As I sit here in my underwear on the couch, late at night, getting ready for bed, I wonder: what is creativity?

How is that we can create something from nothing?

How does a song come to the lyricist; how does a bird chirp with an array of melodies; how do thoughts bubble up in the mind?

I don't know, and I don't care too much, because getting lost in the dynamic is enough for me—at least for now. As Ms. Janis Joplin sang: You know you got it, if it makes you feel good!

So this cycle/spiral/endeavor/exploration is a Mystery that invites We, the Seekers of Mysteries, to indulge in a dance of innocence with our perpetually enticing Source.

[As I'm typing on my laptop, I hear a train in the distance, and I immediately recall Mr. Paul Simon's lovely observation: Everybody loves the sound of a train in the distance. Everybody thinks it's true.]

The Muse is the Mother of all Creation and feeds Her Children with morsels of inspiration, genius, compassion, connectivity.

[OK, forgive me. I've used way too many capital letters and proper nouns—not to mention all the fluffy adjectives.]

I do believe that creativity will solve the bulk bonanza of our trifling troubles, and let me end this blog with some stuff from

the bender of rules, grammatical and societal,

ee cummings:

i thank You God for most this amazing

day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any—lifted from the no of all nothing—human merely being doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened)