I’m waiting because you can’t force inspiration, creativity and content. Rather it be a song, a poem, a sculpture,or even a painting, we all wait for it’s delivery. No spell can conjure it up, it can’t be lured or tempted to come either. You just have to wait.
What do I do in the meantime? I can clean off the tracks, clear the road, or remove any debris from the landing pad, and do what I’m doing right now, write about waiting. Well, I guess you can write about other things but every writer knows it’s not THE thing. You are just simply doing busy work, keeping your hands and mind busy until the real work comes. You can sharpen your tools while you waiting on the turkey to arrive I guess. The baby is coming but you can’t induce labor. The baby has to go the full term. There are no sneak peaks. It won’t be leaked by any insider. You just have to wait.
So we sit with pen and brushes in hand, instruments at the ready and recording devices on standby. We know it’s coming because we remember the visitation and how we felt and how it took us over. It’s the joy of a vessel being chosen and used to deliver something. A chosen messenger charged with the unveiling of an authentic message. I think what hovers between God and earth is religion, music, art, literature and those chosen to deliver it. These are they that must wait.
It’s the waiting for the lightening of inspiration to strike, that puts you in a special space. You know something is getting ready to happen but what and when is what you don’t know. It’s the moment that your hair stands up on the back of your neck prior to the lightening bolt flash. You know you are getting ready to black out and be transported somewhere out there.
Every now and then I write the time down when I begin to record my thoughts. It’s the time of departure. When I get back, I record the return time. I am always amazed at the span of time that goes by. It’s amazing because even though it seems like time has stood still, it has really transpired. When the room stops moving and the doors of the spaceship open, the writer is released and the spacecraft disappears back into outer space. No wonder writers seems weird. We’ve been in out oof space without passports.
It’s just my attempt to explain the phenomenon of the creative. What an open laptop, a guitar, a book on philosophy and another on visionaries have in common, I have no clue, but it makes sense to the creative. It’s ingredients and not so much a method to the madness. It’s madness without the method but I love it.
I have a real desire for God to use me. My joy is multiplied when HE does!! What I do know is that I must read, prepare and collect information while I wait. Excuse me while I wait. It reminds me of preaching. Everyday, every conversation, every event and every occurrence is a potential message to be preached. “That will preach,” is what we hear echoed. When things happen in the creative’s life, we hear the words, “That will paint, sculpt, and even develop into a great song is true too.” Pray for the waiters!! Don’t distract and frustrate them lest they miss the mailman and the package.
Excuse me while I wait!!