Where Does Creativity Come From?

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I was bombarded with the urge to write... a gut wrenching need to let out what was festering inside me, building up to storm, swirling, raging, thundering, bellowing, screaming... I was afraid that it would all simmer down and die out before I could let it out, or that it would detonate and then all that would be left would be rubble and smoke.

What happens? Why does this happen?

I believe that of the best works of this world, the most creative of master pieces of any art form are born this way. Artists are overcome with the need to let out what threatens to tear them apart if not expelled. What materializes is deep, meaningful, beautiful.

But the end result is reaped only after the seed of intense grief or joy (as the case may be) is sowed- usually the former.

I believe the inspiration starts to take hold when a person is at his most vulnerable, when his soul has been gouged at, clawed and mauled, when his heart has been ripped to shreds and the wounds run so deep that no amount of consolation is enough to curb the abyss of misery. And when all is almost lost... almost... there comes into vision, a small flicker, a glimmer of light, it is on the horizon, distant, hardly a speck, barely visible, but it is there nonetheless, sparkling on and off through the dense fog.

The heart starts beating slightly faster as it squints with utmost desire to get a better view. It gasps as the light appears to become clearer, brighter, ebbing with life. So intense is its effect, that it's sweetness can be tasted, it's soothing lullaby gentle in the wind hums. Picking up momentum, it is now as clear as day, flooding all vision, blinding until it threatens to explode violently unless it is not purged somehow.

And therewith, comes to life, something truly, breathtakingly, hypnotically, beautiful.

I call this light, faith- faith entwined with hope. It is from this source that my heart seeks to create words, to make tangible this overwhelming urge, this desire, this passion, this need to let it out. There is a universe of love, a infinite amount of it that seeks to envelop me, smother me and so I am left with no choice really, than to pour it all out.

Perhaps many will not understand, perhaps some might.

For not everyone can really, truly, see, feel, sense... beauty. What is it that they say? Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. Indeed.


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