When I think of it I think of a Van Gogh painting. Walking through a field of gold and haze. Mischievous dandelion drifts dance and churn under painted stars, hastily cresting through a mosaic of crystalline sky. It’s dusk. The reaching wheat fields bend in oceanic waves, undulating in rhythmic flow; brushstrokes of amber cascades rippling with each impressionistic breeze. The air is different.
I’m in it. I’m here, in this frozen horizon of painted sky. The rise and fall sways of sketched meadow scratch my legs with each step. It’s real here. I breath it in and a spark inspires me to run. My hands graze the soft, bleached peaks of wheat as energy builds and my pace quickens. A renewed perspective. An upside down, two dimensional scene to be picked up, observed, dropped or discarded.
There is no right answer. No precise direction or predetermined destination. Joy illuminates within. The space is truth, unapologetic you. Radiating like Van Gogh glow, creativity is meant to stream, colorfully akin to dandelion drifts and cascading fields. It breathes. Visions adrift in dream. Until you wake, give yourself permission, and allow it to be free.
Go Van Gogh, go.