Mitosis Of Creativity

I have taken several swipes at writing my story with little to show for all my efforts. I realized I needed to sit down long enough before something would finally break to the surface.

I came from a childhood that was half Disneyland – half boot camp. I remembered many pleasant scenes like summer afternoons trekking my way home after a long swim accompanied by my best friend as we snacked on cheesies. We always managed to entertain ourselves with the simplest activities. I also recalled many painful flashbacks where I had no idea what was being asked of me. It had something to do with the prestigious-hard-knocks world of competition in all its sundry manifestations. I was somehow wedged between these two opposing worlds of sweet simplicity and rugged bravado.

As a child I felt lost like a little savage when it came to communication or demonstrating my feelings. These items weren’t big on my family – of – origin’s menu. I therefore expressed myself in the most incoherent ways known to man. I never expected in the midst of this tarzanic scenario for anything revolutionary to ever happen. Neither could I have anticipated how profound an influence the following event would have upon me until many years later.

I cannot tell you her name or what the speech was about. I just remembered the effect it had upon me. It happened in third grade. She was an East Indian girl. She seemed average in looks, but after that momentous speech, I could never separate her from the angelic category. Sensations like enchanted, stunned, perplexed, seduced overtook me and I never quite recovered from them ever since.

School life went on in the usual tedious way, yet as undeveloped as it was, a creative cell began its process of mitosis. I craved to get this new passion on paper. I listened to great talks and fumbled to mimic them. I took public speaking and homiletic classes. I spent endless hours of research to formulate meditations of celestial proportions only to find myself hopelessly lost inside the web of my own deep insecurities.

I wanted to somehow recapture the magic of the impact of that third grade speech, but no matter how hard I tried, I ended up being a late bloomer. Now in midlife, this creativity flows without ceasing, prodding me on in a whirlwind of wonderment and awe. I began to live when I began to write. It was when the creator in me, met the Creator above.

“It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.”
~ Marcus Aurelius

~ intuitivefeeling ©
iNtuitiveFEeling iNtuitiveFEeling
56-60, M
2 Responses Jan 19, 2013

"I began to live when I began to write. It was when the creator in me, met the Creator above."

I could not have said it better myself. Thank you.

Well said. It sounds like that creativity you sought for so long may have been ahead of it's time. You express yourself beautifully.