Sludge, Flow & Hallelujah

“What is the source of our first suffering?
It lies in the fact that we hesitated to speak.
It was born the moment we accumulated silent things within us.”
~Gaston Bachelard

::

I’ve been a creativity catalyst now for seven years. At least, that is, professionally.

What’s a creativity catalyst, you ask? A sparker. An illuminator. A mirror. A container. A lover.

For my entire life, I’ve been creative. I’m not talking artistic. I’m talking creative. I’m talking the most basic ability of every living being – the ability to express the impulse that is life itself.  It’s just nature. Like the seed as it grows into what it is destined to become. The ability to express the unfathomable mystery into being. This is creativity. We all have it. We all are it. It’s our nature. It’s our design.

You are creative. It is your nature. Somewhere, within, a voice is sparking you on to grow, to express, to love, to risk, to voice.

Sometimes when people have been silent for too long, their inner plumbing is stopped up. Junk is in the pipes. The junk that adheres around those silent things we accumulate when we don’t trust our own impulse to express.

When expression begins to flow again, it can come out in fits and starts, belching and coughing along as the pipes are cleaned of all that was used to stop them up. You know what I’m talking about? All the crap you and I internalized about our inability to be ‘properly’ creative. To properly speak. To be proper in the act of creation. To NOT express what simply wanted to be said, done, written, painted, danced, loved. AND, to NOT express our own anger, sadness, sense of rejection, sense of futility, insert your feelings here ___________________, because we were told we must plug up the pipes.

So when we first begin to trust our impulse to express, the sludge just might come out first. And the flow might be bumpy and rocky, sort of like when the water is shut off for a bit, then turned back on. The pipes rattle. The water spits. Until the flow returns. The little self, the ego, wants to control the flow, so it can be very careful about what first appears out of the faucet (faucet being mouth, hands, feet, head, body) – all the parts of the body that the divine mystery uses to express through.

One little very important thing here – the sludge is an important part in turning on the flow again. It’s important to allow it through. You don’t have to stop to examine it in minute detail. You don’t have to create and sing another Hallelujah chorus in its name (save that for the Mystery). You don’t have to judge it as it appears. But, if you do, that’s part of the flow, too. You just might do all these things, ’cause you might just be really curious about the sludge, about what’s stopped up your pipes for so long.

I’m writing this today, because over the past few weeks, a number of women have approached me feeling ‘something’ within them wanting to express what’s inside. Specifically, they are wanting to blog with vulnerability. They want to begin to write from a more personal point of view, and at the same time, fear being too personal and vulnerable with their potential audience. They fear expressing their own unique expression.

If this reminds you of YOU, remember what Gaston Bachelard said, that our suffering comes from our hesitation to speak.

When I first began to write my websites and newsletters over eight years ago, each word I typed was so carefully crafted. I opened the pipes just a tiny, tiny bit. Maybe a trickle. Even though I created art, words that went into the cyberworld were very carefully crafted. And then, I began to find my voice. Oh, it’s been a long time coming. Not because my voice wasn’t ready. More because I thought I couldn’t find it. The pipes were rattling. The water was spitting. I kept putting my hand over the end of the hose, causing the water (voice) to spray all over, to go all cattywampus. All the while, that ‘something’ inside pushed to get out. That urge to sprout, to grow, to become was still doing its thing.

I know, deep in the marrow of my bones, this urge knows exactly what it’s doing. Trust it. It’s a lot more intelligent than the small self gives it credit for. It knows the imprint at the center of your seed. It just wants to become what it’s meant to grow into.

Oh, and by the way, I found a juciy bit-o-sludge just yesterday. I did check it out for a bit. Couldn’t resist.