água viva
meditations on Clarice Lispector’s enigmatic book on time, creation, and the flow state.
“And I plan nothing in my intuitive work of living: I work with the indirect, the informal and the unforeseen.” —Clarice Lispector, Água Viva
In the mystical Água Viva, Clarice Lispector’s narrator speaks through the spirit and experiments with time and the free will that we are gifted for creation. There is no planning, and certainly no structure; it is a stream-of-consciousness, dream-like style that is deeply aware of itself.
The narrator’s intention is “to seize the fourth dimension of this instant-now so fleeting that it’s already gone because it’s already become a new instant-now that’s also already gone.” Often there is an admission that they do not know what they are writing about, and frequently there are tangents that seem incomprehensible and opaque.
The book operates as an experiment that aims to reach that which is beyond thought and language. Each sentence is not meant to be deciphered and scrutinized. Like a dream, what is felt is most palpable. This is what lingers.
Still, our narrator marvels at the fact that in the next instant there will be new sentences and discoveries. There is an attempt to capture the present, to feel in the hands “the quivering and lively nerve of the now.”
They are hyper-aware of their own fascinating existence, and the freedom—and madness—of creation. They write what emerges and allow it to be, despite personal judgments: “I don’t like what I just wrote—but I’m duty-bound to accept the whole section because it happened to me. And I have so much respect for what I happen to myself. My essence is unconscious and that’s why I obey myself blindly.”
Lispector’s Água Viva reveals the mysterious power of what occurs when spontaneous, unbounded creativity is granted permission to take over in a flow state. As creatives, here is where the magic happens. There is something so liberating about being dissatisfied by what we made and continuing anyway, to keep on trudging through the dirt in search of gold. Silencing the inner critic and beating that beast of perfectionism. Paying reverence to the disorder of the process and what it may lead to in the next unpredictable instant.
There is bravery to be found here. On writing, our narrator says “It takes courage to write what comes to me: you never know what could come up and scare you.” No backspace, no crossing out the words. Let it be how it is in this instant, no matter how uncomfortable or strange. This is difficult to do; too vulnerable to watch our subconscious spill onto the page without filters. And yet it is necessary to reach the beating pulse of life.
This wisdom applies to the work of creating oneself, too. Although our narrator is both a painter and a writer, there is specific attention given towards self-invention. Each word, each brushstroke, is merely a part of this ultimate process.
“To create a being out of oneself is very serious. I am creating myself. And walking in complete darkness in search of ourselves is what we do. It hurts. But these are the pains of childbirth: a thing is born that is. Is itself. It is hard as a dry stone. But the core is soft and alive, perishable, perilous, it.”
Yes, I too, am making myself in this very instant. I am releasing the old ways of perfectionism and birthing a self that, like our narrator, accepts and honors everything that happens to (no—for) me, especially in the realm of creation.
I am in the flow state now and, transparently, I do not know how this piece will end. Lispector’s narrator concludes Água Viva by saying that it does not end. “What I’m writing to you is a ‘this.’ It won’t stop: it goes on … What I’m writing to you goes on and I am bewitched.”
How does anything that exists ever end? It doesn’t. The words may stop on the page but there is an energy that lingers in the mind of the reader. These words, no matter how impactful, will have always been read and buried in one’s subconscious mind, or they may stay in the conscious if especially transformative.
Água Viva remains in my conscious mind, keeping me in tune to whimsical invention, flow, presence, and divine source.
I am in the river flowing towards an ending now, seeking land. So I have decided with the free will of my imagination to create a patch of land, and I am swimming to it. Now, I emerge from this water until the river calls me back home.
𖤓 Set a time for 20-30 minutes and handwrite in stream-of-consciousness style without editing. Afterwards, reflect on what you have written and the experience of writing freely.
Did anything surprising appear on the page? Was this difficult, or did it come naturally to you? Why?
𖤓 Observe your instant-now and write, in detail, about what is happening in your present moment.
𖤓 Gather your art materials and set a timer for 20-30 minutes. Draw/paint anything that comes to mind. Lines, shapes, figures, anything!
Let your mind wander, without judgment, into that flow state as you create.
Observe and reflect on the result of your conscious/subconscious mind.
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Very encouraging words about one of my favorite books. You're reading the comment of an enthusiastic new subscriber!
I needed this today. I am working on a 'word piece'...I dare not call it a poem...but my self got loud with me after noticing my shoulders slump as the inner critic rose to the occasion, as always. After reading this, I am packing up my power, taking this response + moving forward...word-by-word. And I just ordered the book!