Creativity is always a leap of faith. You’re faced with a blank page, blank easel, or an empty stage.
– Julia Cameron
Everything has led to this moment. There’s no evidence you will succeed. There’s no evidence you will fail, either.
There’s just the blank page. Nothing’s on it, so you can’t be judged. You can’t be sued. You can’t be held accountable.
No one will know you if the page stays empty. And how will you know yourself either—-as the Universe you contain within you is anything but stark and blank.
The world births mysteries all the time. The signs are there.
That blank page, it has the energy of a thousand trees, of the soil, of the rain, of roots, grass, and sunshine. If it can hold that much, it can hold your dreams, too. It can take into itself every story you want to lay down on its bare arms.
In my backyard I found a black capped chickadee shell, perfect pearl of birth. And now some little bird is winging her message into the blue.
But first she had to trust in the sky’s expansive canvas. She had to trust in what she innately knew of herself to be true: her essence as bird, as beacon, as flight.
It is not easy to face yourself in the mountain landscape’s scrying sky, to stand at the edge of wanting to let go and yet fiercely holding on. It seems so much is at stake when leaping into the unknown.
But ask yourself: does a star—-following its destiny as a flash of a wish before your eyes—-regret that it was born as light?
Those who question the validity of intuition are often afraid of their own power—-and the changes they would need to make if they actually listened to what their intuition knows, without question, is the truth. Doubting your intuition is to negate the very essence of who you are and what is right for you.
If creativity is a leap of faith, then faith is a bird who follows her intuition and sings for the stars still out in the early morning sky.
The cover of my notebook is painted with ringed planets and watercolor moons. Within its pages, my writing unfurls its wings.