Dear Pope Francis,
Fifty posts! I can’t believe I’ve sustained the blog this long. It’s been a great experience so far. Hopefully you’re enjoying it too.
I find writing this blog to be a valuable spiritual practice. Writing, for me, is a form of prayer. It allows me to touch the Divine. And, when I’m not tapping into creativity, I feel out of sorts, out of touch. Writing grounds me in the Source of all things.
Here’s a poem I wrote on creativity, and, specifically, about when I forget to write or get distracted by things that don’t matter.
by Kevin Aschenbrenner
I wonder if you watch
a spiderweb long enough
you can see
the exact moment when it changes
when it forgets itself
and becomes a cobweb
Can you see that point?
When it shifts from a work of dangerous beauty,
And becomes a sticky annoyance,
Harbinger of decay,
Empty of creativity,
A tool for the horror movie director, Signalling something creepy this way comes.
Is it exactly when the spider leaves or dies that the cobweb form takes over?
Or does the web linger on
for a bit
in a kind of gossamer limbo of the still-possible
for as long as it can?
Is there a point where its transformation could be redirected
Shifted towards creativity, rather than decay Could it be reminded of its purpose and its gift
A nanosecond before it gives up
So that it springs taut, once again
Ready to ensnare and sustain,
Maybe even attracting a new arachnid resident,
to take over where the other left off?
I want to know that point,
so I can see it in my own life
and catch myself when I’m drifting
towards my own cobwebby-ness
Into a less-than-me existence,
where I forget myself,
and get pulled apart and tattered
by things that aren’t important.
If I could see that moment,
I could hold my shape,
Maintain a home for my own spider of creativity,
So that we both waft on the breeze of the Divine
Sustaining each other.
What about you, Pope Francis? What creative practices sustain you? I’d like to know.