a Few Weeks

on Higher Creativity


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The Beauty of Teens

The Human Rights Warrior

Photo credit to my son Sevrin Photo taken by (and used with permission from) my son Sevrin at his high school sailing team practice.

As I write this, there are seven teens asleep in my basement.  My son and his friends came back from their high school dance in high spirits last night. Laughing and joking loudly, they boisterously descended on my kitchen, devouring everything within reach (even some chips that I thought I had hidden pretty well).  These guys were the human equivalent of an invading colony of army ants, foraging insatiably through my refrigerator.

Now these boy-men are dead to the world, asleep in a puppy pile on my basement floor.  And I have to be honest – I am loving every single thing about these teens.   In fifteen plus years of parenthood, I have grown accustomed to – perhaps, in some ways, inured to – the many and diverse aspects of wonder in…

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Blogging and “The Accident of Touching”

I cannot have expressed it better. A piece that I would have liked to keep, to read over and over again…

Deborah J. Brasket

The_Creation_Michelangelo“The accident of touching / is so rare! Sometimes / I pause my hand on purpose / and hope to find yours there.”

These are the last lines of a poem I wrote long ago.

But I realize now that’s what this blog is all about, a way of “pausing my hand on purpose,” and hoping to find you there.

It’s all about touching, isn’t it? Touching others with our lives, our insights and understanding, our memories and dreams, our poetry and art. Blogging meets this basic human need—to touch others and be touched in return.

Peter_Paul_Rubens_105_1We’ve all heard how physical touching is essential to human health and happiness. They say people can shrivel up and die for want of being touched or having someone to touch. A simple pat on the shoulder, a hug, a hand squeeze can make all the difference. Merely having a pet, they say, saves lives.

But there’s a basic…

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Artist’s Walks

So walk I did, even on this gloomy day.  I was glad I did, for the gentle walk spurred my blood, and it in turn cleared the dark cloud presiding in my mind.  Somehow in the still of the green depth, amongst the dark twisting boughs, I enjoyed hearing the solitary crunch of my feet on the gravel, noting the disarray of the autumn leaves strewn, very different from my almost Spartan abode.  I needed absolute neatness and minimal furnishings to feel at peace again.  This way in my daily peripheral vision, my life is organized, calm and still, there were no loose ends that I needed to busy myself in.  Yet though it gave serenity, it was without excitement, and a walk in the woods was like a gift.

Layers of multitude shades of green and jade shielded me from eyes, I was liberated from some unknown constriction.  I did not understand it, for I liked my little dwelling, I liked the closeness of the life in the apartments, how every little sound was conveyed through the intricacies of the wooden construction, I felt intimately surrounded by people, yet in complete solitude within my own apartment.

I miss familiar friendliness though, people pass by one another without so much as a look or smile.  I love to look into people’s eyes and exchange friendliness, it was suffice for all the years I had been living without an active social life.  But now I have the leisure to look onto the evening joggers, wearing earphones and intent looks, they transpire inner strength and solitary enjoyment to me, which inspires me, ignites a sensation akin to passion in me.  I felt an intrinsic urge to do something, to attempt to achieve something, to meet up with a challenge of some sort. 

A feeling of harmony and synchronicity with my surrounding is attained when I took my first stride, and it never felt better.


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Mind and Body

Barely three weeks into the program, the Morning Pages have already become the anchor of my days. I feel at loss if I wake up in the mornings and not move toward writing them. I feel calmer, more confident, knowing exactly what I want. In a way I repeat over and over again to myself everyday of my direction, though all I did was put down my thoughts, all of them gravitate toward materializing (even just into words to myself) my deeper instincts.

This is what I wanted of Higher Creativity, the state of my mind. Nothing has to be presented, not in composing, not in painting not in any form of art. They become something more like a pass-time, a by product if you will, of where my mind is. Is this true art? Art that comes from within and not without, art that is the expressive part of it all. It certainly is to me, art is a lesser form of a higher state of being, is a ‘do’, rather than the ‘is’.

Like a conversation, art when we ‘utter’ our thoughts, we connect. Or else, to me at least, art is simply an act of self amusement. If I am confident deep within, if I know where I am and where I am going, the need to communicate to another person, somehow lessens. Only when I exert physically, sweat, push the limits of my muscular strength, does the urge to share the joy, the exhilaration resurface. So Julia Cameron is right, look after your soul, but look after your physical self too, put everything together, there is a vibrancy and vitality never before.


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One Step at a Time

I believe I have always been an artistic person, I kept on being told that until I gave it up one day. I gave it up to a career, to marriage and family, to a traumatic blow in my major artistic endeavour in my younger days, to which I never deemed worthy to look back. Art itself though, had always seemed a personal enchantment, so it somehow was crowded out by people who populated my later life, mostly people who had no interest in being ‘artistic’. However the artsy side of me still popped up in various little ways, now in retrospect, as I cannot remember there was anytime in my life where I had not yearned for a difference, even a little, in my everyday life.

Now ready to take on it again 27 years down the lane, I have finally taken the bull by the horn and am rereading Artist’s Way in conjunction with the Vein of Gold and Walking in This World. What I miss through the years, I guess, is people who take art seriously, or rather, lively and adventurously, which would subsequently draw out that side of me. Nobody could afford to be, we all had children to look after, they need a stable and steady lifestyle.

So now that I have learnt through Julia Cameron’s books to readily accept myself, and to be compassionate in doing so;  that though everybody else has something to say, I still have MY story to tell, that the memories are mine and mine alone, that I could actually re-open the case of ‘me’; that as I ‘right’ it I found that an entirely different color and hue is cast on, and that it is actually lively and living in me when I take it in my own hands. I am finally struggling free of convictions and dejectedness, who knows, it might just take me to the abandonment of expressive art, but I am simply enjoying it now, reveling in the colours that are bubbling from within, deeper and richer tones that reach far into my past.

I made way for everybody, coming up with reasonings and defenses for them over the years to make life easier for them and for me, now it is time I devoted myself to my passion, and I am loving this recovery, the uncovering of myself from the slimy mud that rendered me unrecognizable even to myself.

The Narrative Timeline did wonders for me, though I barely started on it. “There is an infallibility to the law that as we each seek to express what we are longing to say, there is always someone or something that is longing to hear precisely what we have expressed.” In WordPress, I have decided to give this a try.