Allowing the compost within the cave of creativity

It has been raining this week.

Normally, rainy days are alchemic for my creativity. The rhythmic patter of rain on my windows and the slower pace leave ample room for my psyche to unfold and play within words. This week though? This week it feels as if my energy has drained completely.

I sent a voice memo to my best friend on Tuesday. “I feel like I have energy!” I exclaimed, exuberant. Monday was a difficult day for me. I drew boundaries, released anger, said no more concerning a few things that I knew were draining me of my life force. So when I walked out of my office on Monday and realized I actually had energy to stay up and not collapse into bed, it was celebratory.

That feeling of exuberance inched into Tuesday morning. I was off after a long stretch at work and I didn’t have to look far for why I felt so alive and focused. Around noon, I logged on for an important meeting I couldn’t miss, and immediately my energy disappeared.

Ah, I thought. I see.

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We talk a lot about burn out these days. We express the seriousness of work life balance and creating in the margins of our life. But what happens when you’ve done everything you possibly can to avoid that feeling of being pressed down into the earth and it still happens? The soil has her way with you and before you know it, you’re running dirt through your fingers and sinking deeper-deeper-deeper into the compost. You are the little girl on the beach, her swimsuit muddy with play, and you’re whispering I go to sleep right here.

Who cares about propriety or to-do lists or creation.

You will not be creating any time soon because you are the creation. You are in the midst of transmutation. You couldn’t get up if you tried.

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I thought this week would be different. I say that often. You would think after 41 years of living, I would know that even if we have a sense of something, that is merely a thread — a possibility. We might know and see, but are we looking with our eyes or our soul? The soul is the one who can point us where to go. The soul is the one with the answers.

And this week, my soul couldn’t be more clear with her question: are we weaving a life of expectation or one that truly lights us up?

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On Tuesday, we entered Gate 41 in Human Design. It’s the one of the imagination — where we see those threads and the potential outcomes and know from our soul which thread to pull. We use our imagination as a portal for power and manifestation. And not power as in dominion. Power as in owning your full self and claiming your full creative personhood. Power as in autonomy.

Power as in recognizing the threads that are sucking you dry and not hesitating to cut them off at the source.

We entered this gate right as the moon stretched into fullness. And today, January 25, we allow her to illuminate the parts of us that we must let go in order to pursue that power we tapped into on Tuesday. What a potent combination for creativity.

We cannot speak our truth or live into our purpose unless we let go of the things that are keeping us stuck. And we cannot know where we are stuck unless we allow the light to shine in the spaces we have purposefully kept hidden.

It’s a creative leadership that gives us the strength to look behind the veil knowing that with this pulling back, that which we hold onto for fear of letting go will be revealed. Even though we know this thing, whatever it is, not for us. Even though we see the threads and this particular one points to darkness or frustration or that quiet no we hear when we know we need to take another path. It is part of us, and we fear the cutting back regardless of the life that will spring from this moment of death.

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It has been raining this week, but today, the sun shines behind the clouds. You feel her rays as you walk outside, the cloudiness a mirage to the brightness that blinds you. And yet, winter still has her grips on the earth. The plants dripping with rain water and lilting toward the earth, signs of life only seen in the tiny buds beginning to sprout on the bare branches. They are waiting. Biding their time for the moment they know to bloom — full color, full vibrancy, stretching toward the sky with newness and rebirth.

But first, they had to drop their leaves.
The lavender had to go limp in the cold.
The roses hiding underground, protecting their roots until spring breathes life into our bones.

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Perhaps this is the way of the Underworld. Less of a place to fear and more of a place where we can rest until the time is right. A place where our true essence — the element of our creative spirit — is illuminated. Where we can drop into this truth with ease and allow the integration, the dead pieces falling off and transmuting into something beautiful.

Something new.

What is it you need to say or write? What story in your bones is trying to stretch into newness? Where do you need to breathe life into your creativity, allowing the pieces that don’t fit anymore to fall off and shift into something new?

It is time.