This is a wild, unending journey towards creativity, through bog and marsh and moor and mist. Across sun soaked rock and green glade and moony morning. This is a turning towards the aliveness that is held in the oceanic heart, the rippling golden surface and the garnet depths darkened in mystery too deep to ever uncover. This is the settling of the stillness that holds it all.

I dream of a space where we can all gather, an array of art supplies before us. Someone shapes clay with warm palms, someone spreads creamy oil paint onto the stretched beginning of canvas, someone writes poetry, someone plays an instrument, strums a string, shapes sound. Someone moves body to beat, plants seeds in damp soil, is laughing, is crying, is gazing up at the sky. Someone is nodding in understanding.

I dream of a space where creativity is comprehended: the understanding is that creativity cannot be understood, this is the vast and beautiful mystery we revere.