How Pain Makes You Creative

I used to be concerned that I wouldn't be creative or successful. That never would I be the next great author––because nothing bad had ever happened to me.

To remedy this, I did things.

I went to University. Took interesting classes. Traveled abroad. Gained experience––like working at a cattle ranch and dogsledding in Wyoming. I developed knowledge and opinions. Studied villages in Hong Kong. I adopted a point of view, both in my outlook and writing style.

Still, I've always felt behind.

• I never had to emigrate or flee.
• I never had to say goodbye to anyone in my nuclear family.
• I was never abused or neglected.

Blessed, yes. However, the people who struggle early are often the ones who create something extraordinary. (All the good writers you know are tortured, somewhere.)

This year, I've had the hardest months of my life, and experienced deep, prolonged grief for the first time. I can now report that going through pain––not the "travel pains" of an expat, but the real deal...is an arc weld for the soul, and sculpture for the psyche.

Blocks within me that have stood unmoving and unformed, are now becoming changeable.

Awareness is growing.

As for writing, I have always stood by narrative non-fiction. Turning now to the work of poet Robert Bly, and studying Jungian archetypes, I've learned the power of the subconscious, and the difference between "external" and "internal" writing.

Today Vonnegut strikes me as uninspiring.

I have always admired the ability of true writing to show a thing, and get you to perceive that there is meaning, humanity and importance under the gruff and grit surface.

Except, that's like living in the Glass Castle. Shattered, I am now swimming under the surface. Diving below the falling shards.

It's incredible down here.

Nobody else can give voice to your internal subconscious. You must experience it for yourself, and the access you receive matches the quality of your isolation.

What is moving under the surface? How will you let it rise?

What helps is studying masters, like Bly, Rilk, Machado and Jimenez. I've begun to go inward. To capture what I find. To meld the inner world with the outside, and create word formations, images and ideas with a new depth...

the widening canyon
glides between treetops 
the jungle snake flies 
unhinged
I scout my rim
constricted by 
venomous chasm
but my son (who is four) 
says
a snake can’t bite you in a dream         

The poem puts itself together. I'm using my writing and imaginative skills, assisted by the styles of my favorite poets. But what arises grows out of my control. It jumps from a hidden reservoir...

the smallest thing happens 
five times in conversation
as I walk step by step 
to unseen gardens
privately 
your family notes ring
as I move forever away 
eyes expecting future fragrance 
of which I have no memory
while the still, small voice
must be grieved        

It takes time to read a poem. (I need several tries just to get the gist.) And don't think they are all sad, or esoteric. The magic of expanding creativity is that all of you comes along.

Pain is a journey.

Moods change. Open yourself to life.

She will show you her best...

A door stands against the mailbox
at the top of the lawn
Megalith
Obelisk 
Portal
If you open it my son…
To where!
Look at the magic 
in your own front yard