The main thesis behind the work that i'm doing is that the creative act is the reason why we are here.

Humans are creators, and we have lost track of this basic truth because of all what has been imposed on us by the boundaries that society has led us believe are real.

We believe we are are here to be someone.

We believe that we should be different.

And all of life transforms into the quest towards what we will become when we finally realize what we are here for.

The main thesis behind my work, using Anky as the interface to share that work with you, is that this is a lie.

The main reason that you are alive is for being alive. There is no ulterior motive than that.

So life becomes an exploration into connecting to that aliveness, through every activity that you do.

And if all, the most aliveness-inducing experience is melting yourself on the creative act.

When the creator, the act of creation, and what is being created melt into the experience of doing the thing.

And of all of those creative acts, writing holds the most important place inside my heart.

That is why i decided to focus on the creative act happening through writing, and that is why the invitation that i bring to you is to write at least 8 minutes every day through Anky.

Because there is a degree of dissolution that comes from facing that blank page.

Of not knowing where your writing will take you.

But embarking on that journey anyway.

Each session that i tell myself I will write ends up being an exploration into what wants to be said through my words.

Most of the time, I hate it.

I hate that these are the words that wanted to come right now, actually.

I hate myself for not being a better writer.

I hate myself for being stuck on this endless loop of trying to write something interesting and not being able to.

And that ends up being the perfect vehicle to develop a sharper relationship with myself.

How can I hate me?

What is happening inside me that makes me lack the acceptance that is needed in order to develop the most fundamental aspect of love that can exist?

How can I expect someone to love me if I don't love myself?

How can I expect someone to want to interact with me if I don't want to interact with myself?

And as soon as these words are written, there is an expectation inside that they will go away.

I hate editing my writing because i hate reading what i write.

Because i hate what i write.

I hate myself, and i use every opportunity that I have for acknowledging that practically. I come up with excuses. I come up with new ways of relating to that hate.

Stories that ends up being more of that hate condensed.

Expressed through anger.

My daughter has been 2 years in this world, and the emotion that i have felt the most throughout this time is anger.

What is wrong with me?

Is there something that needs to be fixed inside?

But the more i ask myself that question, the more I sit in meditation feeling what I feel inside in relationship to myself, i end up coming to the same conclusion:

There is nothing wrong inside myself.

There is only information arising. Important information. Physical sensations, intense thoughts and emotions that are here to tell me something.

And if i don't allow myself to write because I hate my writing, I will never offer me the gift of observing those with clarity, and developing a renewed relationship to the experience of being.

Of this process of being.

The more I run away from my writing, the more I avoid reading it, the more I cut down this avenue for deeper exploration into the human experience through myself.

And I believe that is what I'm here for: to experience how it feels to be human through my own and unique experience.

And that can't be read in another person's words.

It can only be experienced through the relationship that I have with my own words.

How can I develop that relationship it if i'm not able to face what writing brings?

How can I embrace everything that i am (and what is inside) if I keep avoiding what feels necessary?

Perhaps these words will be deleted afterwards. Perhaps nothing that I've said makes sense.

And that is the whole beauty of it.

Because nothing of it makes sense. It is only here to be experienced.

It is only here to be lived.

And the more i navigate towards that aliveness.

The more real it becomes.

And that is what this whole quest is about, isn't it?

Exploring what is alive.

Honoring what is alive.

And being through what is alive.

Each time that I sit down to write, the process of writing ends up being an avenue for that.

For that communication to unfold.

To see how full of BS I am. And to honor it all.

To honor what it means to be me.

And to walk, step by step, to love everything that is experienced as a consequence of that.

It is hard.

But probably the most important journey of this lifetime.

What is life if not a window into love?

What does it mean to be human if I'm not able to feel everything that being human brings?

It is all a gift.

It is all a gift.