Come, let me take you on a journey.
It’s a journey into the depths of who you are. It’s a new path, yet it is hauntingly familiar.
Come now, for we must go. The creative call is beckoning…
You ask what it means to honor the call? What it means to awaken the ardour?
Oh, but it’s a dance. A rushing, racing, high, a plummeting low… an unraveling. It’s tearing yourself apart so you can examine the individual fragments. Understand their contribution. Recognise their worth.
It’s forgetting what they told you. What they taught you. It’s the stark, bare canvas that dares you to come and make your mark.
It’s wandering and wondering and seeing layers and illusions and perceptions and shifts. Feeling textures. Tasting syllables.
To honor the call is to take drive and purpose and passion, and weave them with hurt and loss. With hope and grief. A rich melody of every emotion.
At times it hurts like a hell that’s frozen over with a blaze still burning inside. Fire and ice all at once.
It’s breaking your heart in a thousand different ways, but seeking a channel to share that pain. It’s letting the fever run high. Allowing the wound to be raw.
The creative call is the connection of everything that’s real and imagined. All the lying truths that seem to have a different story if you just change the angle, just modify the light. Slightly. Almost imperceptibly.
It’s flying through clouds, drunk with elation. Having free rein in the wild, witching sky.
It’s the moment before the crash. The frozen stillness before the explosion. Not looking away when the collision comes. Bearing witness to the point of impact and noticing.
The creative call is the ecstasy born of the agony. An insistent ache that gathers urgency. A glorious misery that will not tolerate being ignored.
It is the dark beauty of a night black enough to give the stars a brighter brilliance.
To answer the call is to stand at the edge without knowing if you’ll take the tumble. Yet, all the while, being quite unable to take steps back to safety because getting to this point took all you had. Every devastating drop.
The creative call is a rebellion. A revolution. A refusal to fit into a groove that isn’t the shape of your scalding soul. It’s letting all your colours fall out without restraint. It’s taking the flavour and changing the label. An arousal of a palate ready for sustenance.
It is the self-doubt that’s never a stranger and never a friend.
To honour the call is to harness what’s in between. What hangs in the balance. It’s a pause. A moment between now and next. It’s nothing and it’s everything. A sound and a feeling. Nowhere and everywhere. Free flowing. Gliding. The second the core is captured, it loses a touch of something. Its essence never fully ensnared.
To answer the creative call is to embark on an exploration of everything that is seen and unseen. A magnificent emergence of possibility and potential.
It’s the knowledge that freedom lives on the other side of fury. Riding the rage in order to release the beauty. Plunging into parts of a spectrum that you never even knew existed.
It’s the stain of everything that cannot be washed off, of everything that isn’t disposable. It’s the story that will find, that must find, a way to be told.
You can feel it, can’t you? Yes, your eyes tell me that you do.
But come now, for we must go, the creative call is beckoning…
Image courtesy of Christopher Campbell