On Creativity

Creativity seems elusive and like a rare creature we have to hunt down only to discover that it might be the wrong, though similar, creature. And we have caught impostors, or so we think. Our end product looked different from what we've been told it should. So we doubt and hesitate. Thus, some of us recluse to being satisfied with merely gawking upon this creature when we do find it in the wild, or marvel at the successful hunters who were either lucky or talented. At the thought of these hunters, we wonder ourselves if we have the talent. Is it inherent? Is is latent? Can it be learned? Earned? Or is it merely the luck of the draw, a gene to be born with or without?

Fields

The field of clouds
Like a bed of cotton balls
Glowing with purples, pinks, violets, oranges
Reds and blues
As if incandescent and neon bulbs alight it from below
It forms a texture so inviting
It asks you gently, sincerely, to rest upon it
And like so, the heavens become your bed
Your place of rest

And while laying down on His green earth
In observation of this, you are engulfed
By two places of rest, all-encompassing
Nothing is unknown anymore
No need to fear
His creation triumphs
In bringing you peace
And it certainly passes your understanding


penned 09.30.08