SWEET NOTHINGS
We humans have evolved to recognize patterns. We’re really good at it. So good, in fact, that we see pictures and create significance even out of nebulous shapes and apparent randomness. We perceive meaningful images in clouds and land forms, find heart-shaped rocks, notice angelic refractions of light, and recognize expressive faces in inanimate everyday objects. There’s a word for this: Pareidolia.
Most of what I’ve read about the phenomenon usually describes it like we’re making something out of nothing. That’s not really a horse-drawn chariot in the sky — clouds are just a chaotic coalescence of moving water particles, sunbeams, temperature, and air. That’s not really the Blessed Virgin on your breakfast plate — it’s coincidental scorch marks on a piece of toast. Sure, I get that.
But I’m also wondering — does this mean that, truly, there’s nothing there? Or does it actually mean that we create something by our engagement with it?
Even if we accept that the object isn’t communicating intentionally — the cloud, the toast, the sidewalk crack that seems to be smiling at us isn’t communicating some particular thing — that doesn’t necessarily leave it totally meaningless. If we give it meaning, it then has meaning. Yes? If we pack it full of meaning, then it’s meaning-full.
I know that brushstrokes of paint arranged on canvas aren’t the same thing as what they’re put there to resemble. But they’re not nothing. People view these globs of paint and respond to them with real thoughts and feelings. Perhaps our responses lead to words and deeds, to interactions not just with the artwork but also with other people and the world. It’s a creative process. An inspired creative process, rich in all sorts of meaning. Our meaning. Again, which is not nothing.
I’m reminded of Air Supply’s 1983 power ballad, “Making Love Out of Nothing At All.” The love can be quite real, even if made of thin air.
Recently, I came across an affirmation I wrote years maybe 15 years ago: Spirit keeps whispering sweet nothings in my ear. I listen, laugh, and love.
That was a pretty good one, if I do say so myself.
“Sweet nothing” sounds like pillow talk. Romantic, endearing trifles — probably not terribly consequential. Sweet nothings are affectionate and lovely. They’re easy to receive, easy to hold, because they’re so light, light as air.
I really like the idea that this is how Spirit speaks to us. And how we speak to and as Spirit. Not necessarily with so many thunderous commands, heavy declarations, pronouncements, or edicts chiseled into stone. But rather with amorous whispers, giggles, and sexy innuendo.
And I believe that it can be a continuous dialogue — an ongoing conversation that includes everyone and everything, in which each of us is constantly participating.
Yeah — you could call it a whole lot of nothing — if that’s the meaninglessness you really want to make. But it’s also potentially everything, the possibility of everything.
To put that another way — it’s all nothing until we make it something. Anything. Everything. And the more responsibility we take for our meaning-making power, the more we own our meaning-making choices, the more creative we remember ourselves to be.
I can’t wait to be with you this Sunday, September 1. I’m very excited that Robb Janov will be with us as our musical guest — with his electric violin — he’s freakin’ amazing! 10:00am at q-Staff Theater, 400 Broadway Blvd. SE, on the corner of Broadway and Lead. Plenty of parking up and down Broadway as well as just east on Arno and Edith. There are also several spots right in front of the theater for those who need easy access. See you soon, friends. XO, Drew
©2024 Drew Groves
