The Curious Case of the Creative Flow

What makes creativity flow?

Where does creativity come from?

Where does it go?

Do you understand these intricacies of the creative flow?

These words, those ideas, those insights,

That freely flow through your body,

That give yourself meaning,

Meaning that you do not understand yourself,

Meaning that comes from somewhere else.

It comes from within,

Words that are floating without your doing,

Words that are floating in the outer space,

They are running through your mind,

Through your body,

Without any sense,

Without any clear direction,

It is on your fingers to capture them,

And give them direction,

It is on your fingers,

To give them some sense of ideas,

An idea of the world,

An idea of the context they operate in,

So that then,

Through the direction of your fingers,

They know which branch to take,

They know which way to go,

And they know which musings to follow.

Without any direction,

They would float anyway,

In the wide sea of the unknowns,

Forming into vases,

Filled with flowers of the garden,

Forming into constructs,

Framed in the squared insights of the growing field.

These creative flows,

They are coming from nowhere,

They are coming from the tree that I saw mourning,

They are coming from everywhere,

From the duality of thoughts in a meeting,

From the discussion about avocados at a fine dining venue,

From the aspects of change in the direction of sayings.

Creative Flows come visually,

They come sensually,

There is no yes or no,

There is no here or there,

They show up in whirlwinds of embracefullness,

They show up in wings of wonderment.

The flow is here,

It found its way into me,

It found its way into the context of the outer space,

The mourning of the raining soul,

It found its way into the here.

The Here and nothing else.

If I ignore it, it eats me alive,

And if I push it away, it scratches my skin.

It won‘t go away,

It waits for its outcome,

It waits for its release,

It waits for your generosity.

If I don‘t do it,

If I wait,

If I hold back,

It won‘t go away.

It stays and waits.

It has time.

It waits for its moment.

And waits for its release.

Only then,

When released,

Does it allow you to retire,

Retire from that thought of creativeness.

Only then does it give you free,

Free for other things,

Other thoughts,

And other moments.

It is a flow that cannot be stopped,

A flow that is as it goes,

A flow that takes its turn,

And a flow that say,

Hi,

I am here,

Take care of me,

And treat me well.

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…written August 2024, Manhattan, New York City