Your Creative Way

I jotted down the quote by Ursula K. Le Guin while listening to a creativity coach talk. When I looked it up, I found this was only part of the quote.

The creative adult is the child who survived after the world tried killing them, making them “grown up. The creative adult is the child who survived the blandness of schooling, the unhelpful words of bad teachers, and the nay-saying ways of the world. The creative adult is in essence simply that, a child. Falsely Yours, Ursula K. Le Guin

I wrote it down long before choosing this notebook for a 30-day journaling project. Of course I wish it was more beautifully done but it feels like the child inside who wrote it.

The project is to simply do one quick collage a day. The only parameter, to use at least 3 elements per page. The challenge is to do this without thinking. Choose images I’m drawn to. Cut and paste. Without thinking.

Harvesting comes afterward. What then do I see?

Here I see my ever-present connection to water, the divine, an invitation to let go and dream with the flow.

Th word ‘conversation’ seems to be cropping up all over today. I revised this site so I would have a place to have a new conversation with myself, with the inner realms, with the parts of me that need expression but don’t have a place to be heard.

There is this inner conversation which is private, and then the conversation with the outer world.

I feel like there is so much to say and then nothing at all. Polarities.

Somewhere in between lies my path.

Today I want to have a conversation with that part of me that died a long time ago. Did she die, or just wither away to nothing? Or was she ever even born?

Is this the missing part I’ve been searching for all these years? I invite you into my private room. Come have a chat with me and let’s see what we find.

Deep sadness arises. And then tears.

Yes, of course she is a little girl who does not want to come out of safety.

The chair is too big for her to get up on by herself. Too big for her to feel at ease.

But she is willing to talk. So the chair shrinks down to accommodate her exact size.

As she settles in, she fidgets, checking out the entirety of the situation.

She is not at all comfortable being the center of attention. That’s putting it mildly. Let’s get this over with, she indicates.

It’s not like she’s on trial although it may appear to be so. There are questions that need answers. Now. But where to begin?

You’re stalling, I think to myself.

Yes, I am. I’ve been here so many times before and have gotten nowhere. I don’t want to face the possibility that this may be the same. But I know the answers are here, in my body, with this part of myself who needs to be heard. As the atmosphere does not feel conducive to the occasion, I’m going to invite her into a playroom. Better for both of us to relax and communicate rather than a stiff grown-up chair in nothing but space.