Ode to the crimson orchestra 

​Creativity isn’t a solo act. It’s an orchestra. It’s an arduous process where everything is happening *to* you…
You just have to let certain things bounce off you, others enter your core and stir things up. And wait. For what, you don’t know. 
It’s building castles in the sky, fumbling in the dark, and waiting. 
Lots of waiting. Anticipating. 
For what, you don’t know. 
As things build up, your being shifts a bit, annoys you. Things haven’t shifted completely, but enough for you to feel out of place. 
And it so happens that the one vital element that’d glue things together, missing. 
Stopped. Everything stops working. 
All the shifting, building, waiting, irritation…dead end. All the discomfort you were putting up with and putting off in favour of a desirable outcome — splash. Hits you. 
Pain. Wrenching. Wringing. Twisting. Stabbing. Writhing. Squirming.
And so begins the process of deconstructing. You look at it, at what you’ve been toiling away at all this time. Can you really destroy it?
But you must shed it off despite the acute ache. It’s an innate part of this orchestra. Letting go. 
So you begin, taking things down, tearing them apart, tearing up a whole lot in between sets. Oh gosh,why does it have to be so painful?
But you trudge on because you know that if you don’t move on, you’ll be buried in your bygone dreams. That you’ll lose out on a thousand more processes.
Deep breath. Relax. Lie down for a moment.
You stare at the ceiling, trying to transcend the pain. But how can you transcend something that envelopes you like the night? It washes over you, and you let it, and your body contorts in pain.
It dawns on you that the pain comes from the energy of the creative process trying to wriggle out of its host’s body. It’s going to haunt you, stick around, hinder you if you don’t start afresh. Give it a new home. 
Exhale. Sit up. Stretch. Take two ibuprofens. Your periods will soon be over.

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