Creativity

Creativity is a state of being. Not a state of mind or a phase of life. A state of being. You exist in this flow of energy, it flows into you from some cosmic source, you mold it in your own specific way and out pours a creative force which is unique and bold in its appeal and statement. Of course, such a momentous event cannot happen very often in the course of our lives. Most of us are doomed to an existence of mediocrity because we never get this feeling from within.

It feels strange. A nervous excitement in your abdomen, somewhat like the anxiety we feel before an exam or going on a stage. I have been feeling this way for a while now. Intermittently of course, for you cannot walk around with butterflies in your tummy all the while. But its been there, a constant nagging presence, never letting me forget its existence but never quite being free either. For creativity, the energy of the universe, is a beast when caged, hungering to be let out. I would love to grant it the freedom of being let loose on the world, to spew forth from me and be a part of the grander design, to influence things and people and make reality seem fictitious. Such is its power. Alas, I know not how to unleash the beast.

It feels like I’m on the cusp of something great. Terrible, perhaps, but great (to paraphrase from Harry Potter). I do not know what shape this beast may take, but I know it will be monumental. I have a penchant for wanting things done just so, for them to be a grander, sharper, better version of everything that came previously. I try to challenge the status quo in the most harmless of ways, by staying cocooned in its safety and decrying its flaws to all and sundry. In doing so, I at least make a name for myself (the name is “troublemaker”). But never mind the consequences, I try to make a distinct mark. And so why should this beast of mine be any different? It will make a mark on this world, one way or another. Whether it turns out to be Gandhi or Godse remains to be seen.

I wonder how it will happen, less so the form it will take. For the form will be my grand design, a symphony conducted by an orchestra and guided in all things great and small by me. I do worry about it, but I am quite curious as to the thing that will make it so. The trigger. You see inspiration is well and good when its just a fuzzy little neural impulse in your brain, but it needs a trigger to get the old synapses firing in just the right way to produce something of moment. The brain has all the answers, I am sure. But it needs to be led down the correct path and that path is always unknown. Its much like a cosmic riddle, you know that a grand destination awaits, though not what it is, you don’t know what answer will get you there and you certainly have no idea what the question should be. 42, perhaps.

It will be something small, this trigger. Some everyday mundane thing that leads me down a dark and wonderful path. Or is could be something great and grand. Who knows. It will come, that I can be sure of. I feel like I am part of a larger game, where I am the bow whose string is being pulled back, slowly, building potential, to release at just the precise moment to cause maximum damage. What weapon I shall carry and what I may unleash remains to be seen. But it will be spectacular.

Hope springs eternal.

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