Just Be - A Look Into The Creative Mind

I'm laying gently in bed, resting under the warm covers, as I drift in and out of sleep. In my mind a whole village is up and working, and it is not even 7 AM. The villagers talk to one another, brewing ideas. One stirs a pot of hooks for my next video, another rests atop the Clouds of Breakfast. I grab a thought down from the Clouds, and walk out of my room.

Gently, I open the door and walk towards the kitchen. I grab the same idea as always, an iced coffee. Maybe some toast if I feel up for it.

I sit down at the kitchen counter and take a deep breath. I chose gratitude as the intention that guides me through these dark days. I look towards the oak tree in my front yard and analyze it's bark. I wonder if I could replicate it with paint. I'm not much of a painter, not yet, but I could be if I choose that path. I guess that's the beauty of life- choosing. Choosing one idea from the pot, another from the glass, oh, and two from the bowl. There are so many thoughts and actions to choose from, I wonder how others don't freeze from overwhelm.

For me, I can never quiet my mind. The villagers work all day and night, and the Trains of Thought come rushing at the most inconvenient times. I've tried writing them down, but there's just too many.

The breath I take stops short of calming, but I'd be lying if I said I do not like the chaos of the creative mind.

Quickly, I stand up, shake out my tired bones, and walk towards the coffee machine. I make an iced latte using the same rhythmic motions as always. It's like a dance, only for adults and teens who rely on caffeine.

I take a long breath, putting my hand on my heart.

"Are you still there?" I whisper to my heart, "I can hear you beating, but I'm not quite sure what you're trying to tell me."

Like always, my heart never uses its words, but instead just pounds in my chest all day long. Luckily, I've gotten good at listening to what does not have a voice box. Today it tells me to be gentle with my body.

I walk towards the couch, grabbing my blood pressure cuff. A good morning starts by managing the symptoms of my conditions. I check the numbers and treat them as they come, and today they are not as good as I hoped.

I sit down, my heart beating and my ears ringing. Like always, I cannot stop myself from being in pain, but I can choose to live my life to the fullest.

My mind is still not quiet, but the pot has come up with 5 new hooks. I sit on the couch and spit them all out into my journal. I can't help but word vomit all over the thin paper. As always, whenever I think I'm done, there is still more to be said.

I am not a quiet person, I never have been. My voice always wants to be heard. It wiggles around in my throat, tickling me until I speak up. When I allow it to speak, it is loud. It has a quick rhythm and dances in the air as it travels from me to you.

I am not ashamed of my loud voice. I've learned to be grateful that I have the ability to vocalize my thoughts. Still, I try to quiet it when I can. I want to give others a turn to speak, and I want it to be my turn to listen.

I love to listen. To the sounds of the birds on a morning hike, cooing at each other from atop the branches, to the steam of the coffee machine, and all the sounds that come with being alive.

Because that's what we are- Alive. Floating on this rock, tiny in the grand scheme of things. We can choose to live in a land of our own thoughts, ruled by the villagers who do not exist in the same world as us. We can chose to lose ourselves to our ideas, to live through our stories. Or we can listen and then let go, taking one from the pot, maybe two, and allowing it to spill onto the paper.

Then, we can stand up, close the notebook, and stop listening. Allowing our minds to settle down and be quiet, as best we can.

For we do not have to always talk or listen, sometimes we can just be.