
I keep coming back to this quote by Mary Oliver:
“The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time.”
Creating.
May it be with colors, with words, with your voice, your body, with sounds.
The creative act.
So often gratification in itself. The point is the process.
Artists. Creators.
Isn’t it all the same?
Calling oneself an artist feels far-fetched. A creator? Much easier.
But isn’t a creator an artist and an artist a creator?
When people say they are a creator but not an artist, doesn’t that simply remove a certain privilege, stuffiness, and all those prejudices and preconceptions attached to the concept of artist? The pictures of what an artist looks like, sounds like, acts like are immediately available to your mind.
No, no, you are not THAT. Of that, you are certain.
Words have so much power.
All those centuries of assumptions dragging their dirt through minds from one person to the next, generation to generation, from one medium to another. Concepts that are invoked through the sounds of words. Heard inside your head as you read these symbols, or heard out loud as you listen. Different medium. Let me ask you: Does my voice change your experience of this? How?
The other day I read an article that talked about how our elders judge our generation for constantly being on our phones, mainly looking for a connection with others that somehow always seems to escape us. Yet, they have done so themselves. The only thing that changed is the medium. First, it was watching out of windows, then watching TV, cord phones, chat rooms, now smartphones. Always the same goal: connecting. Somehow, trying to communicate that solitary experience of being alone within our own minds, and trying, trying so hard to gauge whether others are having the same experiences.
Is there someone out there feeling like I do? Are they having the same thoughts I do? Do they see color the same way?
We will never know. How can we?
We can try. Through language. Through art. Through movement. Through creating. But really, how will we know?
I studied literature and language at university. I loved it. Talking about and exploring how language creates the world and not just represents it, the sender and receiver, the medium and all those misunderstandings and mis-concept-ions that can happen along the way. When one person speaks, and the other listens. When one person writes, and the other reads. When one person moves and the other watches.
Those explorations of the mind have informed my yoga practice. Have informed my bodywork.
Our bodies have a language. Much of what is communicated in the world is done so through the medium of the body, the face. Tension and release. A slight twitch of an eyebrow. A wrinkle of the forehead. A tension in the shoulders.
When I say yoga and bodywork made me a better communicator, I mean this...
The awareness of how I’m moving through space and conversation. The realization that my innate ability to easily navigate difficult conversations is intrinsically connected to my body awareness and being able to put people at ease through that.
To a degree, I have always had that. Yoga made it more pronounced. It gave me daily space and time to check in with that, to cultivate it. Just like a singer might cultivate their voice or a painter their sight.
My body has been my medium for so long that trying to transport a fraction of that experience with my words is thrilling,
the rough edges of internal experience scratching along the boundary of my skin.
Not quite right but also not wrong.
Not quite the real thing but also not…not.
I’m sitting on a bench at the edge of the woods where I grew up as I’m writing these words. Stunned and still a little sick. The perpetual sniffle and cough always waiting to make its appearance.
But it doesn’t take me out of the moment.
It is so much part of the moment. So much part of the now. Just as the songs of the birds whose names I do not know. Just as the sound of the church bells in the distance and the crackle of little animals scouring through the undergrowth right behind me and the sound of the wind in the trees. Just as much as the irregular voices of people spending their time in nature talking on their phones or with each other.
A full circle moment as I’m coming to the end of my creation. The creative act. Gratifying in itself.
As my favorite Buddhist meditations say:
May you be happy. May you be healthy. May you be safe. May you be free.
Until next time,
Kim
Want more?
1: Let’s meet in person at the “Mind Body Experience” in Ireland here (Sept 12th & 13th). (It’s free!)
2: Join my online membership 👇
If you have enjoyed these musings, join us in my membership, “The Sunday Sanctuary,” right here (7-Day Trial available). I’ve been running this space for over three years, and you will get immediate access to all that content + every Sunday you get a new live or recorded session to connect with yourself. It provides the reflective self-care structure that is so often missing from our lives and helps you to stop living on autopilot!
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