Nick, I’m writing songs again. They’re fucking pouring out of me. It’s been 8 years since I wrote songs. But here’s the thing. I’m struggling to write about the passing of my son, Mac. I want to, bless him. But something feels off when I turn my mind to the idea… Maybe it’s pressure for it to be perfect or to protect him. Maybe I’m not really ready yet… It’s so tender, as you know. But I want to try. How do you approach these moments?

Dear Nathan, 

Through The Red Hand Files I have made some rather sketchy attempts to express the nature of consciousness, as I perceive it or have experienced it — the feeling that consciousness exists both within us and outside us. I have described it as a form of intelligent energy present in all things, both living and non-living, and on both atomic and cosmic scales. I have also suggested, based entirely on my own intuition, that this force is moral in nature, inherently good and fundamentally creative. Within this immanent vitality exist all the future ideas of the world — all our art, music, words, and so forth.

Nathan, sometimes our grief can serve as a gateway into this creative flow. Many people have written in describing the shocking surge of creativity that unexpectedly follows a crisis — losing a loved one, hitting rock–bottom with addiction, a marriage breakdown, physical or mental illness, a scandal or another such life-changing event. They recount feeling moved by a mysterious force that felt external and beyond their own design. Both Susie and I found that after a long period of negotiating our grief a cosmic act of compensation awaited us — a profound creative outpouring — as if we had been plugged into a seemingly unlimited flow of creative energy. As you so colourfully remarked about your own songs, Nathan, it was fucking pouring out of us.

This outpouring you are experiencing is a gift from beyond. The songs flowing from you are not entirely of your own making and are, to some extent, beyond your control. While the idea is lovely, I wouldn’t worry too much about writing a song for your son, Mac. It might be counterproductive to try to impose too much influence on this creative stream you’re experiencing. I rather believe that Mac, in some strange but very real way I cannot fully explain, is the one actually writing the songs. He is the spiritual exuberance at the centre of this burst of activity. You are always writing about him, even when it seems you are not, as Mac himself becomes a kind of consciousness, an all-pervading condition of being.

I love hearing people speak from within the flow, this healing rush of creative energy. There is an infectious zeal to it. “They’re fucking pouring out of me,” are bold and beautiful words, Nathan, but let’s not forget, they are pouring into you too, and your son, dear Mac, is the benevolent wellspring of that flow. Sometimes, there is little we need to do but stand back, bow our heads, and receive this gift of abundance with awe and gratitude.

Love, Nick 

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