when I seek creativity. Blood rushes to my head and the world gets dark. The tranquil painting with the blue sky now becomes a Salvadore Dali. The buddha hand gesture of the Vitarka Mudra looks violent and cruel. And the once cheerful plant becomes Audrey from The Little Shop of Horrors.
Suddenly the world is sinister and my soul seethes alive. It's darkness that fuels the freeing of my mind. This darkness ignites creative bliss and an ignorance the judgment. But it's fleeting. I need it to permeate through my pores. It doesn't listen. Instead it sits stifled and constipated, withering inside of me under the muck of my superficial self.
But I stand on my head to shake it out.
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