This is what I’ve noticed: to think that a creative outcome could be planned ahead is foolish. That is not how creative process works. It works like this: you pick up a pen/paintbrush/camera, and you start from somewhere, nowhere, anywhere. And then you watch the magic happen. The end-result: unknown.
I’ve let myself go loose, letting go of the control lately. Like this:
Here I am,
Easter feels like forever.
Sound of silence, sound of peace.
This feels like nonsense,
but I have to try.
This poem of mine,
poem of freedom.
It’s hard to accept that not everything is great,
that nonsense has its place,
and what a place that is.
When did I start taking life so seriously,
when did I lose that sense of play,
play that is a great joy.
Just like that, word after word. Embarrassing maybe – especially if you take yourself and your work too seriously – and definitely not what I intended when I started typing, but this so called poem opened a gate, and something else will come out of it. Perhaps this could be applied to most things in life.