As pain persists in the form of the human condition, how can any of us judge? Is our pain different to that of another because of its circumstance? Do we bleed differently? When the slow heart beat of the universe becomes even slower, who wins the race? When we become the speed of the earth, can we really sense the speed at which we run from our pain, the pace we have adopted in order to never feel this intensity? Do you know who you are? Do you know what gifts you are here to impart?
Another moment of clarity through the eyes of a saddened traveler makes for real insight and a space of grounded peace within the eye of the storm.Who are we to know the depths of the universe and cosy up to our true selves? In turn, we can see others in their transparency and vulnerability. When did we stop flowing? As children we ran, we played, we moved as we wished, we believed in all and judged nothing. Everything was included and nothing was left out, nothing was banished. Our worlds were massive and we could expand to whatever size we imagined. We could fill an entire room with our energy and sense of play. We could encourage others to play within our sense of eternal lightness and everything was in some way, a kind of magic. Our energy flowed like a river, never stopping, never overthinking, just doing and creating more of what already felt so good.
There were no restrictions on how far we could climb energetically, our imagination was king and we obeyed tirelessly, life was grand, life was fair and we knew not of anything that could block our freedom. Then the world came and rules became queen, she reigned relentlessly on our dreams and told us life was hard, we should be busy and work tirelessly to achieve that which we were meant to achieve, in order to fit in with societal norms. She watched our spirit, she crushed it when it tried to shine, she knew it needed some time to get used to being dull. She kept it at bay until one day, it was tired and decided to sleep. Life could now become a series of sensible and measured decisions, in line with her ruling and the regulations that seemed to keep this world going in such a way that it wanted to be kept. What appeared to be happiness, was in fact a series of dulled down spirits, living out a life dictated to by a tight lip.
Where was the room for creativity? Were was the room for a bright spark of something new? If we cannot create, are we in fact dead? We were created from a tiny seed and by this grace our internal dialogue leads us to continue this way of being. So why should we stop? Nature tells us yes and society tells us no. We should remain distilled, the world should remain unchanged. We will either die off or spend our lives survivning and all the while convincing ourselves this is living. What an illusion. If we could find our creativity, if we could resuscitate it, what would it say? What would it like to do? How would it like to play? You already know what creativity looks like, you can touch, taste, smell it. All thats left is to choose it...
