As the long evening shadows danced around him, he lay on the beach watching the sunset.
His body stiff. His mind filled with agony. He felt this urgent need to be free. Free from the creation, the painting, the sculpting, the writing. Instead he wanted to BE the sculpture, the painting, the story. He craved the sublime - that existed beyond his physical self. He knew such a thing existed, because he had experienced it often through his creations.
Somewhere in some palm tree, a bird waited for her eggs to hatch. She sat in her nest admiring their creation. The nest was perfect this time. It had enough room for all 4 of their eggs. They hoped at least two would survive to grow old. She waited patiently.
He was growing impatient. How much longer? He did not know. Not knowing was tedious.
The bird seemed to know it all. It came very naturally to her. All she cared about was the eggs. No confusion.
The confused net of shadows on the beach was growing darker. The water, more brilliant. The existence more beautiful. Yet, he felt as if it was not enough. He wanted more. He had planned this very carefully.
An egg cracked. The bird, let go.
He would not face the pain of creation anymore - The struggle, the strife for perfection, the hollow of imperfection, the constant feeling of something missing. A pit in his stomach. It would soon be over. He would soon, BE the sun, the shadows and the ocean, all at the same time. He took a last deep breath. He let go.
The egg hatched into a little bird.
Now on the beach… now in the nest.
Soon he would be able to soar up and fly in the air - a free bird, a mere observer. Yet, trapped.
His body stiff. His mind filled with agony. He felt this urgent need to be free. Free from the creation, the painting, the sculpting, the writing. Instead he wanted to BE the sculpture, the painting, the story. He craved the sublime - that existed beyond his physical self. He knew such a thing existed, because he had experienced it often through his creations.
Somewhere in some palm tree, a bird waited for her eggs to hatch. She sat in her nest admiring their creation. The nest was perfect this time. It had enough room for all 4 of their eggs. They hoped at least two would survive to grow old. She waited patiently.
He was growing impatient. How much longer? He did not know. Not knowing was tedious.
The bird seemed to know it all. It came very naturally to her. All she cared about was the eggs. No confusion.
The confused net of shadows on the beach was growing darker. The water, more brilliant. The existence more beautiful. Yet, he felt as if it was not enough. He wanted more. He had planned this very carefully.
An egg cracked. The bird, let go.
He would not face the pain of creation anymore - The struggle, the strife for perfection, the hollow of imperfection, the constant feeling of something missing. A pit in his stomach. It would soon be over. He would soon, BE the sun, the shadows and the ocean, all at the same time. He took a last deep breath. He let go.
The egg hatched into a little bird.
Now on the beach… now in the nest.
Soon he would be able to soar up and fly in the air - a free bird, a mere observer. Yet, trapped.
