Fill or Be Filled

In the space of a minute these few lines entered my consciousness…

Every notebook
every page
every minute
of every day
is blank
until you fill it

I’d been staring out the study window, observing the bird activity in the backyard, poised with pen in hand to face my journal, but nothing had been forthcoming. The blank page can be a disconcerting thing, intimidating, stark white until I make my mark. Both inviting and confronting. As are the blank canvas or musical score, even a blank afternoon or evening. They present themselves and pose such questions as what, why, when, where and how they will be approached.

Is a moment in time only worthwhile if we put our stamp on it? What we do with each moment is entirely up to us, whether we go out there with a 10-point plan of how to achieve whatever goal we have in mind, or whether we come at life somewhat more low-key and allow situations and our surroundings to influence how we choose to move forward.

I’m more the low-key type, partly because I not only dislike planning too meticulously, which probably explains why I never complete anything writing wise, but I prefer to take in my immediate environment, observe it over a period of time, feel its moods and seasonal nuances, open myself to its leading, see where it will take me. Whether in nature, urban environments, or in the midst of the dynamics of family and friends’ relationships, I tend to hold back, take in as much as I can, wait for a response to emerge.

Creativity necessitates periods of what looks like doing nothing, what may seem to the casual observer a waste of time as we stare off into the distance or go for long walks without producing anything concrete, without doing any real work in the real world. But we need to venture into the interior before we can externalise our thoughts and ideas and emotions, before we can get a grip on what is lying beneath the surface, what it is we are wanting to present to the world.

And if that interior is barren, where do we go to from there?

Julia Cameron says in The Artist’s Way......In order to create, we draw from our inner well…If we don’t give some attention to upkeep, our well is apt to become depleted, stagnant, or blocked…We must consciously replenish our creative resources as we draw on them…by filling the well.

When farmers face prolonged drought, they have to dig deep to stay the course. As their livelihoods are stripped away along with the topsoil blown by scorching winds, how do they hang on? To be able to see beyond the cracked earth and broken dreams, believing rain will come, that life will return not only to the land but to themselves, takes courage and an underlying belief they are where they are meant to be. Without that hope, the white flag of surrender has already been raised.

I went for my first bushwalk recently after avoiding it during the summer months, too snaky this year, and realised what I’d been missing. My senses came alive as I moved away from the familiar streets and followed the dirt tracks until all trappings of civilisation were gone. My breathing settled, my mind less cluttered, my focus alternating between the broader vista and the abundance of details right at my feet. Birdsong became clearer, the rippling sounds of the creek rushing downhill increased, tantalising aromas of the bush tickled my nostrils, and the textures of bark and lichen under my fingertips reconnected me, not only to the bush but to myself.

I’d been neglecting what brings me alive, what stimulates my senses, what regenerates my spirit. A bushwalk, a simple thing, but an essential component of what I need if my inner well is to be refilled. I can’t draw on my inner resources if there is nothing there on which to draw. Along with my body, my mental, emotional, social and spiritual needs also need nourishing, otherwise I’ll shrivel up and be a poor substitute of what I could be.

There are other things I pursue to ensure the well doesn’t dry up, and for everyone it’ll be different. Music, painting, gardening, reading, art galleries, museums, playing in the park with the kids, fishing, swimming, writing, singing, travelling, the list is obviously endless, depending on our personal preferences. But unless we see such things as essential to our survival, instead of seeing them as less important than 'work' and merely luxuries to be indulged in, we will be missing out on the very things that enrich every part of our life, that make us more human.

I can fill a couple of pages with my rambling and throw it out there into the ether along with countless others, but am conscious I don’t need to do that all the time. I don’t need to make myself heard every moment of every day. What I do need is to take more notice, see as well as observe, listen as well as hear, tune in to my surroundings, drink from the well of life around me and absorb its goodness in order to replenish the well within.