Creative is a State of Mind

[The following definitions are created in my own imagination and are not influenced by Merriam-Webster, Rand McNally, or even Wikipedia, and are therefore not subject to argument. You, the reader, are free to create your own interpretations.]

This I believe: One is born with gift. One develops talent by taking a healthy dose of aptitude and working hard and long. Everyone is creative who believes she or he is and engages mind, soul, and senses in the belief. I was neither born to what I love to do, nor do I work hard and long at anything. I am a flitter, from one vision to the next; as the wind blows, so I go, never stopping long enough to develop a talent. And it suits me.

Seeing and listening to beauty is one of the forms of art that captured me during this week at home. The way the sun casts shadows as it passes through the spirals in the iron screen in my garden. The birds as they chatter at each other, sing in the trees, and swoop across the yard. The unexpected quote on a cemetery marker that makes me smile for hours after. The leaves floating in the birdbath. The glow of the sun through the banana tree leaves and the amber glass in the sanctuary windows and on the red and gold reversible leaves of the coleus. The colors of autumn at the Farmers' Market. The honking geese flying over my house as I lie in bed.

This week I create art with a shovel and hoe and my hands, widening beds for planting, and making the grass strip a winding path in the last frontier of my yard--the east side. I create art with found objects and ideas I have seen elsewhere because I am always looking for them. I rip words and pictures that touch something in me out of magazines and glue them on a purchased bird house. I nurture art made by others as I wield caulking gun, paint, and sealant to protect the windows in the garden and a chair on my porch. I also nurture the art of friendship by spending time with some of those I love. Together we appreciate the art of sushi, create a beautiful pizza, converse, and enjoy the music-making of an old friend who has worked hard and persevered and joyfully shares his talent with others. I write words, putting them together in ways that I know to because I read the words of others and pay attention to what I like and what I do not.

Nothing I do is unique to me. Creative is a state of mind, of soul, of being. And a desire to engage. It is available to all. I try things that please me, and sometimes they don't work. I take note and try again, or move on to the next thing that strikes my fancy. If something I do, with neither gift nor talent, inspires another to go and do likewise, then I can believe that I have given a gift.

Sometimes creativity is frustrating, when I don't have the knowledge or skill that I need to do what I see in my mind. I am a doer, not a researcher, so this happens often. I am easily discouraged and overwhelmed by too much information, so I just dive in. And sometimes it hurts. Pulling summer annuals to make space for over-winter annuals is an act of creativity in the garden that is difficult for me. The marigolds and vinca will brighten the garden for, perhaps, several more weeks. And yet room must be made for the pansies and jump-ups while the ground is still warm, or there will be no winter color. Like wearing headphones to distract from the pain or boredom of exercise, as I do physically or emotionally painful labor in the garden, I let my mind engage in the ways that gardening is metaphor for living. As I sit on the ground and wait for the courage to pull the first marigold, I realize (not for the first time, but each year it grows) that in this particular act there is no end of metaphor for relationships. Relationships rarely lose their beauty overnight. One can look ahead to the inevitable (if that is what it is) and pull away while there is still bittersweetness in the loss, or wait until there is just bitter. I have done both, and neither is easy; but in the long run, I believe the former is the healthier sadness.

When I pull the first marigold, and the second and third, I notice that it isn't as hard as I thought it would be. The decision and anticipation of the thing is the harder part. I decide to leave the vinca. That way I can create space for the pansies, while hanging on for a time to some of what is still good in this garden relationship. I have tried to do the same in the endings of my relationships, but it takes two to choose that... . I observe something new as I respectfully pull the marigolds out of the ground. It is together that these two plants are most beautiful; they are supporting one another. The tall-standing vinca fold a bit when the marigolds come out. Their purple-blues lose some luster without the contrast and complement of the yellow. I wonder about my insistence, to myself and to others, that I am happy as a solitary, and shed a few tears for the part of me that longs to be--and fears to be--in intimate relationship again. Can we truly reach the full potential of beauty without that kind of love? (I only know the question right now, not the answer. And I know that without questions, there can be no answers. Another way of living into creativity.)

I also notice that neither the marigolds nor the vinca are as healthy and beautiful underneath as they appear on the outside. Without the other, their flaws are exposed. They were dying and no one noticed. Is it possible that solitaries are more exposed, and consequently have more capacity for strength? (Just the question.) I plant the pansies and jump-ups immediately. And, of course, I think of those who shed one partner and too soon plant another in its place; leaving no space to examine the areas where growth is needed. No time to let the outside world see their mold and mildew. No openings to let the sun in to strengthen the places that have seen no light for too long. No gap to learn to stand tall alone.

The pansies will hold their own until it is time to pull the vinca. If I do that well before first frost, the pansies may expand before the winter cold sets in and the heat from the far away sun becomes weak. If I wait until the vinca is leggy and yellow and the last bloom has fallen off, the pansies will remain small until the spring thaw. But they are tough and tolerant little plants. They can hold on until the conditions are right for growth. And so can all of us--ALL of us--who live creatively where we are, while watching and creating openness for what is coming.

This week without the work that I must do to support my life has been a time to create new life and beauty in my garden and in myself. It has been time of rejuvenation so that I might return to my job with a mind to see the creativity in it as well.