I have been wishing my creativity back into being. It is returning in bizarre fits and starts, most often in dreamtime. The other morning, I wrote and recited a long poem about spring on the stage in another Universe. I felt and heard myself read it for a crowd who seemed appreciative. I felt the energy of the waxing rise and fall in my heart. However, upon waking, not one phrase – not one beautifully written and received line – was left in my brain.
The other place that teases me – no actually tortures me – is bridges. Lyrical phrases waft through the peaks and valleys of my brain never leaving a trace once I am off the bridge and in a place I could record them.
Why is creativity do-see-do-ing with me?
I tested this. I intentionally drove across the closest bridge a mere two minutes from my house. Sure enough, smart, witty verse sprung forth. Determined to save at least a snippet of verse, I exited right off the bridge, turned the corner, parked, whipped out my pen and notebook. And…nothing. Absolutely nothing…zip.
It is as if my creativity wants total freedom from even the slightest chance of judgment or a rewrite. It wants to float on the wind and dance with the pollen. My creativity does not want to be captured or twisted or conform to my will in any way. It wants to feel as light as the wings of the butterfly and it lands for about as long as does the butterfly.
OK, I get it. Can’t you, my beloved creativity, stay long enough to lighten my heart? Can’t you breathe life into my soul? It is almost as if we are lovers in an ongoing battle of wits. You are being passive aggressive and – and – just plain mean.
I promise to treat you gently. I will hold you with my heart and laugh with you – not at you. I will nod my head in understanding and appreciation. You have my oath that you will have your freedom and recognition on the page. I will write your grace and grandeur word for word.
Come. Stay. Be with me. Share with me your secrets, your sorrows and your insights.
You know I respect you. You know I miss you terribly. You know I long to walk with you, sit with you and hear you in my heart again.
Ah ha! That’s it! You are having an affair with my brain, even though you belong to my heart. Now I am not just hurt with your silence but angry at your betrayal.
Oh you maddening, spying Mata Hari – do not listen. Stay away.
I was only testing you. I refuse to miss you. Stay out of my dreams and away from my bridges. Do not flirt with me. Only come home if and when you can stay with me forever and I can trust you again.