A friend contacted me today. We hadn’t spoken since February. She’s an amazing writer, artist and creator of so many things. She explained that she hasn’t been able to create anything since the virus took over our lives.
Zilch. Not a painting. Not a poem. Not a post. No photographs. Nada.
I listened while a herd of children were being menaces in the background. I heard her. I felt her disappointment and frustration. She said that to have been gifted all this time and not create feels like she’s failed the Universe in some way. Somehow she’s got shame.
I suggested that perhaps this time was not about being creative for her. But, it was about just being. Not keeping busy. It was about allowing healing to come through. And the healing didn’t want to transpire into creativity.
There was silence on her end. Even my children were quiet and…
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