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Tremendous power lies in the simple, physical act of stationing our body at the epicenter of our dream.
“Keep working,” Ernie said. “Don’t turn anything down. Porn flicks, slasher movies, free stuff for friends. Don’t get precious. You’re young. You’re learning. Keep working.”
Work—day-in, day-out exertion and concentration—produces progress and order. That’s a law of the universe.
The Muse does not count hours. She counts commitment. It is possible to be one hundred percent committed ten percent of the time. The goddess understands.
We have become artists, not in the precious sense of differentiating ourselves from others in some imagined superior way, but in the sense of being servants of an intention that comes from somewhere else, even though we cannot grasp what that intention is or what its source may be. We trust this intention somehow, even though we can’t say why.
