Creating’s Processes

   Creating’s Processes 

We sit around cup after cup,
Discuss and grope, gripe, discuss;
Is it God or is it us? Nature’s biogenesis?
Wrench of wills and cycles?
In any case, most things we face we can’t control:
There on Monday, not on Tuesday or at all.
How to get a hold when absent,
Gone away or non-existent?
Does one change the norm of form?
Obstruct the mechanised cliché?
Let some fashion run your psyche?

Anyway, what is creation? Creativity, it too?
Is is ever repetition? Is it always something new?
Schumann’s mad and still he writes.
Ludvig von fights deafness’ curse –
Can’t rehearse but still rehearses.
Schubert writes, his flat half frozen.
Can he help that he is chosen?
Genius writes despite itself;
Keeps the paper on the shelf,
Pencil present, fingers ready
Even though sad fate’s unsteady.
Strapping paintbrush to the wrist,
Memorizing palette’s sequence;
Using energies and purpose:
Dance, paint, sing. expecting nothing.
Doing what you will, don’t keep still, except inside,
In the cyclone’s silent eye creation starts its ride
From vacuum to a world outside.

Worry, debt, depression: use them!
Fuse them to their opposites.
Writing is the ruse to lose them.
Sit or lie. Wear more when cold.
Aspirin, coffee – anything to get a hold.
Just to be there is a way to “open sesame!”
Pardon the tautology,
But letting thinking flow, discovering that thinking’s flow
Is equal to what ancients knew
To make and shape objects anew.

Trite likes trite, deep likes deep;
The wise like wisdom, sleepy sleep:
Like goes to like. Take comfort in your influence.
Trust and sense you’ll be a one
To break down fences, get things done.
Tainted gifts can last awhile
But purity will run the mile.
You never know what word, what hush,
What syllable will start the gush of spontaneity.
Every single thing has beauty;
Inner order is the feature folding vision into creature;
Always there, an inner rhythm;
Inner order has its rhythm.

Borrow from the store, the bank before you.
We all take, start out as fake, wind up as true.
This poem is one which may show home:
Communicating art’s concern,
Learning that good time and grace
Are all there is to mutate fate. They alternate,
And all that you can do is wait,
Stay calm, and say, “i am”
A slice of nowness,
One far-reaching sweeping yes,
A person in the universe,
The universe and person.

Creating’s Processes 6.17.2021 The Processes; Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin

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