It took me three tries to make a cup of coffee this morning. On the first attempt, I didn’t put a cup under the Keurig spout. Made a mess. Cleaned it up. And tried again. The second time, I didn’t put the pod in the machine, so I brewed a beautiful mug of hot water. Sigh. The third time was the charm, thank the good Lord, because I was in acute need of caffeine by then.
Anyway . . .
Recently, I came across some wisdom that resonated.
“The best use of imagination is creativity. The worst use of imagination is anxiety.”
~ Deepak Chopra
At its worst, my imagination is wont to be an uncontrollable beast that keeps me awake at night and distracts me by day with its insatiable appetite for making up what-if scenarios, none of which end well. Channelling the fiend’s energy into doing something creative is critical.
These days, I nurture my creativity by reading and writing every day, and painting with watercolour with no purpose other than to enjoy the process. It all helps.
I’m enjoying Jane Kenyon’s poetry (I highly recommend this collection.) She died of leukemia in 1995 at age 47 and left behind a beautiful body of work that’s real, relatable, and sometimes melancholy. Like this one
COATS
I saw him leaving the hospital
with a woman’s coat over his arm.
Clearly she would not need it.
The sunglasses he wore could not
conceal his wet face, his bafflement.
As if in mockery the day was fair,
and the air mild for December. All the same
he had zipped his own coat and tied
the hood under his chin, preparing
for irremediable cold.
by Jane Kenyon
A walk and a memory inspired my contribution to this week’s poetry potluck —two of the best things from which a poem can spring.
Walking in Wakamow
Walking the dog in the valley
on crispy leaves past trees waving
hangers-on from slender branches
like little flags at a parade
a waft of something
haunting stops me
shuffling feet bruising dying grass and fallen leaves
like dry parsley rubbed between my palms and falling
into a pot of simmering soup
or it the sixty-year-old scent of sweaty packs of Brownies and Cubs
running up a hill looking for somewhere to hide
while Brown Owl and Akela barbecue hotdogs?