Why isn't this working?
I stared at the blank piece of paper, paintbrush in hand, and watercolor ready. Creativity was in my bones and inspiration was stirring, yet there was no expression of it on paper. No matter how hard I tried to will it into existence, the picture remained quiet inside.
But, no one was keeping it still.
Nobody, that was, except me.
I wanted to bring my offering to the table, yet the paper lay empty and the paint untouched; I was hesitating.
Always hesitating. Forever concerned about colors bleeding into each other at the wrong places, and at the wrong angles; mess unable to be undone.
Perhaps I was afraid of the unknown? The mixing of color and its uncertainty? Or was it the cost of letting go? Surrendering the familiar and polished lines always felt personal. Would the raw space of new beginnings always feel so foreign?
Would I ever stop hesitating to lose myself in the mess of becoming?
But, hesitation didn't have to keep me.
A response was all that was being asked. Not beautiful brush strokes or foreknowledge of lines drawn, just a simple willingness to let go of knowing. To let go of myself and let response carry me in bleeding colors and lines I can't understand.
Because it's there, in the mess of mixing colors, that a masterpiece is made.
And it's there, in my response, that I become part of it.
I dip my brush in the paint and let the stirring awake my soul.
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