The Workings of My Creative Mind
so many ideas.. such little time..
It is 4am in the morning and I lie awake. Twenty million ideas are floating around my head and most intertwine and are related to one another. They are amzing, beautiful, smart and inventive ideas. A little voice tells me to "write them down, quick! Quick!! When you wake up in the morning, you won't remember!" "Oh yes I will" I tell myself. Of course I will. These ideas are awesome, and incredible and will not only change my life and the way I do things and approach beliefs and attitudes, but also the lives of all my friends and loved ones, and my community and my goodness me! The whole world needs to know this stuff! These ideas are so very amazing that I am sure I will remember them. One hundred percent sure. Until, that is, I fall asleep and three hours later when my alarm goes off to start the day, I remember that I had some sort of idea, but can't for the life of me think up what it was all about.
This happens to me during the daytime too. And nine out of ten times, these ideas involve a Creative Project. I may be inspired by a colour I see in a magazine, or think of a new way to bind a journal. Sometimes my ideas may involve an Art Therapy activity or exploration, or a workshop idea. In my head I have worked on SO MANY IDEAS that I have a lifetime worth of work ahead of me. Literally. A lifetime worth of work. Which is of course fabulous! If only I had more hours in a day.
Recently, I was talking to a friend who told me that our local government was giving away grants to eligible people and businesses in our community who could write up a solid plan, to rebuild the community after COVID19. Immediately my head filled with ideas and I must say, the hardest was to narrow it down to ONE idea. But I did it! I wrote up my application, and was successful - how exciting! This shows me that when I focus on ONE idea at a time, that I can do it.
And so can YOU! Whether you have just ONE idea, or whether you have MILLIONS, ultimately it doesn't matter as long as your focus is with ONE at a time. Finish one, complete one, then keep going with the next idea.
Our focus is a bit like a mental muscle and the great thing is that we can train this muscle!! The more we train it, the better it will work for us. This doesn’t happen overnight, however the more often we focus, and use tools to help us focus, the easier it will get. Have a look at a couple of tools below and then stick the ones you like in your toolbox!
◦ Be present and “in the moment”
A super easy way to do this is by finding something near you that you really like. It could be anything, a book, a pen, maybe the pattern of your tablecloth or a paintbrush. A plant, tree or flower will work particularly well. Then take a moment to study this item. When we take a plant for example; notice the pot, the stem, the leaves. The colour of the green, the patterns in the leaves. Try and study with deep attention and focus, and you will not only see the many, many details in your plant, but also practice your focus muscle.
◦ Make a list
Making lists can be really helpful to stay on track and practice focus. Start by writing ALL.THE.THINGS. on the list. In my case, I write down ALL my ideas. Then, you can either follow your list from top to bottom, or number your items and crossing things off as you go. You can also be more creative with your list and draw things out, or choose from your list at random (eyes closed and dropping the tip of your pencil somewhere on your list works well in this case!).
◦ Limit your focus
Think of a pitch dark room.. but you have a torch. Wherever you direct your torch, there is a clear focal area where the light hits a surface. The area around it will receive some light, however things are darker and murkier. The same goes for your focus! Think of your focus muscle as if it’s a torch and limit the things you focus on. These things will be lighter and clearer.
Multi-tasking is overrated anyway. Focus is where it is at.
About the Creator
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Create | Art | Healing
It was summer and I was sixteen. Not much of a sweet sixteen, more of a mature-beyond-her-years-sixteen and I was very aware of the troubles of humankind. From my early teens I had visited the library and I remember being super excited to finally be allowed into the 'adult' section, where I found books about meditation, ancient Indian and South American traditions and topics like Buddhism and the Eye of Horus. In a strange way much of the knowledge in these books seemed 'known' to me and they gave me a context for the life I was living.
By Vivian Paans5 years ago in Lifehack
Ezomindus
In a valley where silence grew like silver grass, And the mountains seemed to hold their breath, There lived a soul whose name no map could claim—Ezomindus. He was no king of armies, no lord of stone halls, But a traveler of thought, a seeker of questions, A spark that refused to bow to fear or certainty. Ezomindus was born on a night When the moon hung low, swollen with mystery, And the wind whispered secrets through the cracks of the world. The elders, wise yet fearful, said, “This child will wander paths unknown, And his thoughts may burn like fire.” The stars, however, had their own counsel: “This child will wonder, And in his wondering, awaken others.” From his first breath, he listened—not just to people, But to the heartbeat beneath the soil, The rhythm of rivers carving their patient paths, The quiet ache of shadows folding over themselves. He heard the sorrow hidden inside laughter, The longing beneath simple words, The unspoken truths between two people’s eyes. While the villages built houses of brick and pride, Ezomindus built bridges of questions. “Why does the river never hold its shape?” he asked. “Why does the flame dance even as it dies?” “Why does the heart ache for what it cannot name?” His questions were neither rude nor loud; They were gentle arrows of thought, Piercing the illusions of routine and comfort. He wandered through forests older than memory, Where trees leaned close as if to hear him think. Roots twisted like ancient riddles, Leaves shimmered with the dust of forgotten stars. “Everything changes,” the trees whispered, “Even the one who asks.” Ezomindus was not afraid of change. He feared the stillness that numbed the mind. He saw cities wrapped in golden noise, People chasing shadows of approval, Running toward mirrors that reflected only themselves. He whispered to them softly, “Your chains are not iron—they are thoughts You never dared to examine.” Some laughed. Some scowled. Some left. A few felt something stir inside, A small trembling recognition of a mind not yet free. He carried no sword, yet battled storms of doubt. He climbed mountains that seemed to pierce the sky, Where air thinned into honesty, And only the purest thoughts could survive. At the summit, there was no throne, No crown, no prize—only a mirror of ice. In that mirror, he saw himself Not as hero nor as failure, But as a river of becoming. His courage and his fear flowed together, His wounds glimmered like constellations, His mind stretched out like the horizon itself. He understood at last: To conquer the world is smaller than conquering the mind. So he descended, carrying no gold, No trophies, no scrolls of fame, Only awareness. He spoke in marketplaces, empty fields, In the hush of midnight and the blaze of noon. “Do not fear the darkness,” he said. “It is the canvas upon which your light can paint.” As years passed, Ezomindus did not grow old in spirit. His eyes remained young with curiosity, His voice tender with truth. Children gathered around him, Drawn to the way he asked questions Instead of offering answers. “What is strength?” one child asked. He smiled and replied, “Strength is choosing truth Even when lies are easier, Even when the world calls for silence.” “What is freedom?” another asked. He touched the soil, the roots, the wind. “Freedom,” he said softly, “Is seeing your own thoughts Without becoming their prisoner.” “And what is love?” they asked. He paused, feeling the wind trace his weathered face. “Love,” he said, “Is the courage to let another soul breathe, To honor their mind as you honor your own, To walk beside them without claiming their journey.” Ezomindus became a legend, Not of battles won or lands conquered, But of minds awakened. He did not build empires of stone; He built awakenings, Invisible yet eternal, A revolution of thought, quiet yet unstoppable. When his final evening came, The sky blazed in amber farewell, And the valley seemed to lean closer in sorrow. He lay beneath the same moon That had watched his first breath. Around him stood those Who had once been lost in noise, Now awake to the rhythm of their own hearts. “Master,” they whispered, “What remains when you are gone?” Ezomindus looked at them, At their trembling hope, At their eyes opening wide to their own truths. “I remain,” he said, “In every thought you dare to examine, In every fear you face with courage, In every moment you wake instead of drift asleep.” His breath faded like a candle surrendering to dawn, Yet the valley did not grow silent. It hummed with awareness, Alive with the minds he had stirred. Ezomindus was never a body— He was a question set on fire, A space between impulse and reflection, A courage to look within. He was the whisper that said: Do not live asleep. Do not fear the depths of your own mind. For the greatest journey Is not across oceans or stars— It is through the vast, uncharted realm Of your own consciousness. Long after, children would trace his steps in the forest, Listening to the trees, to the rivers, Learning to see the unseen. They carried no scrolls, no crowns, Only the seed of questioning he had planted, A spark that refused to die. And so Ezomindus lives, Not in stone or story, But in every mind that dares to pause, Every heart that dares to reflect, Every soul that refuses to sleep While the world drifts blindly onward. For life is fleeting, And the noise of the world can drown the quiet, But the mind that awakens is eternal. Ezomindus taught this: To live is to be aware, To be aware is to be free, To be free is to walk the endless path Of truth, courage, and love. And somewhere, when the wind bends the silver grass And the moon hangs low like a question, A voice stirs inside the restless heart: “Do not live asleep. Do not fear your own depths. For the greatest journey Is not across oceans or stars— It is through the vast, uncharted Realm of your own mind.” Ezomindus is not gone— He is the question set on fire, The mind that will not sleep, The whisper inside every heart That chooses awareness over comfort, Courage over fear, Truth over illusion. And the valley, ever alive, Breathes on, Shimmering with the light of a mind awake.
By The best writer a day ago in Motivation
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