I posted this the other day as a comment over on The Noisy Plume blog.
We had a blue morning here…. not the blue of summer, but the blue promise of spring. The sunrise turned the hills and the clouds and, it seemed, even the air the lightest of blues.
A distinct change from the grey of winter mornings.
Oh how a bit of color can rouse a new feeling in a person who has been swaying to the rhythm of winter’s white drum.
Sometimes the words seem to flow from a place that is not me, and yet more truly me than anything else. I'm almost surprised by what shows up on the page - the words come not from thought but from feeling.
And when that happens I can't help but read the words over and over again. Each time exclaiming "yes!" as I connect with the place from which they flowed.
I yearn for that creative influence to rest upon my head... to create from the well of feelings so deep that I have yet to consciously tap into them. To bring them to the surface for the world, and myself, to witness.
The challenge, I'm finding, is that there has been no rhyme or reason as to when (or if) I will be graced with the ability to create from that place. And so, as a deadline approaches, I tend to stare at the blank page wishing for that flow of words to begin. Sometimes it happens. Sometimes it doesn't. And when it doesn't, that is when I am (slowly) learning to create from thought.
I feel more hesitant, more concerned with how my words will be received, when I publish them from a place of thought. It is as though one version is art and the other is academic.
If something I've written from feeling is criticized - so what! It's art! Love it or hate it - either way you've felt *something*.... and isnt' that what art is supposed to do?
With the words created from knowledge, from thought, from research.... this is where I cringe.
And yet they are both art. They are both creative. I am beginning to believe they both are grounded in that same deep place of feeling and truth....