What would you write if you knew no one was going to read it?

(This isn't a Buddhist meditation question or a Tim McGraw song...it's not even rhetorical...try it).

I don't mean nobody like "put it on the web, but nobody ever reads my blog anyway" nobody...I mean like, sit down with a piece of paper, a book of matches and a decent metal trashcan and write knowing that you are going to tear up the pieces and burn them as soon as the ink is dry. You would have to COMMIT to doing so...it's not a matter of, "if I write something I don't like," or "if I write something secretive"...regardless of how great it is, how profound it is, and whether or not it contains the first working formula for perputual motion powered by a renewable energy source...you HAVE to burn it.

When I was in college, Miami University had their liberal arts requirements grouped into an all-student mandate known as the "Miami Plan" (a beast which I am told is now extinct at MU), which demanded that, before graduation, all students must take a certain outrageous number of hours of classes outside any of their major or minor classes. It was because of this Miami Plan that I took a class called, "Indian Art and Contexts," taught by a very smart little man who looked not entirely unlike what I imagine your uncle the accountant looks like. In this class, we were taught about the process of producing so-called "Sand Mandalas," which are basically incredibly complex and beautiful circular designs created from tiny bits of colored sand on a clay tray. The monks who created these mandalas would place each piece of sand, one by one, into place on these designs, beginning with the end in mind, and often spending more than a year on one design.

Here's the cool part...

When the design was complete...when every piece of sand had been placed correctly and this perfect design was finally done...the monks would blow on the design. Yup, just inhale-exhale-destroymandala. They didn't show it to anyone, they didn't take a picture of it, they didn't record its beauty and they sure as heck didn't schlak the thing and hang it on the fridge. They stared at it for a second, and then blew it away. Then, they started over.

This, my friends is the definition of futility, no? (See: Ecclesiastes). All that time, all that care...all that effort, for what?

I am tremendously inspired by this concept. How much of what I do is meant to be showcased? How much of my internal motivation is based on the social system of rewards of praise and punishments of scorn? What would my life, my writing, my work, my words look like if I knew no one else would ever be able to see them?

I sat down and wrote this way not long ago. It was two in the morning, and I couldn't sleep...and worse, I couldn't sleep because my brain was filled with so many different thoughts that I feared rupture if I didn't get something out. So, I sat down to write...and I planned to destroy it immediately after. My plan was: write until I had expelled all of this stuff (which felt toxic, to be honest), then click "close" and, when it asked me to save, click "no." Just lose it into cyberspace. No record, no backup, no nuthin'.

I will not tell you what I wrote. I mean...I guess that's kinda the point. But I highly recommend, if you find writing to be purgative or cathartic, to try this.

Peace,
Justin