Thoughts That Matter Grow

Somewhere between the molecules and neurons in my brain, lies latent creativity, between miracles and mundane. Although of late, still sleeping, wandering, adrift, as if in need like watering seeds to bloom its innate gift. Itself to heights out of the night and into light again, somewhere behind the prefrontal lobe a thought begins to spin. Like a waterspout, a funnel cloud, or a black hole in deep space, yet smaller than a pinhead with angels dancing on its face. While it craves to know its master and begs to be reborn, as if it knows it's time and place, and laughs with mirth and scorn. Much like a clown, a trickster now, hiding in the weeds, lying, between my amygdala and medulla, creativity teases me. I know not where it's leading, if any place at all, but only know to listen, to its faint, quiescent call. That may lead to greener pastures where wisdom's waiting there, some little treasures I've been after or perhaps, disaster and despair. The only way of knowing is to take the winding road, inside my mind where love is kind and thoughts that matter grow. While listening to the wind and rain or gazing on the Milky Way, creativity unfolds like silver and gold, and children lost in play. As it rises, falls, expands, and stalls, leaving all perplexed, waiting for the moment when another young bird leaves its nest. And spreads its wings and learns to fly and let itself be known, to feathery flocks, sea, sky, and rocks and wherever it may roam. In this never-ending, mind-bending journey of mountain peaks to climb, for the creative urge to feel the surge of Creativity in our minds.