Gift package

We block ourselves by putting the glass first. ‘I want to serve water to the world,’ whispers Being. ‘Okay, says Brain, but wait, I need a glass. What ? No glass ? I need money to buy a glass. I need a job to get money to buy a glass so I can serve your water to the thirsty.’ Quickly the original premise gets quenched by the physical demands of a material world. I lie in bed, mouth dry, lips crackling. It is dusk and I am dying. I realize that I spent my entire life chasing after a glass. And I realize too, too late, that I could have simply served the water in my cupped hands.

We come to the land of form in the same survival suit, the human body, which is also our creative tool kit. And although everyone ends up following his unique path, we all start with the same road map, same compass, same beginning, same inevitable end. We come with everything we need. But advertising, ingenious marketing and maybe just the new neighbors, make us disregard our personal power and we mope that we don’t have something which suddenly seems absolutely essential, like a glass.

Creative blocks come when we get entangled in a myriad of prerequisite conditions. The brain demands that the outside world, made up of life circumstances, be set in a particular and predetermined way before a single drop of creativity can flow from nothing into a something via yours truly.

But the outside world (like the people in it) is never quite right. ‘I need a room of my own. I need money in the bank. I need a man at my side. I need for you to stop bothering me. And I also need someone to recognize my wonderfulness before I can write anything wondrous.’

But the outer world has nothing to do with our innate creativity. It is inside essence which dreams up the forms we eventually produce with our hands and give with all our heart. Always surrender to the song of your soul, ready or not, even if you have to serve its melody with your bare hands. Even if you have to write its lyrics with just a stick in the sand.

Had I waited for the perfect room, waited for everyone to finally arrange their own lives so I could have mine, had I waited for prior approval from my peers, all the words whispered would be stuck and rotting in my body. Maybe that is what disease is all about, clogged creativity.

Don’t stifle your song with Brain’s delusions about a better day, a better way. Don’t wait. All beings are born with a time bomb ticking in the body. 

So be still, be bold and behold ! A something that never was now is because you are.

‘Really, says Brain, looking at it unimpressed, but what is it?’

‘It’s your gift, answers Being serenely. It’s who we are.’

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