What do you see in the clay
that might arise out of your moulding,
or in the tree’s wood
alive again
in your hands.
What might you carve,
with a knife and chisel,
and the movements
of a wrist charged
with light.
What words might your pen speak,
if you gave up ownership
of the outcome,
and followed the shapes
ink can make.
What colours or patterns,
might your brush form
on a canvas blank
and waiting
for your mark.
What relationships,
vocations or gifts might be present,
awaiting the
courage to grow
and flourish.
What work might bring
a benefit to all who
drink from the well
of your heart’s
inner springs.
What bird might
be held behind bars,
or river needing a dam of stones
unrolled
to pour forth.
What indeed,
have you caught up inside you,
that yet needs a nudge
to escape
its confines.
Watch how
an over-burden of snow
will gather speed,
as it falls
to become an avalanche.
There are two ways of creating.
Intention, or surrender to the flow.
Neither are wrong.
The only regret may ever be,
in not attempting.
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