Each of us is endowed with a gift: the gift of creation. It’s in our bones, our breath, the very fibers of our being. But often we don’t recognize this essential part of us. Maybe we don’t see it clearly because we don’t paint or write. Maybe we were told as a child that our passion for music was a nice hobby but wouldn’t be lucrative as an adult. Perhaps our lives were (or still are) so difficult, so unordered, so devoid of creative inspiration for whatever reason that we simply never discovered that one spark that is unique within each of us.
Yet it’s there. And deep down, though we often deny it, we feel its truth. When we see someone else with a talent we admire, and we think, “Why can’t I do that,” it’s not that we are unable; it’s that we haven’t yet tried. We’ve doubted our own talent; we’ve clung to our learned sense of unworthiness, and we’ve allowed that to be our excuse for not exploring our creative being-ness. The fact that we’re even asking the question tells us that it’s there inside us. We just have to let it out. And lest we not forget, creativity is housed in our bodies, though not in the mind and not even fully in the heart. But rather we tap into it in the sacral region, the space that is uniquely designed for the most basic form of creation, that of new life. What better place from which to spring forth creation of all manner!
Of course, we know that new life requires a birthing process, and that process can be painful, difficult, shrouded in darkness, the unknown, and sometimes loss. There are no promises, only the hope embodied in the delicate creation that is to come. For so many of us, that unknown and risk of loss is too great. We use it as an excuse to keep ourselves in the dark about our true power and the ever-present need to create. And without it, we wither. Because creativity is our birthright. It is our honor. It is who we are.
And so how do we tap into that place inside where we once freely created as a child, and how do we go back and grieve that moment where we turned away from the creator we instinctively are? How, in this world that most places a high value on productivity over creativity (or perhaps more accurately, the act of creating, for we do so love the outcome of a creative endeavor) do we find the intrinsic value in a creative life? How, in this busy life, do we make time for creativity?
Honestly, how do we not?
