Divine Play

Delightful surprises await us when we surrender our own notions of creativity and allow our creative spirit to play with us and through us. This poem reflects one such spontaneous experiment …

Divine Play

This perfect place
This golden jungle
Of laughing waters
Of raucous parrots,
Of extravagant blooms
This place of perfect freedom
To be
To create.

I relax in Your laughing arms
Your tender love
Your giggling tummy
Releasing all fears of failure
All perfectionism
All need to capture thought perfectly.

Instead, I paint with words
And allow them to tell their own stories.
Each one holds a world
And beyond that more worlds.
Then, laughing, You blow them all away,
Like so much dandelion fluff,
My carefully constructed worlds.

“Live them!” You say,
“Sense them, taste them, smell them
And as you do that
New worlds will form to the dance of your pen.
Let your pen dance you instead of the other way round.
It really is quite easy,” You smile.

Captivated, I try again.
“No,” You say, “Don’t try.
Simply be it.
Allow it to form
And allow it to dissolve, too, when I blow on it.
For it is all just Divine play.
And the blowing of dandelion fluff is just as sacred
As the construction of the perfect dandelion globe.

“Remember, each piece of fluff carries a seed
Allow those seeds to take flight
And see where they land.”

© Copyright 2003 by Gail Christel Behrend — All Rights Reserved

Caring for the Creative Self

I awaken naturally with the dawn, or unnaturally with the alarm, or to the warm, rough tongue of my cat, Jeda, licking my face, punctuated with little nibbles. This is her way of reminding me that she is a hungry little carnivore and that if I am not snappy about it, she might just revert to the habits of her saber-toothed ancestors, starting with my nose. Of course, I know she wouldn’t really, but sometimes I wonder if something happened to me and I didn’t wake up, whether a few days later the cops would find just a pile of well-gnawed bones in my place. That’s a gruesome thought!

So how does this fit into caring for the Creative Self? Well, for one, I am allowing my imagination to play with “what-if’s”. So what if they are silly? You never know where silliness might lead. A true Creative understands this and indulges in the need to imagine.

So if I were to truly care for my creative life, I would make time for imaginative ramblings, instead of having to sneak them in when I should be doing something else. When I book my day so solid with To Do’s that there is nothing left for daydreaming, it has to go underground. But the creative force simply will not be kept in–it sneaks out at the slightest break in my concentration, distracting me from my chores. So why fight it? Why not make it a legitimate part of my day?

That’s the problem–it doesn’t feel legitimate, my creativity. It feels like a self-indulgence, something to be done guiltily and hurriedly, when no one is looking. How do I explain to my boss that I was late for the meeting because my morning pages suddenly blossomed into a short story or poem.

Why does business judge pleasure so harshly, limiting it to the pleasure of getting the sale, coming in under budget or on schedule? Things that reflect on the holy bottom line. Business asks: what good is something that does not bring in money? I may argue that it isn’t paying for the time I spend creatively, but business would counter that I could have used that time to work. Hence it must be theft!

So what has all this to do with caring for my creative life? Well I suspect that it is not really about them at all. I am the one who feels guilty when I take time for creativity. See, I even said, “take time” for creativity. From whom??? Obviously, I must have some deeply rooted beliefs about who owns my time. So, it seems to me that the first step to reclaiming the time to care for my creative life, is to heal those beliefs. Because if I don’t own my life and my time, why bother living? So someone else can make a profit? Hardly a compelling reason to exist!

So let us propose another “what-if”. What if I claimed my life, my energies and my time as my own, with all the rights and responsibilities conferred by ownership. What would that look like? I would start each day with a board meeting with my Creative Self. I would spend 30-40 minutes going over my day, work meetings, creative projects, household chores etc., and writing them out in calligraphy of different colors, with cartoons and sketches– as sort of illustrated treasure map of my day. And then, I would hand it over to my Creative Self to mark a big X on the spot where I should start digging for buried gold!

I would ask my Creative Self to become involved in all areas of my life, including work and see how it felt like approaching them. Who know what worthwhile changes might happen? And who says creativity cannot positively affect the bottom line? Of course it can, and does, many, many times. And if it doesn’t, then it can positively affect my attitudes and moods, which will positively affect my colleagues and thereby positively affect our productivity, or at least our enjoyment of our work.

I would take frequent breaks, time-outs, every couple of hours or even more often. I would agree on a secret code that my Creative Self would use when it wanted my attention. When called, I would step out of my office and into Sacred Space — like being summoned into the boss’s office for a private and confidential meeting. Hmmm. Why not? If I include my Creative Self as my business partner, who says that I would starve? Maybe not. All I know is I would have a lot more fun and purpose in my life. And when it is over, I will look back fondly on all my creative moments, before stepping forth into the final creative adventure. Yes, I see now that caring for my creative life is caring for my Self at the deepest, most meaningful level. Definitely worth giving it a try!

© Copyright 2011 by Gail Christel Behrend — All Rights Reserved

Hummingbird

In preparation for a client session, I was setting up my healing room (a glassed-in porch with a glorious view over water and mountains), when suddenly I had an unexpected encounter with a tiny winged visitor. This poem evokes my experience…

Hummingbird

A hummingbird flutters into the open window
And enters my healing room
Buzzing and beating against the glass ceiling
Looking for a way out.

Who is this tiny messenger
Who dares to enter this sacred precinct?
Risking its life in the unknown
Eyed by three hungry cats.

It only seems to understand “up”
And beats uncomprehendingly upon the glass roof,
While inches below lies the open window and freedom,
Ignored in its instinctive flight.

I gently cup it in my hands.
It stops fluttering for a moment
And rests as I transport it
Down the short distance to its release.

Holding my hands outside
I barely open them and it is off,
Zooming southwards towards the trees.
And I am blessed by the memory of its lightness.

© Copyright 2002 by Gail Christel Behrend — All Rights Reserved

In Defense of Blondes

After hearing one too many blonde jokes, the urge rose up in me to speak out. This poem is the result…

In Defense of Blondes

My hair, it is fair
And I’m happy to share
That it comes from my Nordic parentage.
I’m a woman, it’s true,
My eyes, they are blue,
And my IQ within normal percentage.

I have a degree.
Four long years, it took me
Of study and research profound.
So it irks me when taught
All that was for naught
To the jokesters, I’m just a dumb blonde.

It seems nothing I do
Will loosen the glue
With which this label sticks to me.
But I refuse to despair
Or to dye dark my hair
Cause I like the attention it brings to me!

© Copyright 1998,2011 by Gail Christel Behrend — All Rights Reserved

Message from the Muse

This poem arose spontaneously in response to a creative writing class exercise — we were asked to imagine receiving a letter from our Creative Self…

Message from the Muse

Laughter is in the silence
Unheard, but felt inside
Like bubbles of champagne
Rising up through the sorrow,
The heaviness of rigid expectations,
And the broken promises to yourself.

Let go of it all!
Rise up and dance
To the moonlight orchestra
And the symphony of the stars.
Jig to the reel of Spirit,
Kicking and strutting in time
With the turmoil of Life,
Noisy and messy as it is.

Mind it not,
This noise and messiness,
For it is the rhythm
Of Life itself expressing
Through organisms
Made of blood and flesh.

Feel the laughter of your cells
As they dance the eternal dance,
The ebb and flow of the breath
Keeping time with their antics.
It is their breath, too.

Breath-less now,
In their swirling, ecstatic motion
Faster, and faster still,
Little whirling dervishes,
Forming the prayer of your Soul
To live fully, timelessly,
In the Now.

Relax and laugh, my dearest ones,
And let the music of that laughter
Carry you away
Until you, too, know who you really are
And what is really important.
Important enough
to laugh for,
to live for,
And to dream into existence.

For you are dreamers all
And this dream is your creation.
May your dream be worthy of you,
A true expression of your Being.

© Copyright 2002 by Gail Christel Behrend — All Rights Reserved

Poet’s Lament (Circle of Words)

In a creative mood, I felt the urge to write in circles whatever wanted to come through me. The following poem is the result…

Circle of Words


The Word is the beginning of all things
The Seed at the center of the Spiral.
I laugh at the playful absurdity
Of trying to write in circles,
Hoping to articulate the Truth
I feel at the centre of my Being.
Ah, words—so useless and fragmentary.
Ah, Word—so Powerful and yet
So distant from my mind,
As I fumble with the day to day
Vocabulary of my brain,
All meaning seeping out in the translation
Of what cannot be spoken
Only Known.

© Copyright 1998 by Gail Christel Behrend — All Rights Reserved