Where Are The Children?
I am afraid Maestro, the children are gone…
My heart is broken.
It is something I knew deep inside would likely happen one day, but it would be such a moment that I would never wish for nor would want to face, although I knew, I would recognize.
It would be “That Moment” when I realized the child like essence of my wonderment, what I’ve always kept dear to my heart and in my appreciation of others with like-minded spirit, a quiet devotion of a reservoir of free, child-like creativity that would sadly, no longer exist. At that moment, its creative motion would have already begun to decline.
Similarly is the wonderment of young children, that abundance of innocence of laughter and smiles, and anticipation with no need for explanation, only the satisfaction of joy which discovery brings us but suddenly falls into silence. Then that inevitable moment when there is complete silence.
There is no sound. There is no visual. There are no sensory perceptions. There is nothing. Please help me. Where did the children go?
The description of children is the child-like essence of boundless imagination and limitless creativity.
“Do adults lose their imagination?
As an adult, you would now use past experiences and knowledge to come up with something viable. It is no less creative, but it’s not as wonder-like as what a child or the child in us would come up with. We’ve gained more knowledge over time, but we lose imagination.”
The maestro within my heart, begins to slow even when I stand under the spotlight of the conductor’s podium, an imaginary platform from which I would yearn to create song and dance for all to see and experience, even in the absence of an audience.
For many of us, even if we no longer produce expressions of spontaneous art, except perhaps only sporadic pieces of random thought, the audience of “no audience” in the empty concert hall falls deaf to the resonating hum of silent spirits and ghosts of so many others who preceded us throughout time.
I strain to hear my motivation as whispers of “Bravo” fades quickly to fragments of self-doubt and loneliness as I stare at the blinking cursor on the white sheet of paper of my computer screen. My fingers like faithful guardians wait for a cue from the maestro to lift up, engage, express for all to hear, for all to see, for all to feel. To bring forth creativity as I so eagerly begged to unleash during my days as a working man toiling as many others doing jobs to survive rather than to flourish in ecstasy of the love to create!
Ecstasy, noun, plural, ecstasies.
Rapturous delight. An overpowering emotion or exaltation; a state of sudden, intense feeling.
The frenzy of poetic inspiration.
Mental transport or rapture from the contemplation of divine things.
But then, it occurred. Slowly at first, as a curious notion that my mind once filled with imaginative thoughts could multi-task within the matrix of cerebral matter for hours on end, and dreams continued the momentum to finish the musical score even as I slept. Slowly, the tempo ceased.
And then, as a curious notion the images within my mind became less frequent, less robust, less spontaneous giving way instead to reason which spawned into doubt, and then temporizing paralyses.
My need to sleep wasn’t to dream, but to escape.
Where did such creativity come from?
Where did such creativity go?
“What is the difference between creativity and imagination?
The biggest difference between creativity and imagination is that imagination is thinking of something, be it an object or place, or time that isn’t present nor exists, while creativity is doing something meaningful fruitful with what you’ve imagined.”
I am sorry for the lapse in writing to you. I am sorry, that weeks have turned into months, and cracked clay of the dried lake yields little life or promise and nothing more than the drought of a response. But I seek understanding myself. I seek to find answers to what seems to be a barren landscape of lost imagination, even though there is evidence of moisture beneath upturned rocks.
How sad. How many rocks must I turn over, when behold, there are thousands on the desert floor! I am afraid, as self-doubt fills my mind as easily as ominous storm clouds fill the desert sky.
“Can you lose your creativity?
It is said, that you cannot lose your creativity because it is always within you But you can lose touch with it. In many ways I would presume, and we lose our ability to connect with it. Or worse, an early demise, if we lose our faith in our creative ability.”
Without a doubt, let me walk through as many Sunsets until I find day break.