Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Creativity - When to Stay, When to Walk Away

The peaks and valleys of creative energy can often be quite unpredictable. There are days when I am brimming with creative juices that flow effortlessly. During those episodes I’m on fire and can hardly imagine the possibility of falling flat the very next day. It happens.

If you have read any of my offerings, it is obvious that I am rooted in nature; my basic source. I cannot complain, as I have been immersed in my wild landscape, which merges nicely with my inner wildness. When I am in this place of perfection, the unleashing begins. As long as I cannot hear (too many) sounds of human technology interrupting nature’s soundtrack, I’m good.

Last spring I tried to sit outdoors with a tape recorder to capture a variety of twilight birdsongs. I managed to get a few minutes here and there, but was shocked when I realized that I had to stop the recording frequently because of aircraft overhead or a random tractor passing by. I live in the woods, but not deep enough (for me). I started to focus on this inability to hear only natural sounds and basically freaked out because at times one would think that I lived near a major international airport. I do understand that there are military operations overhead. I hear them day and night and actually hear them now as I write this. There has been a great deal of controversy regarding the noise from people who reside in this region and along the inland Maine and New Hampshire border. It doesn’t matter.

The day before yesterday there were not enough hours in the day for me to create. I harvested, walked in fields and other wild places, wrote, spent time adding to my ongoing mandala and sang freely. The sun was hot and I liked it; sweat means you are alive. I had quiet time to reflect and I ate good ice cream.

Yesterday I took on a more serious assignment and got into technical, gritty work that meets today’s heavy issues head on. The subjects ranged from the environment to economics, global to regional, impossible to unimaginable. I often avoid writing about these issues, wanting to keep the bulk of my work uplifting and motivational. I want others to rejoice in the wild beauty of this planet and to see the significance of simple things like dragonflies, a spider web in light and shadows, and the understated bud that blossoms into something abounding and magnificent simply because it is meant to.

How often these simple pleasures are overlooked because we are caught up in the busyness of everyday mundane tasks. We become trapped in our own cycle of mediocrity.

At the end of the day, I finished my task of facing the ugliness that pecks away at us relentlessly and I was exhausted. Not in the way that I am fulfilled and want to collapse from sheer physical exhaustion and satisfaction from crawling around and bending over plants, weeds (to most) and flowers. My head was full like a sponge filled with water, oozing and dripping. I thought that there was no room for anything else, even the good things.

I went outside and rummaged around in the gardens, picking vegetables and the last of the wild black raspberries. I had no energy. I sat on the porch steps and watched the hummingbirds, which usually offer inspiration. I simply fell flat.

A few deep breaths afforded a small dose of liveliness, but it was quickly snuffed out when the jets roared overhead.

I accept that every day cannot be filled with seemingly unending joy. I walked past my unfinished artwork, out of tune cello and I drew a bath with lavender. As I soaked in the tub, my muscles, tense from over thinking, relaxed. Lavender has that affect on me.

I went to bed and read for a while, trying to ignore the normal sounds of an old farmhouse creaking. I tossed and turned throughout the night and woke up weary, heading for the coffee.

I sat in front of my computer sipping my coffee and opened an email. In it was a beautiful photo. That’s all it took to stir my senses. I studied the composition for a bit and felt the inspiration rise within. I walked away from the computer and dumped the rest of my coffee down the sink and got dressed.

Almost giddy, I found myself barefoot in the damp grass. The wild landscape called for me to go this way and that. Plants that were starting to flower the day before were in full bloom. I dashed inside to get my camera. The possibilities were endless.

I captured photos by the pond where the frogs seemed to be waiting for me. I am delighted that we have established trust; they no longer leap into the water (with a deep ker-plunk) when they hear me approach. They look at me and maintain their positions, allowing me to lean perilously over the edge to snap a photo.

My favorite moment was lingering in the field near a Ruby Meadowhawk; a dragonfly. He was vibrant and patient. If I had a mind to, I might have reached out and touched him. We communed for what seemed an eternity. I captured a few photos and imprinted his essence deep into a sacred place that will serve me in the days ahead.

I then harvested mint, marjoram and cat mint before assessing the goldenrod that is almost ready. I sat on my favorite log in the meadow by the pond and absorbed the stillness. The heaviness that was pressing down on my chest had lifted. I gave thanks to the Creator for the sum of what surrounds me; the absolute power of little miracles that are the basic core of who we are, as one.
Journal: Scarlet Lily

No comments:

Post a Comment