Creative Flow

Sometimes words fail me. Sad, but true. While other times, it’s as though words dance before my very eyes, mysteriously revealing themselves and the incredible images they convey. They beg me to choose them, giving them life, weaving them into meaningful streams of consciousness. They magically, mystically appear, as though I am simply a conduit, a scribe for the Universe, as it whispers their secrets. They allow me to glimpse into the possibilities, allowing me to peer into the tremendous creative void—the kaleidoscopic umbra of creative thought. Ribbons of inspiration dancing before my mind’s eye, teasing me with the glimmer of esoteric genius. Appearing in a frenzied maelstrom of words, my fingers too slow to type, trying in vain to hold the thought, the inspiration long enough to get in down onto paper or keystrokes. Inspiration and creativity merge in a symbiotic and rhythmic dance, producing clarity, meaning, and understanding. I am in flow. The scene materialises before my eyes; the building blocks are not formed in clay but in words, symbols, images that have taken the form of words and punctuation. They are like the Aurora Borealis, the Northern Lights. Their beauty and magic flow fluidly; there is no rhyme nor reason; there simply is. I do not waste time questioning their source; I simply embrace their beauty. I welcome their power, their creative energy- moulding them, reshaping them into my own artistic form. Or is it I that is melded into form?


Do the words choose me? Does the Universe use me as a conduit? Where do the words come from, where does the inspiration come from? Is my imagination that incredible? Is my vision capable of producing concepts of new worlds, people, places, things that I have never seen, never heard of? Where does creative thought come from? Who inspires? What is the creative mind? Why are some gifted with more profound esoteric thinking, questioning and understanding?
I have always thought that people who have incredible gifts in life, such as notable artists, painters, scientists, mathematicians, philosophers, sculptors, athletes, empaths, healers, musicians, dancers, should have the responsibility to create. I have always believed that they should contribute to a better world, a complex and diverse world, where difference and creativity are respected, honoured and valued. However, I realised it was not just about the end product and that my belief was quite elitist. Does it matter who creates, or why? Why should someone have more right to being creative simply because their skill and product is deemed more valuable than others? Who assigns value? Is the value of art simply in the creation? Or is it in the end product? Surely, we all feel art and creative energy differently, surely it is a personal journey. A journey based on a collective language, yet one that is punctuated with a unique personal accent and meaning.


I know for me the act of holding a camera in my hands, losing myself as I peer deep into the lens, lost in the unfolding beauty before me, is like music to my soul. It fills me with a deep sense of belonging, connection and joy. The very act of holding the camera in my hands is enough for me, simply feeling the outside world fall away, I completely lose myself in the magical moment of creative beauty. The very act of standing deep in nature, witnessing the Universe as it reveals more of its secrets, its beauty, its beautiful metaphors to me, is in itself a creative moment. I feel blessed, honoured to be able to simply disappear into the moment, as if time and space support me, allowing me to take respite from the ordinary. Instead, offering me solace in the sacred and the opportunity to be able to simply slip into the sublime, the beautiful, the magical fibre of creative energy and thought. I am free to feel life coursing through my veins. I feel my spirit, my sense of being wholly recharged. As if being in nature, being creative replenishes me. It fills me with the energy needed to delve into the ordinary, the demands of being a parent, a professional, an adult. I feel intuitive, and I exist as part of the whole.

I am not merely my mind, my body, or my brain. In those moments, I am simply my breath, and it is as though my breath is in sync with the Universe, mother earth and nature. The space is gentle; the manifestation of creative love and being. I stand supported by mother nature, and I feel the calming, soothing breeze against my skin, the sunlight and warmth on my skin, my head. My senses are switched on, and I hear the bird song. I see the subtle dappled sunlight as it dances in the leaves, settling on the transcendent wings of a bee. I witness the bee hurrying, as it dances with the flowers, the music, the pollen, the creative beauty. The air is filled with the sweet smells of the Australian bush; honeysuckle fills the air. I feel as though time stands still. Joy and a sense of precious connectedness caress my very fibre. For a person such as myself who thinks and sees the world in images, the unfolding beauty is more than just a moment, they represent metaphors, they represent growth life, and learning. There is always a powerful lesson for me, as I watch nature unfold. Am I unique? Do others feel this sense of belonging? This sense of connection? This love, and completeness? I can be having a very challenging time at work or with family, yet there is always space for me to ‘heal’ and simply be when I am out in nature, and even more so when I witness it through the magic of my camera lens.


In those moments, I am pure bliss, and I am in flow. I am whole. I simply exist as a creative being, and I do not need to rush home and produce the images. The magic for me is being honoured to slow down enough to see the Universe and mother earth reveal her amazing creative secrets. The joy is in the being, the doing, as I watch nature excel as what it does, being a creative source of beautiful energy. I am not talking about sugar and spice kind of beauty; no, I am talking about the imperfect flow of power, the rhythm of life. There is great beauty in the early embryonic stages of nature, and the bright spring and summer, the unfurling. As I get to witness the awakening, there is also untold beauty in the old, decaying parts of life. The fine lines belie an incredible journey. I am not naive or shallow enough to only see the beauty in the bright, and perfect images of nature. I am not afraid to look at the old, the decaying, the damaged, the broken, as I can see their journey, I can witness their beauty. They hold their own unique story. They can offer solace, inspiration and reflection.


This blog has been rather insightful, perhaps not for you the reader. However, for me the creator, author, writer, inspired it has proven to be cathartic, just the thing I needed. Tomorrow, I will take my camera and head into the bush, lose myself in the unfolding beauty of nature … the wildflowers, the insects, the moments as they present themselves. I will quieten my mind, and simply allow the creative spirit and energy to flow through and around me. I am thankful for the creative process, the magic of the moment, the gift of being able to see the magic in the ordinary, turning it into the extraordinary.