Elizabeth Gilbert wrote:
The gods and the mysteries fell away –
making the all-too-fragile humans
completely responsible for inspiration.
What terror!
Where to seek inspiration now?
Paralysing panic ensues.
The pacing of floors,
the chewing of pencils,
the wracking of brains,
but no muse appears
to lessen the agony.
Elizabeth continued:
To be called a genius elevated creators
into something like a priestly caste –
too much pressure for mere mortals.
Instead, take a walk in the park
Stroke your cat’s head or visit a friend.
Meditate to relax the mind.
Exchange pleasantries with your neighbour.
Turn off the pressure.
And sometimes, magic happens.
Yes, the pressure, she said:
That’s when artists start to crack, driven mad
and broken in half by the weight and weirdness
of their gifts.
But they will do it anyway.
They will snatch that spark and run with it,
over days, over months, perhaps years,
even when harbouring bodily pains,
in times of deprivation.
They will bring forth their creations,
against whatever it takes,
and so bestow on us the gift of their artistry,
and we in turn will express our deep gratitude
for their courageous dedication to creativity.
