seeing the possibility

the narration has returned – the willingness to see the art woven within the unspokens that surface in the rare moments my mind is stilled and lost and yet so atune

there’s a place I can’t explain – the same awakening that occurs when I create those little collages – the pieces and fragments and seeing what could be in the midst of clipped scenes and fabrics and collections of another’s work

seeing the possibility

perhaps the creative pulse is exactly that – seeing the possibility

reading gifted writers doesn’t hurt either – the narration flows as I read Anne Lamott or lyrics that are on the opposite extreme of recycled words and ideas which find themselves in far too many songs – their words inspire these words that perhaps borrow certain ideas and styles unknowinglly – but they pulse with possibility – and remind me that one can create something out of “nothing”

and maybe that is a part of reading Scriptures – in this season of doubt, it begins to ground me again and remind me of the things I knew before the recent distractions came waltzing in unasked – it reminds me of hope and life and purpose and possibility

perhaps this is all kin to hunger – the apathy attacking my creativity actually reveals a hunger for inspiration and that inspiration incites a hunger to create

the doubts somehow are the very things which cry out for the spiritual food – yes the food analogy may be a bit of a stretch when it comes to doubt – yet I cannot doubt (pun intended?) that a similar flicker of awakening happens when I finally get back to the basics, even if only for a moment

a genuine and quiet prayer, a stilling of the mind enough to pick up Truth from the Page, an unexpected rising song…

but the moment seems so fleeting – and the voice in my head asks if God is my muse as love is often the muse for other forms of art – the battling voice says that theirs is just a fabrication of what it should be – but the other voice calls again saying we all just need a muse

perhaps that is when faith dances through – and all i can do is trust

and so I mutter and stammer and try and find the narrow path

I ache for a place and space to write – to get in tune with nature again – to be in tune with the rhythm that pulses underneath the dailiness which dulls our ears to the life-giving beat

yet even as I try and form these words before all of this feels lost, another distraction comes through the door of my thoughts and I slowly sense that space of creativity and possibility being closing – so I cling as long as I can to these unshaped words and the uncreated art…

the much longed-for glimpse into the window of seeing the possibility

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