Time to think, time to create. The artist carefully folded the shape in the paper. From a crease came a wing, a beak, a body. A crane. A sad in our heart she said, is a scar. A crease in the paper. It cannot be undone, but it becomes a purposeful line for shape and form to emerge as creative activity, movements present to the now, bring to life a story, a hope, a meaning. My hands, my heart, like to create. Imagination and wonder drive an internal network of neurones. Cells always seeking to be engaged to what isn't yet known, brought |
If one avenue is closed, another will be found. It is essence of the cells that carry life in me. Today it might be the movement of a crochet hook and yarn. A sock, a blanket square, a prayerful holding of the one who will receive it. Today it might be words on a page, journalling my soul, owning my deep dark thoughts, or my honest hopes. A poem, a phrase, a set of phrases on a webpage. Today it might be an image, one collected as the natural or human made world beckons me to tell its story today. Tomorrow it won't give me that. A photograph created, an image shared, music and words alongside to deepen understanding of life, of God, a video. Today it might in the laughter of play, the tears of brokenness, the holding of a still moment while clouds are watched, or the leaves of a tree share their dance in the breeze. To watch nature is a creative activity. To fix a broken appliance is a creative activity, To listen to the story of another is a creative activity. To wonder, dream, imagine, solve a problem, is a creative activity. We are all creative activity beings.
Time to think, time to create. The artist carefully folded the shape in the paper . . . .