From the deeper recesses of my brain,
I call forth whole worlds,
Whose births are unto galaxies,
From the tongue and fingertips.
They are bright spatial plains I create.
Then comes my magnificent creations,
Around which others revolve
Without knowing what compels them.
I attract.
Even though the gravity
Of producing pulls within my bones
I grow tired,
Listening to whispers similar
To that of a black hole,
Sometimes I rest,
Satiated by someone else’s food,
But the meal is empty.
I still carry on.
Whenever it fails
To elicit any interest from me
In isolation,
I move forward on the path
As impenetrable as a diamond.
What else is there for me
Except dying or creating?
I offer my own interpretation of the universe
Singing into the vast emptiness.
The Creator’s Dilemma
In “Thus Spoke Zarathustra,” Nietzsche writes, “I tell you: one must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.” The poem’s portrayal of creation as a gravitational force (“Even though the gravity / Of producing pulls within my bones”) echoes Nietzsche’s concept of the will to power as a fundamental driving force in human existence. As Nietzsche states, “My idea is that every specific body strives to become master over all space and to extend its force.” This aligns with the poem’s depiction of the creative impulse as an irresistible, all-encompassing force.
But isn’t it fascinating how our minds can be entire universes unto themselves? This piece really captures the essence of what it means to be a creator, to pull entire worlds from the depths of our imagination.
Think about those “bright spatial plains” created from tongue and fingertips. It’s like what the psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi calls “flow” – that state where creation becomes almost effortless, where we’re fully immersed in the act of bringing something new into existence.
And that idea of others revolving around our creations? It’s not just about ego. It’s tapping into what Carl Jung called the collective unconscious – this idea that certain themes and images resonate deeply with all of us, even if we don’t know why.
Now, the gravity of producing pulling within the bones – that’s hitting on something real about the creative process. It’s like what the writer Anne Lamott describes in “Bird by Bird” – the physical and emotional toll of bringing ideas to life.
The concept of resting but finding the meal empty – that’s not just about dissatisfaction. It’s reminiscent of what philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre called “bad faith” – this idea that sometimes we try to escape our freedom to create by consuming others’ work, but it never quite fills the void.
And that path “as impenetrable as a diamond”? It’s like what the mythologist Joseph Campbell called “following your bliss” – this unshakeable commitment to your creative path, no matter the obstacles.
So what does all this mean? Well, maybe it’s about recognizing the power and the burden of being a creator. It’s about understanding that the act of creation is not just a hobby or a job, but a fundamental part of who we are.
Remember, every world you create, every idea you bring to life, is a unique expression of your perspective on the universe. As the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche said, “We have art in order not to die of the truth.” Your creations aren’t just products – they’re your way of making sense of the world, of adding your voice to the cosmic conversation.
So next time you feel that pull to create, lean into it. Even when it’s hard, even when it feels like you’re shouting into the void. Because in the end, isn’t that what we’re all doing? Offering our own interpretation of the universe, singing into the vast emptiness. And who knows? Your song might just be the one someone else needs to hear.