What are these wild and whimsical ideas that come forth to me in the dark?
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Where do they emerge from when they burst through the boundaries of my consciousness.
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Creativity finds its source in the most unusual places
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We do not ‘have’ ideas. They come to us. They ‘have’ us.
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Elizabeth Gilbert talks about ideas seeking their host. Nothing has resonated with me more. I have new book ideas every week. A new passage tries to birth through my fingers onto the keyboard each day. But I have learnt to only accept the ones that speak to my heart. I have learnt to only embrace the ones that call to my soul.
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Where is my passion found? What is my motivation? What is the one true message I want to birth into the world? I ask myself these questions every time a new idea comes to me.
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The answer is simple. The answer is always the same.
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I want to teach people how to live, how to truly, unashamedly live their one beautiful and precious life with joy and love and kindness.
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I want to inspire people to embrace the magic of the everyday, to break free from the mundane, the drama and the suffering.
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I want to spread a message into the web of the world about hope, love and kindness. I want my words to demonstrate that magic and joy are not found in a perfect life, one without suffering or trauma or anxiety or fear. No, magic and joy are found in accepting our life just as it is, right now, without change, without question. They are found in the deep surrender of our heart and soul.
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So I say yes, without fear or question, to the ideas and words that speak this truth – the only truth I know – and I send love and gratitude to every other message that calls out to my soul, sending them on their way to find the storyteller who ‘will’ birth them into existence.
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I know why I’m here. I know what my message is, what my purpose is, and I will spend every moment I can expressing that through my words, both written and spoken.
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I often see my creativity, my writing muse, as a crow that sits with me while I write. But sometimes she flies beside me, desperately trying to get my attention. Sometimes she pecks at my eyes and face while I try to sleep. Sometimes her persistent attention grabbing nature is unavoidable and I climb out of bed in a sleep induced daze and let her write through me.
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That is when my best writing is done.
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Other times, I find myself too tired, too busy, too distracted, and she simply flies off, delivering her words to someone more willing.
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In those moments I lose my best work. But it was never mine. It was hers. She is the messenger from spirit, from source, not me.
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I am written through, the words breath through me, through my heart and my soul and onto the page. They are not mine, they are yours, they are gifted to you through me.
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May they inspire you to live the life of your dreams.
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It’s all temporary, this precious life that we each hold. But, it’s up to us to make it memorably and meaningful rather than mundane.
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And, in my experience, a memorable and meaningful life is found in connection, in acceptance, in love and friendship and hope and closeness and curiosity and passion and surrender to something bigger than ourselves, whatever that may be. But it is never, never, found in seeking perfection.
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With live and gratitude always, Fi xx
