There is a dark side to creativity, however. When our ego enters the picture or our desire for power grabs us, things can go awry. Creativity may then, for example, feed runaway and harmful technology. Language can also go to the dark side of creativity. When language becomes propaganda, it spreads fear; inducing people to succumb to domination and control.
Our modern culture is overflowing with words and noise; they distract us. The ancients were better at welcoming silence. They opened to it, actively sought it; whereas modern people tend to fear it. We contemporary folks have also detached from nature and its creative calmness. Instead of opening to the wisdom of nature’s silence, we attempt to control it, to bend it to our noisy will.
We can, however, open ourselves to the creativity of the silence, as the sages once did (and many still do). How can we do that? One way: simply put attention to the void. Seek and enter the silence. That means finding the time to turn away from the modern fast lane. Entering the silence opens us up to our—and the universe’s—creativity. We can attend to the void by not hurrying; by sitting with the silence and awaiting its wisdom and inspiration. Creative thoughts literally pop into our heads when we enter the void. They don’t necessarily come from us, and they’re not owned by us—in a sense they’re already in the void, waiting to be received. Our inner space is that void. We share it with all beings.
It’s paradoxical that we can become creative by doing nothing; that we can mature and heal—through inaction. It’s the way of the Tao, taught us by Taoism. Two partial verses from the Tao Te Ching say it beautifully:
Therefore, the Master
Acts without doing anything
And teaches without saying anything.
Our modern culture is overflowing with words and noise; they distract us. The ancients were better at welcoming silence. They opened to it, actively sought it; whereas modern people tend to fear it. We contemporary folks have also detached from nature and its creative calmness. Instead of opening to the wisdom of nature’s silence, we attempt to control it, to bend it to our noisy will.
We can, however, open ourselves to the creativity of the silence, as the sages once did (and many still do). How can we do that? One way: simply put attention to the void. Seek and enter the silence. That means finding the time to turn away from the modern fast lane. Entering the silence opens us up to our—and the universe’s—creativity. We can attend to the void by not hurrying; by sitting with the silence and awaiting its wisdom and inspiration. Creative thoughts literally pop into our heads when we enter the void. They don’t necessarily come from us, and they’re not owned by us—in a sense they’re already in the void, waiting to be received. Our inner space is that void. We share it with all beings.
It’s paradoxical that we can become creative by doing nothing; that we can mature and heal—through inaction. It’s the way of the Tao, taught us by Taoism. Two partial verses from the Tao Te Ching say it beautifully:
Therefore, the Master
Acts without doing anything
And teaches without saying anything.
And
Practice not-doing
And everything will fall into place.
Although words can be special, the silence between words is precious. Can I allow that silence to be? Can I respectfully and reverentially enter it? We become free in that space between words—free to open, to soften; free to connect to our natural instincts. We can catch our mental breath. Through meditation we seek to exist for a short time in a space that is without thoughts, words, concepts. It’s not easy. When we can do it, we find that we have a direct contact with the void—that precious silence.
[Note: These last two postings were inspired by The Blackwinged Night:
Creativity in Nature and Mind, by F. David Peat, 2000.]
And everything will fall into place.
Although words can be special, the silence between words is precious. Can I allow that silence to be? Can I respectfully and reverentially enter it? We become free in that space between words—free to open, to soften; free to connect to our natural instincts. We can catch our mental breath. Through meditation we seek to exist for a short time in a space that is without thoughts, words, concepts. It’s not easy. When we can do it, we find that we have a direct contact with the void—that precious silence.
[Note: These last two postings were inspired by The Blackwinged Night:
Creativity in Nature and Mind, by F. David Peat, 2000.]
No comments:
Post a Comment