I love art, design, visual thinking and the world of the senses. I especially love the creative process that occurs while in these spaces. And they really are spaces—the mundane disappears and you are in a place of flow and creation. It’s a good reason to be alive.

I want to tap into the creative process and try to ‘see’ it—stop it in its tracks and peek behind the curtain. My attempt to write about this magical, invisible process and all the tiny miracles that emerge from it, is my way of catching a glimpse of the mystery.

Everything I love to do most relates to creativity. I try to create something new every day. If it’s not on paper or canvas it’s in the digital space at ImageSwim.

A land good for dreaming is… a line from a poem by Octavio Paz. This line is a portal to my favorite space–the space where creation happens.

A pure experience of the What Is

A pure experience of the What Is

Experience…of art creating itself inside me. Experience…of the world as poetic. They both come from here, from one place, the present moment. They are born from here and they live from here. They are alive here. Not thought, not thought at all, but the pure experience of What Is.

Thinking…of tomorrow. Thoughts…of ideas for the to do…of the tomorrow that may or may not manifest…of this person…that person…bouncing around my brain.

It is a warm and breezy Spring evening. Time to sleep but I stand in the middle of my rug, still, listening. And I am thinking…thoughts. In the lovely, quiet evening with the occasional city sounds I think of tomorrow, not now. Feet planted barefoot, feeling the core of the earth I want to feel something else.

They get me, the thoughts, like a sharpness that cuts me. This person who I think of too much…that person who I invent a future scene with or that other person and that other scene. These thoughts overwhelm me…slightly. And they build thought by thought, person by person, until there is a subtle under the surface anxiety. An ever-present slight anxiety, and no trace of What Is.

Then, somehow, feeling my feet, feeling the outside of my skin, I switch the scene. I see inside my body, travel through and listen. I feel the wind through the front window. Through the side window a flag pole is clanking. A plane flies above on its flight path to LaGuardia. From China maybe. I feel the world all of a sudden in 3-D. The thinking is gone. I am here. I am here in the What Is. I feel the inside, I feel the outside and the thinking has switched off. I am in another place, a parallel universe that must be here all the time, the world of the present.

You can live here, I tell myself. Its a move of less than a few micrometers but an uncrossable chasm at the same time. I am being shown a choice. I have never seen this ‘presence’ space with such clarity, and at the same time, I am being shown my default space–the tomorrow I invent in my thoughts and where I don’t notice the What Is. Both worlds are in the same life, in the same body, but each existing on a different plane, in alternate universes.

It’s like I am my own doppelganger. There are two of me in me, each in its own universe–the universe of the here and now: expansive, unknown or the universe of the thinking: the constriction, the anxiety.

The wind, the breeze, the atoms buzzing, a car door slams, cherry blossoms fall, and another plane flies to LaGuardia. Maybe China again, or…Africa.

In the space of the present all art and poetry exist, the only thing is you have to be brave to live here, to give the other world up, or at least limit its appearance and shine awareness on this other me.

My brain loves my default and tries to shift back without me realizing. It tries to trick me. Another plane flies above…work, tomorrow, worry, subtle longing. JUST BE HERE so you can feel the breeze, the flight path, the atoms.

Why is it that I don’t live in the eternal now all the time? My brain tells me nothing happens here. Nothing exciting like thinking of this person, that person, and there is no anxiety disguising itself as excitement. Its an addiction. The excitement moving me forward, like compulsion making me go, go, go, achieve, do. But the thinking feels less real.

Given the choice of the ever expanding What Is, the infinite possibilities of the unknown, I despair that I will most likely choose the addiction and not the presence when I wake up tomorrow. The excitement, which has its flip side in the anxiety will drive me to do and to do.

And I have done that, for years. And I will fight for my life to visit the What Is until I can live there always. Now that I have seen it I know where I want to be…eternally experiencing the art creating itself inside me and feeling and seeing the world as it is, poetic.

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