Just a chair, so innocent, how many lifetimes? Generations it sees. Miles it travels, or none at all. Are there stories etched into it, energetic memories, of happiness, frustration, anxiety? Could it tell? How many colors? Whims and whimseys, coffee spills, pulled and dragged through life. Kicked and cuddled, cuddling. Do they love?
- Collecting data, learning new things and processes, head swimming in chaos and confusion.
- Light bulb moment when the vision presents itself in my mind.
- Creating the 2nd layer of the project - Cool.
- Creating the 3rd layer of the project - Hmmm.
- Creating the 4th layer of the project - What the f- was I thinking.
- Creating the 5th layer of the project - Maybe I can save it/pull it off/make something ok out of it.
- Final touches - I'm so grateful to be touched by the Hand of God to create this amazing work.
- Preparing to present my work publicly
Reviews - Holy shit, people liked what I created. Maybe I'm good.
Moral: Recognize your physical process and your emotional process so you can see them and not get swept away be them and maybe even change your pattern to improve the process and outcome.
On being me. In overwhelm, not really. Rather, a state of ideas floating in a swirl. They will arrange themselves and the ones that go together in a beautiful new symmetry will evolve. Trust. Trust the process. Instead of being overwhelmed by the high energy of creativity I choose to both observe it and revel in the ecstasy. For this is the magical time, the miracle time, the scary time, the place of confusion where the amazing happens. Thoughts, and ideas and energies collide. Enter fearlessly, this is the plane of all possibilities. Ha, and you thought it was a calm and peaceful place. Creation is dynamic.
Mine is a frame of mind that was born spiritual, always to explore, to search the unknown, to push the edges, to lift veils (I have a moment of thinking I can't say veil because it might be misinterpreted, oh well) that cloud our vision. I want to know. In knowing fear dies, fear that keeps us from knowing truth. Is truth visceral? Are there degrees of truth? Is truth only revealed in stages? It is worth the search for around every corner is a new ability, a new understanding, a new way to BE. BEING ME.
I can't read your writing but does it matter? I can't read mine either when I write fast and the ideas flow like a torrential downpour that floods the river banks and washes away the loose ideas that were not so good anyway. So here I stand before me and only me bereft of judgement so I can just be a torrent of ideas, creativity unleashed, gather everything in my path then breaking and discarding along the way to end with a golden trickle of peaceful bliss in perfection that is ever so slightly off as to be disturbing enough so as to start the whole process over.