at it even from an inch away and, you know -- I'm not at all comfortable with that assumption. I think it's odious. And I also think it's dangerous, and I don't want to see it perpetuated into the next century. I think it's better if we encourage our great creative minds to live.
At ang katanungan na gusto ko itanong sa mga narito ngayon ay kayo bang lahat ay tanggap ang palaisipan o ideya na ito? komportable ba kayo dito - dahil kung titingnan nyo ito, kahit lumayo lang kayo ng isang pulgada, alam nyo Hindi ako komportable sa ideyang ito. Tingin ko ito ay nakakasuka at nakakasuklam. Tingin ko din ito ay delikado, At ayoko makitang napanatili ang ideyang ito sa susunod na siglo. Minumungkahi kong himukin natin ang ating mga dakilang manlilikha na magpunyaging mabuhay.
And I definitely know that, in my case -- in my situation -- it would be very dangerous for me to start sort of leaking down that dark path of assumption, particularly given the circumstance that I'm in right now in my career. Which is -- you know, like check it out, I'm pretty young, I'm only about 40 years old. I still have maybe another four decades of work left in me. And it's exceedingly likely that anything I write from this point forward is going to be judged by the world as the work that came after the freakish success of my last book, right? I should just put it bluntly, because we're all sort of friends here now -- it's exceedingly likely that my greatest success is behind me. So Jesus, what a thought! That's the kind of thought that could lead a person to start drinking gin at nine o'clock in the morning, and I don't want to go there.
At tiyak akong alam ko,kung uusisatin ang aking sitwasyon, na lubhang mapanganib kung uumpisahan kong tumungo sa masalimuot na landas ng pagpapalagay, lalo na kung isasa-alang alang ang mga bagay-bagay sa kasalukuyang kalagayan ng aking karera. Kung iisipin nyo at titignan, Ako'y lubhang bata pa lamang, ako'y 40 taong gulang pa lamang. At ako'y may sa 4 na dekada pa ng trabahong natitira. At higit na lubhang posible na lahat ng aking isulat pamula ngayon ay mahahatulan ng buong mundo bilang isang likha pagkatapos ng nakakatakot na tagumpay ng huli kong libro, hindi nga ba? Sa tapatang pananalita, dahil sa tayo'ng lahat ay magkakaibigan na ngayon - lubhang posible na ang aking kalubus-lubusang tagumpay ay natapos na. Susmaryosep! Anong klaseng pag-iisip eto! Alam nyo na eto ang uri ng pag-iisip na maaring mag-udyok sa isang tao na uminom ng hinebra ng alas-9 ng umaga, at ayoko ma-udyok nang ganuon.
(Laughter)
(Tawanan)
I would prefer to keep doing this work that I love.
Mas gugustuhin ko pa na patuloy na gawin ang gawaing mahal ko.
And so, the question becomes, how? And so, it seems to me, upon a lot of reflection, that the way that I have to work now, in order to continue writing, is that I have to create some sort of protective psychological construct, right? I have to sort of find some way to have a safe distance between me, as I am writing, and my very natural anxiety about what the reaction to that writing is going to be, from now on. And, as I've been looking, over the last year, for models for how to do that, I've been sort of looking across time, and I've been trying to find other societies to see if they might have had better and saner ideas than we have about how to help creative people sort of manage the inherent emotional risks of creativity.
Kung kaya, ang tanong ay, paano? At kaya, sa aking palagay, matapos ang maraming pagmumunimuni, na ang paraan ng aking pagtatrabaho ngayon, upang magpatuloy sa pagsusulat ay dapat makalikha ako ng parang isang sikolohikal na pangharang, di kaya? Kailangan ko na makahanap ng paraan na magkaroon ng ligtas na layo sa pagitan ko, habang ako ay nagsusulat, at ng aking likas na pag-aagam-agam sa kung ano ang magiging reaksyon sa sinulat ko, mula ngayon. At, habang naghahagilap ako sa nagdaang taon ng mga modelo kung paano gumawa ng paraan naghanap ako ng maaring ehemplo sa mga nagdaang panahon at sinubok kong maghanap sa ibang lipunan upang matignan na baka sila ay may mas mainam at makatwiran na ideya kaysa sa amin kung paano tulungan ang mga manlilika na pangasiwaan ang angking panganib sa damdamin na kaakibat ng pagkamalikhain.
And that search has led me to ancient Greece and ancient Rome. So stay with me, because it does circle around and back. But, ancient Greece and ancient Rome -- people did not happen to believe that creativity came from human beings back then, OK? People believed that creativity was this divine attendant spirit that came to human beings from some distant and unknowable source, for distant and unknowable reasons. The Greeks famously called these divine attendant spirits of creativity "daemons." Socrates, famously, believed that he had a daemon who spoke wisdom to him from afar.
At ang pagsisiyasat na iyon ay nagdala sa akin sa sinaunang Griyego at Roma. Kaya't maari lamang na samahan nyo ako dito dahil sa babalik din tayo mamya sa usaping eto. Subalit, sa sinaunang Griyego at sinaunang Roma - ang mga tao ay tila hindi naniniwala na ang pagkamalikhain ay galing sa katawang lupa ng tao, OK? Naniniwala ang mga tao na ang pagkamalikhain ay isang banal na espiritong naglilingkod na sumapi sa katawang lupa ng tao mula sa malayo at di mawari na pinagmulan ayun sa malayo at di mawaring dahilan. Tinawag ng mga Griyego ang banal na espiritong eto sa bantog na pangalang "daemons". Si Socrates ay tanyag sa kanyang paniniwala na sya ay mayroong daemon na nagpapahayag sa kanya ng dunong mula sa kalayuan.
The Romans had the same idea, but they called that sort of disembodied creative spirit a genius. Which is great, because the Romans did not actually think that a genius was a particularly clever individual. They believed that a genius was this, sort of magical divine entity, who was believed to literally live in the walls of an artist's studio, kind of like Dobby the house elf, and who would come out and sort of invisibly assist the artist with their work and would shape the outcome of that work.
Ang mga taga-Roma ay may katulad na ideya subalit tinatawag nilang "henyo" ang nakabuwag na malikhaing espirito na ito. Tingin ko ito ay kahanga-hanga, sapagkat hindi iniisip ng mga taga-Roma na ang henyo ay isang lubhang matalinong tao. Naniniwala sila na ang henyo ay tila parang isang mahiwaga at banal na nilalang na pinaniniwalaang literal na nakatira sa pader ng estudyo ng manlilikha, parang si Dobby ang bahay-duende, na lumilitaw at tila tumutulong sa manlilikha sa kanilang trabaho nang hindi nakikita na syang magbibigay hugis ng kinalabasan ng sining.
So brilliant -- there it is, right there, that distance that I'm talking about -- that psychological construct to protect you from the results of your work. And everyone knew that this is how it functioned, right? So the ancient artist was protected from certain things, like, for example, too much narcissism, right? If your work was brilliant, you couldn't take all the credit for it, everybody knew that you had this disembodied genius who had helped you. If your work bombed, not entirely your fault, you know? Everyone knew your genius was kind of lame.
'Di ba't ang galing - ayan, yung puwang na sinasabi ko - ang sikolohikal na pader na magtatanggol sayo mula sa bunga ng iyong sining. At alam ng lahat na ganito ang takbo ng mga bagay-bagay. Datapuwa't ang mga sinaunang manlilikha ay tiyak na ligtas sa ilang mga bagay gaya na lamang ng lubusang pagmamahal sa sarili, hindi ba? Kung ang likha mo ay lubhang magaling hindi mo maaangkin ang buong karangalan nito dahil alam ng lahat na may henyong nakabuwag sayo na tumulong sa iyo. Kung ang likha mo naman ay malaking palpak, hindi sayo ang bunton ng lahat ng sisi. Alam ng lahat na ang henyo mo ay tila walang kuwenta.
(Laughter)
At eto ang paniniwala ng mga tao sa Kanluran ukol sa pagkamalikhain sa loob ng mahabang panahon.
And this is how people thought about creativity in the West for a really long time. And then the Renaissance came and everything changed, and we had this big idea, and the big idea was, let's put the individual human being at the center of the universe above all gods and mysteries, and there's no more room for mystical creatures who take dictation from the divine. And it's the beginning of rational humanism, and people started to believe that creativity came completely from the self of the individual. And for the first time in history, you start to hear people referring to this or that artist as being a genius, rather than having a genius.
Hanggang sa dumating ang Renaissance at ang lahat ay nagbago, at nagkaroon tayo ng malaking ideya, at ang malaking ideyang ito ay ang ilagay natin ang bawat indibidwal sa gitna ng sansinukob angat sa lahat ng mga diyos-diyosan at hiwaga, at wala nang puwang para sa mga mahiwagang nilalang na ginagabayan ng banal. At ito'y simula ng makatwirang humanismo, at ang mga tao'y nag-umpisang maniwala na ang pagkamalikhain ay ganap na mula sa sarili At sa kauna-unahang pagkakataon sa kasaysayan ng tao, maririnig mo ang ibang tao na nagsasabing si ganto o ganyang manlilikha ng sining ay isang henyo sa halip na nagkaroon ng henyo.
And I got to tell you, I think that was a huge error. You know, I think that allowing somebody, one mere person to believe that he or she is like, the vessel, you know, like the font and the essence and the source of all divine, creative, unknowable, eternal mystery is just a smidge too much responsibility to put on one fragile, human psyche. It's like asking somebody to swallow the sun. It just completely warps and distorts egos, and it creates all these unmanageable expectations about performance. And I think the pressure of that has been killing off our artists for the last 500 years.
At ito ang masasabi ko, tingin ko iyon ay isang lubhang malaking pagkakamali. Alam nyo, tingin ko na ang pagpapahintulot sa isang tao, sa iisang tao, na maniwalang sya ay tila parang isang sisidlan parang balon, at syang pinakabuod at bukal ng lahat ng banal, mapanlikha, mahiwaga, ng walang hanggang misteryo ay tila bahagyang labis na na responsibilidad para sa isang marupok na pag-iisip ng tao. Ito'y nahahalintulad sa kahilingang lamunin ng isang tao ang araw. Lubos nitong nababaluktot at napapasama ang kaakuhan ng tao, at dulot nito ang lahat ng hindi na makatwirang ekspektasyon sa likha at gawa. At tingin ko na ang panggigipit na ito ay syang pumapatay sa ating mga manlilikha sa nakaraang 500 years.
And, if this is true, and I think it is true, the question becomes, what now? Can we do this differently? Maybe go back to some more ancient understanding about the relationship between humans and the creative mystery. Maybe not. Maybe we can't just erase 500 years of rational humanistic thought in one 18 minute speech. And there's probably people in this audience who would raise really legitimate scientific suspicions about the notion of, basically, fairies who follow people around rubbing fairy juice on their projects and stuff. I'm not, probably, going to bring you all along with me on this.
At, kung ito ay totoo, at tingin ko'y ito ay totoo, ang tanong ngayon ay, ano na ang mangyayari ngayon? Maari ba nating baguhin ang mga bagay? Marahil bumalik tayo sa sinaunang paniniwala ukol sa kaugnayan ng tao at ng hiwaga ng paglikha. Maaring hindi na. Marahil hindi natin mabubura ang limang siglo ng makatwirang pag-iisip na nakasentro sa kapakanan ng tao sa loob lamang ng isang 18 minuto na talumpati. At maaring may iilan sa mga nandirito na magbabahagi ng kanilang mga lehitimong hinala na nakabase sa agham ukol sa mga kuru-kuro sa mga diwata na bumubuntot sa mga tao sabay pahid ng fairy juice sa kanilang mga proyekto at kagamitan. Marahil hindi ko kayo lahat mapapasang-ayon sa isiping ito.
But the question that I kind of want to pose is -- you know, why not? Why not think about it this way? Because it makes as much sense as anything else I have ever heard in terms of explaining the utter maddening capriciousness of the creative process. A process which, as anybody who has ever tried to make something -- which is to say basically everyone here --- knows does not always behave rationally. And, in fact, can sometimes feel downright paranormal.
Subalit ang tanong na nais ko sana iparating sa inyo ay - bakit nga ba hindi? Bakit nga ba hindi natin isipin sa ganitong paraan? Dahil sa ito ay syang pinakamakatwiran na sa lahat ng aking narinig ukol sa pagpapaliwanag ng tila bagang nakakabaliw na kapritso ng proseso ng paglikha. Isang proseso, na marahil maipagpapatotoo ng ninuman na sumubok gumawa ng isang bagay - at maaring, lahat ng nandidito - na hindi kailanman palaging makatwiran. At, sa katunayan, ay minsan tila bagang lubos na paranormal.
I had this encounter recently where I met the extraordinary American poet Ruth Stone, who's now in her 90s, but she's been a poet her entire life and she told me that when she was growing up in rural Virginia, she would be out working in the fields, and she said she would feel and hear a poem coming at her from over the landscape. And she said it was like a thunderous train of air. And it would come barreling down at her over the landscape. And she felt it coming, because it would shake the earth under her feet. She knew that she had only one thing to do at that point, and that was to, in her words, "run like hell." And she would run like hell to the house and she would be getting chased by this poem, and the whole deal was that she had to get to a piece of paper and a pencil fast enough so that when it thundered through her, she could collect it and grab it on the page. And other times she wouldn't be fast enough, so she'd be running and running, and she wouldn't get to the house and the poem would barrel through her and she would miss it and she said it would continue on across the landscape, looking, as she put it "for another poet." And then there were these times -- this is the piece I never forgot -- she said that there were moments where she would almost miss it, right? So, she's running to the house and she's looking for the paper and the poem passes through her, and she grabs a pencil just as it's going through her, and then she said, it was like she would reach out with her other hand and she would catch it. She would catch the poem by its tail, and she would pull it backwards into her body as she was transcribing on the page. And in these instances, the poem would come up on the page perfect and intact but backwards, from the last word to the first.
Kamakailan lang, nakatagpo ko ang isang kahanga-hangang Amerikanang makata na si Ruth Stone, na ngayon ay nasa 90 mahigit na, subalit naging isang makata sa buong buhay nya at kinwento nya sa akin na nuong kabataan nya sa lalawigan ng Virginia, minsan ay nasa kabukiran sya, nagtatrabaho, at sabi nya'y minsan, mararamdaman nya at maririnig ang isang tula na papalapit sa kanya mula sa malayong tanawin. At sabi nya'y tila para etong isang dumadagundong na tren ng hangin. At lubhang mabilis syang dadatnan nito mula sa malayo. At mararamdaman nya itong papalapit, dahil niyayanig nito ang lupang kinatatayuan nya. Alam nyang iisa lamang ang nararapat nyang gawin sa mga pagkakataon na iyon at iyon ay, ayun sa kanya, ang tumakbo na parang hinahabol ng demonyo. At tatakbo sya ng ubod ng bilis papunta sa bahay nya at hahabulin sya ng tulang ito at ang mahalaga sa lahat ay dapat makakuha sya ng papel at lapis nang mabilis upang kung dadatnan man sya nito ay matitipon nya ito at masusunggab nya ito at maisatitik sa papel. At mayroong minsan na hindi sya ganoon kabilis, kung kaya't sya ay tatakbo at tatakbo at tatakbo, at hindi nya aabutin ang bahay nya at dadaanan lamang sya ng tula at hindi nya na ito mahuhuli pa at sabi nya'y magpapatuloy ito sa ibayong lugar, maghahanap, ayun sa kanya "ng ibang makata". At mayroon ding mga pagkakataon - ito ang bahaging hindi ko makakalimutan - sabi nya, may mga sandaling kamuntik nya nang hindi mahuli ang isang tula. Kaya, sya ay tatakbo patungo sa bahay nya, at maghahanap sya ng papel at dadaanan sya ng tula, at nakakuha sya ng lapis kasabay ng pagdaan ng tula sa kanyang gunita, at ang sabi nya, ay tila parang aabutin ng kanyang isang kamay ang tula at mahuhuli nya ito. Mahuhuli nya ang tula sa buntot, at hihilahin nya itong pabalik sa katawan nya habang isinasalin nya ito sa papel. At sa mga pagkakataong ito, mag-aanyong ganap at buo ang kanyang tula sa papel subalit pabaliktad, na nagsimula sa huling salita hanggang sa una.
(Laughter)
(Tawanan)
So when I heard that I was like -- that's uncanny, that's exactly what my creative process is like.
Kaya nung narinig ko ito, pakiramdam ko, lubhang kataka-taka eto, sapagkat ganitong ganito ang paraan ng aking paglikha.
(Laughter)
(Tawanan)
That's not at all what my creative process is -- I'm not the pipeline! I'm a mule, and the way that I have to work is I have to get up at the same time every day, and sweat and labor and barrel through it really awkwardly. But even I, in my mulishness, even I have brushed up against that thing, at times. And I would imagine that a lot of you have too. You know, even I have had work or ideas come through me from a source that I honestly cannot identify. And what is that thing? And how are we to relate to it in a way that will not make us lose our minds, but, in fact, might actually keep us sane?
Hindi iyon ang buod ng proseso ng aking paglikha - hindi ako ang tubo at daan! Ako ay parang mula, at ang paraan ng aking paggawa ay kailangan ako gumising sa parehong oras araw-araw, at maghirap at gumawa at piliting gumawa bagamat saliwa. Subalit kahit ako, sa aking pagiging mala-mula, naranasan at naramdaman ko din ang bagay na iyon, paminsan. At palagay ko marami sa inyo ang nakaranas din nito. Alam nyo, kahit ako ay nagakaroon din ng mga likha at ideya na tila nanggaling mula sa isang bukal na sa totoo lang ay hindi ko mawari kung ano. At ano ang bagay na ito? At paano tayo makikipag-ugnayan sa bagay na ito nang hindi nawawalan ng bait at tamang pag-iisip, subalit datapawat makakatulong pa sa atin upang panatiliin ang ating katinuan?
And for me, the best contemporary example that I have of how to do that is the musician Tom Waits, who I got to interview several years ago on a magazine assignment. And we were talking about this, and you know, Tom, for most of his life, he was pretty much the embodiment of the tormented contemporary modern artist, trying to control and manage and dominate these sort of uncontrollable creative impulses that were totally internalized.
At para sa akin, ang pinakamainam na ehemplo sa panahon nating ito kung paano gagawin iyon ay ang musikerong si Tom Waits, na nakapanayam ko ilang taon ang nakalilipas para sa isang magasin. At pinag-uusapan namin ito, at alam nyo, si Tom, halos sa buong buhay nya ay syang larawan ng isang naliligalig na modernong manlilikha, na nagsusumikap kontrolin at pamahalaan at pangibabawan ang mga gantong hindi mapigil na udyok ng paglikha na higit na lubhang panloob at pansarili.
But then he got older, he got calmer, and one day he was driving down the freeway in Los Angeles, and this is when it all changed for him. And he's speeding along, and all of a sudden he hears this little fragment of melody, that comes into his head as inspiration often comes, elusive and tantalizing, and he wants it, it's gorgeous, and he longs for it, but he has no way to get it. He doesn't have a piece of paper, or a pencil, or a tape recorder.
Subalit sa pagtanda nya, naging kalmado na sya, at isang araw habang nagmamaneho sya sa freeway ng Los Angeles, ang kwento nya, at sa pagkakataon na to nagbago ang lahat para sa kanya. Habang humaharurot sya sa daan, bigla na lang may narinig syang mumunting kapiraso ng himig na pumasok sa isipin nya pares ng pagdating minsan ng isang inspirasyon, mailap at mapanukso, at gusto nya ito, alam nyo na, dahil sa ito'y maganda, at inaasam nya ito, subalit wala syang paraan upang kuhanin eto. Wala syang papel, wala syang lapis, wala syang tape rekorder.
So he starts to feel all of that old anxiety start to rise in him like, "I'm going to lose this thing, and I'll be be haunted by this song forever. I'm not good enough, and I can't do it." And instead of panicking, he just stopped. He just stopped that whole mental process and he did something completely novel. He just looked up at the sky, and he said, "Excuse me, can you not see that I'm driving?"
Kung kaya't unti-unti na naman nyang nararamdaman ang dating pagkabalisa gaya ng, "hindi ko na maaalala ang bagay na ito mamya, at habambuhay na akong mumultuhin nito. Hindi ako ganun kagaling, at hindi ko kayang gawin ito." Subalit sa halip na mataranta, ay tumigil lamang sya. Tinigil nya lamang ang buong proseso ng pag-iisip at tsaka nya ginawa ang isang kakaibang bagay. Tumingin sya sa langit, at sabi, "Mawalang galang po, hindi nyo ba nakikita na ako'y nagmamaneho?"
(Laughter)
(Tawanan)
"Do I look like I can write down a song right now? If you really want to exist, come back at a more opportune moment when I can take care of you. Otherwise, go bother somebody else today. Go bother Leonard Cohen."
"Tingin nyo ba nasa kalagayan ako ngayon na makapagsulat ng kanta? Kung gusto mo talaga magmeron, bumalik ka sa mas akmang oras kung kelan mahaharap kita at maasikaso. Kung hindi, iba na lang ang istorbohin mo ngayon. Umalis ka't abalahin mo si Leonard Cohen."
And his whole work process changed after that. Not the work, the work was still oftentimes as dark as ever. But the process, and the heavy anxiety around it was released when he took the genie, the genius out of him where it was causing nothing but trouble, and released it back where it came from, and realized that this didn't have to be this internalized, tormented thing. It could be this peculiar, wondrous, bizarre collaboration, kind of conversation between Tom and the strange, external thing that was not quite Tom.
At ang buo nyang paraan ng paglikha ay nagbago pagkatapos nun. Hindi ang gawang-sining, ang mga likha nya ay minsan singdilim pa din ng dati. Kundi ang proseso, at ang mabigat na pagkaligalig na kaakibat nito napakawalan nung kinuha nya ang genie, ang henyo palayo sa kanya dahil sa wala nang ginawa ang henyo kundi manggulo, at nung pinakawalan nya bumalik eto mula sa pinanggalingan, at napagtanto nya na hindi naman kinakailangan na maging isa etong panloob na paghihirap. Maari naman etong maging katangi-tangi, nakakamangha, kakaibang pagtutulungan parabagang pakikipag-usap sa pagitan ni Tom at ng kakaibang eksternal na bagay na parang si Tom subalit hindi lubos na sya.
When I heard that story, it started to shift a little bit the way that I worked too, and this idea already saved me once. It saved me when I was in the middle of writing "Eat, Pray, Love," and I fell into one of those sort of pits of despair that we all fall into when we're working on something and it's not coming and you start to think this is going to be a disaster, the worst book ever written. Not just bad, but the worst book ever written. And I started to think I should just dump this project. But then I remembered Tom talking to the open air and I tried it. So I just lifted my face up from the manuscript and I directed my comments to an empty corner of the room. And I said aloud, "Listen you, thing, you and I both know that if this book isn't brilliant that is not entirely my fault, right? Because you can see that I am putting everything I have into this, I don't have any more than this. If you want it to be better, you've got to show up and do your part of the deal. But if you don't do that, you know what, the hell with it. I'm going to keep writing anyway because that's my job. And I would please like the record to reflect today that I showed up for my part of the job."
Kung kaya nung narinig ko ang kwentong iyon, nagsimula ring mag-iba ng direksyon ang paraan ng aking paglikha, at naligtas na ako nito ng mahigit isang beses. Ang ideyang ito ang nagligtas sa akin sa gitna ng pagsusulat ko ng "Eat, Pray, Love" nung naranasan ko ang mawalan ng pag-asa na malimit nating nararanasan sa mga panahong may ginagawa tayo at hindi lumalabas ang gusto natin gawin at nagsisimula kang mag-isip na magiging isa etong disastre, na ito ang pinakamalalang libro na naisulat sa simulat sapul. Hindi lang pangit kundi pinakamalalang librong naisulat. At nagsimula akong mag-isip na i-abandona na ang proyekting ito. Subalit naalala ko si Tom, kausap ang hangin at sinubukan ko ito. Kung kaya't inangat ko ang mukha ko mula sa manuskrito at itinuon ko ang aking mga puna sa isang bakanteng sulok sa kwarto. At sa malakas na boses, sabi ko, "Makinig ka, ikaw na bagay, alam nating dalawa na kung ang librong ito ay hindi magaling ang kasalanan ay hindi pawang akin lamang, hindi ba? Dahil nakikita mo na ibinibigay ko ang lahat ng meron ako sa librong ito, Wala na akong maibibigay pa liban nito. Kaya kung gusto mo maging mas magaling, kailangan mong magmeron at gawin ang trabaho mo. Sige. Kung ayaw mo man magpakitang gilas, bahala na nga. Ipagpapatuloy ko pa rin ang aking pagsusulat dahil ito naman ang aking trabaho. At pakiusap lang na pakitala sa araw na ito na nagpakita ako at ginawa ang trabaho ko."
(Laughter)
(Tawanan)
Because --
Dahil --
(Applause)
(Palakpakan)
Because in the end it's like this, OK -- centuries ago in the deserts of North Africa, people used to gather for these moonlight dances of sacred dance and music that would go on for hours and hours, until dawn. They were always magnificent, because the dancers were professionals and they were terrific, right? But every once in a while, very rarely, something would happen, and one of these performers would actually become transcendent. And I know you know what I'm talking about, because I know you've all seen, at some point in your life, a performance like this. It was like time would stop, and the dancer would sort of step through some kind of portal and he wasn't doing anything different than he had ever done, 1,000 nights before, but everything would align. And all of a sudden, he would no longer appear to be merely human. He would be lit from within, and lit from below and all lit up on fire with divinity.
sa huli, parang ganto, OK - sa desyerto ng North Africa ilang siglo na nakalilipas, ang mga tao'y kalimitan nagtitipun-tipon sa gabing bilog ang buwan para sa mga sagradong sayaw at musika na maaring magtuluy-tuloy ng ilang oras, hanggang madaling-araw. At lahat ng mga ito'y kahanga-hanga, dahil ang mga mananayaw ay propesyonal at sila'y lubhang magaling. Subalit paminsan-minsan, sa mga lubhang bihirang pagkakataon, may nangyayari, at isa sa mga mananayaw ay nagiging transendente. At alam nyo kung ano ang gusto ko tukuyin, dahil alam kong kayong lahat ay nakakita, minsan sa inyong buhay, ng isang palabas na ganto. Tila bagang huminto ang oras, at ang mananayaw ay pumasok sa tila isang lagusan kahit wala naman syang ginawang kakaiba sa karaniwan, isang libong gabi ang nakalilipas, subalit ang lahat ay humahanay. At sa isang kisapmata, tila sya ay hindi na isang karaniwang tao lamang. Sya ay tila may ilaw sa loob, at sa ilalim at ang buo nyang katawang lupa ay tila inilawan ng dibinidad.
And when this happened, back then, people knew it for what it was, you know, they called it by its name. They would put their hands together and they would start to chant, "Allah, Allah, Allah, God, God, God." That's God, you know. Curious historical footnote: when the Moors invaded southern Spain, they took this custom with them and the pronunciation changed over the centuries from "Allah, Allah, Allah," to "Olé, olé, olé," which you still hear in bullfights and in flamenco dances. In Spain, when a performer has done something impossible and magic, "Allah, olé, olé, Allah, magnificent, bravo," incomprehensible, there it is -- a glimpse of God. Which is great, because we need that.
At sa tuwing nangyayari ito nuon, alam ng mga tao kung ano ito, alam nyo, tinatawag nila ito sa pangalan. Maghahawak-kamay sila at magsisimula silang padasal na umawit, "Allah, Allah, Allah, Panginoon, Panginoon, Panginoon." Yun ang Panginoon. Isang nakakatuwang talababa sa kasaysayan - nuong sinakop ng mga Moors ang timog Espanya, dinala nila ang kanilang kaugalian at ang pagkabigkas ay nagbago matapos ang ilang mga siglo mula sa "Allah, Allah, Allah", eto ay naging "Ole, ole, ole" na hanggang ngayon ay maririnig nyo sa mga labanan ng toro at sa mga sayaw ng plamengko. Sa Espanya, kapagka ang mananayaw ay may nagawang tila impossible at puno ng mahika, "Allah, ole, ole, Allah, lubos na kahanga-hanga, bravo," hindi kayang unawain, ito iyon - isang sulyap sa Panginoon. At ito'y kahanga-hanga, dahil kailangan natin ito.
But, the tricky bit comes the next morning, for the dancer himself, when he wakes up and discovers that it's Tuesday at 11 a.m., and he's no longer a glimpse of God. He's just an aging mortal with really bad knees, and maybe he's never going to ascend to that height again. And maybe nobody will ever chant God's name again as he spins, and what is he then to do with the rest of his life? This is hard. This is one of the most painful reconciliations to make in a creative life. But maybe it doesn't have to be quite so full of anguish if you never happened to believe, in the first place, that the most extraordinary aspects of your being came from you. But maybe if you just believed that they were on loan to you from some unimaginable source for some exquisite portion of your life to be passed along when you're finished, with somebody else. And, you know, if we think about it this way, it starts to change everything.
Subalit ang mahirap na bahagi ay ang pagdating ng kinaumagahan, para sa mananayaw, pagkagising nya at nadiskubre nyang Martes na at alas-onse ng umaga, at hindi na sya isang banaag ng Panginoon. Na sya ay isa lamang tumatandang mortal na may lubhang nananakit na tuhod, at maaring hindi na sya muli man aangat pa sa tugatog na iyon. At maaring wala na ulit aawit ng padasal, sambit ang ngalan ng Panginoon habang sya'y sumasayaw, At ano ngayon ang gagawin nya sa nalalabi ng buhay nya? Mahirap ito. Ito ang isa mga pinakamasakit na pagkakasundong ginagawa sa paglikha. Subalit maari naman na hindi na maging lubhang puno ng dalamhati kung sa una pa lang, hindi ka naniniwala na ang mga higit na kahanga-hangang aspeto ng iyong pagkatao ay hindi nanggagaling sayo. Subalit, siguro kung nanininiwala ka na ang mga ito ay pinahiram lamang sayo mula sa isang 'di mawaring pinagmulan para sa natatanging parte ng buhay mo na sa kalaunan ay ipapasa mo din sa ibang tao kapagka ikaw ay tapos na. At, alam nyo, kung sa ganitong paraan tayo mag-iisip, magsisimulang magbago ang lahat.
This is how I've started to think, and this is certainly how I've been thinking in the last few months as I've been working on the book that will soon be published, as the dangerously, frighteningly over-anticipated follow up to my freakish success.
Sa ganitong paraan na ako nagsimulang mag-isip, at tiyak na sa ganitong paraan ako nag-iisip nitong mga nagdaan na buwan habang ginagawa ko ang isang libro na malapit nang ilathala, bilang syang peligroso, nakakatakot na lubos na inaabangan na kasunod sa aking nakakatakot na tagumpay.
And what I have to sort of keep telling myself when I get really psyched out about that is don't be afraid. Don't be daunted. Just do your job. Continue to show up for your piece of it, whatever that might be. If your job is to dance, do your dance. If the divine, cockeyed genius assigned to your case decides to let some sort of wonderment be glimpsed, for just one moment through your efforts, then "Olé!" And if not, do your dance anyhow. And "Olé!" to you, nonetheless. I believe this and I feel that we must teach it. "Olé!" to you, nonetheless, just for having the sheer human love and stubbornness to keep showing up.
At ano ang kailangan kong gawing, tila parang palagi kong pinagsasabihan ang sarili ko kapagka minsan natotorete na ako sa pag-iisip, na hindi ako dapat matakot. Hindi dapat panghinaan ng loob. Gawin lamang ang trabaho. Patuloy na magpakita para gawin ang bahagi mo, kahit ano man ito. Kung ang trabaho mo man ay sumayaw, sumayaw ka lang. Kung ang banal na henyo na nakatalaga sayo ay nagpasya na hayaang ipasulyap ang nakakamangha, kahit sandali lang dahil sa pagsisikap mo, kung gayon man, "Ole!" Kung hindi man, sumayaw ka pa rin. At "Ole!" pa rin sayo, gayunpaman. Naniniwala ako dito at nararamdaman ko dapat natin ito ituro. "Ole!" sayo, kahit ano pa man, kahit man lang sa pagkakaron ng lubos na pag-ibig at kasutilan sa patuloy na pagpapakita.
Thank you.
Maraming salamat.
(Applause)
(Palakpak)
Thank you.
Maraming salamat.
(Applause)
(Palakpak)
June Cohen: Olé!
June Cohen: Ole!
(Applause)
(Palakpak)