It has come to my attention, that I must pay more attention…to details, to time, to emotions, to my resistance, to my most open place, my open spaces…That’s the key I’m finding, on my journey…I gotta watch where I’m going, and how I’m paying attention. Attention to myself, to the world around me, to the world inside people, places, things, thinks.
Not in the effort to critique, nor to be more self conscious. I’ve not more interest in self help this or that. She will remain the wild horse that she is. That is where she belongs. Wild, untamed, pure in spirit, untainted by “not-a-thing.” Movement, inclination, direction, intention, all hers…wild untamed horse.
Just to be present. That is the artist. A conduit, a doorway…between material and unseen. Translators. Artists. There is so much to say, so much to speak on, so many levels, so much to explain. Can’t do it without attention to freedom—extension past freedom. Many degrees of freedom and ways to say what needs to be said. And things to be said in certain ways. And things to be with many ways.
Inattention…no good…then you miss something. Then you dis something, then you wish something. Hear, listen, watch, observe. Yes, I get that. How do we get past the need to connect, relate, assess, evaluate, identify, reason…down to the simplicity of just BE?
Be. Allow. Surrender. To what? In the creation of, as is part of the human condition, there is expected to be an openness that allows, that gives, that receives, that releases a sense of freedom, that allows for spontaneity, and brings forth the genuine.
The creative process IS most definitely similar to childbirth. The unexpected seed of energy that develops, grows, changes, moves, breathes, feels, eats, lives within. In the act of manifesting, there is no turning back. You have to give in. The process is hard. The work bloody, sweaty, teary-eyed. There is no choice but to dig deep, breathe, release yourself to the moment, the entire time, no stopping. It may seem easy, this “creative work.” Nope, its not. Its hard, and birthing one’s finished creation can be painful. But so worth it.
Sometimes that’s the joy of the pain, looking back and realizing all that hard work that was put in. Looking back has a bad rap, but it depends on the view. Perspective means a hell of a lot. There are the most breathtaking views, with paths far, wide, colorful, beautifully designed with nature’s ability to form patterns that ebb and flow and circle around, forward, backward, side to side, to pull and stretch every inch of what is creating, and to mold a shape the creation into the most perfect complete expression.
There is nothing like a finished product. There comes with it a completion so victorious it ingrains itself into the level of DNA straight to the soul and follows into generations to come, at the very least. The feeling tastes so delicious that a hunger for it develops that requires nothing less but to be fed, constantly, daily, endlessly because without it, one becomes ravenous, angry, low down, and blue. No one wants that. Not at all.
Pay attention. Surrender to the process. Complete the birthing of the creation. Sustain the nourishment. Rinse and repeat