This sermon was given at Stevens Chapel on Jan. 23, 2000, by Rev. Amy Freedman.

Creative Transformation

There are two things that you should know about me right from the start. One, I am a life-long Unitarian Universalist. Two, I am someone who never stopped dancing, drawing, and pretending. The reason that I am making this clear from the beginning is that the liberal religious tradition and my passion for the creative arts inform who I am, how I live, what I believe, and everything that I am about to share with you about "Creative Transformation".

In her book entitled The Fourfold Way Angeles Arrian explores the values of indigenous cultures. When someone is feeling ill, the shaman asks "When did you stop dancing? When did you stop singing? When did you stop being enchanted by story? When did you become uncomfortable with the sweet stillness of silence?" I love that story. The questions of the shaman reveal a more holistic approach to health. It demonstrates how central creative expression is to physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being.

Modern society has distanced us from those ideals. Young children are encouraged to engage in creative play. As we age, we learn more conventional behavior. Slowly, we learn to stop dancing, to stop singing, to forget the enchantment of story, and to fill our lives with noise. Often adults are haunted by specific voices from the past who told them: "You are tone deaf!" "Stop stepping on my toes. You should stay off the dance floor." "If you keep daydreaming, you are never going to amount to anything."

The irony is that advances in society whether in science, technology, education, politics, or the arts are born from the generation of new ideas. The fixedness of behavior and thought patterns blocks creativity. This is sometimes humorously referred to as "psychosclerosis" or hardening of the attitudes.

There has been a lot of research done on creativity. The studies prove that everyone is capable of tapping into his or her creative spirit. This finding contradicts the popular notion that innovation is only possible for the "gifted" or the "genius". In ancient and medieval times, a "genius" was a person's guardian spirit who gave good or evil advice on daily affairs. If a person was known for skill in math, it would be said not that "he is a genius" but that "he has a genius". This comes from the idea of a "muse" or a source of inspiration, a guiding spirit. In Greek mythology, the Muses are nine sister goddesses that preside over song, poetry, the arts, and sciences. When you are trying to create, you appeal to the Muse for guidance.

I am fascinated by the mystical connections described throughout history, in many cultures, and by creators themselves. One thousand years ago, the Persian philosopher, Avicenna, grappled with difficult problems. Whenever he became stuck (or we could say suffered from psychosclerosis) he would go to the mosque. There he would pray for his understanding to be opened and for his difficulties to be smoothed away. A definition of the word "inspiration" is an ability to receive and to communicate sacred revelation.

In Hebrew, the word "spirit" originally meant "breath" or "wind". Creation comes from something greater than our individual selves, it is also as natural and as vital as breathing.

My grandfather was a painter. My father is a visual artist. Each of them have this as a hobby although the artwork is of professional quality. I've talked to my Dad a lot about his process. He is often boggled by how he has fertile and dry periods. He often points to this one watercolor which hangs in the living room. He shakes his head in amazement and will say "I started that in the morning. By that night, it was completed and even framed! That time everything came so easily and felt so right. Other times, I struggle, work, and work, and nothing comes out."

This inspiration or peak experience is found in many disciplines. I am sure that each of you could share a story from personal experience. There are many names for it. People talk about "The White Moment" or "being in the zone". Self-consciousness drops away and your skills match the demands of the moment. There can be a feeling of flow, harmony, and a timeless quality. This happens in sports, scientific discovery, jazz improvisation, surgery, and many other fields.

The mystical quality of inspiration makes it difficult to analyze. Playwright Edward Albee explained his experience as follows, "I find it so difficult, as most creative artists do, to talk about the creative act. It is almost impossible to do. Maybe we fear that it is sort of like Aesop's fable about the unpleasant animal who was talking to the centipede and asked him, 'Amazing- these hundred legs! How do you walk?' The centipede, very proud, started to explain how he put the front left leg forward and then the right front leg forward and by the time he got to explaining the twelfth or thirteenth leg, he was paralyzed. Albee continues, "Writing, I suppose, is a kind of a black magic. . . I don't try to examine it too carefully. I do try to examine very carefully what I write down on paper- control it, make sure I'm exhibiting both sufficient freedom for my characters and sufficient control over structure so the whole thing makes sense, and wait with extraordinary enthusiasm to find out how it is going to come out. But it is hard to talk about it."

I find something very Zen about Albee's description of writing. He describes a balance of control and freedom. He holds onto the work lightly, waiting with enthusiasm to see how it will turn out while at the same time he has an acute awareness of the overall structure.

One of the practices of Zen Buddhism is the art of calligraphy. A trained eye is able to see the mental state of the calligrapher when examining the work. Is the stroke too deliberate? Timid? Or is there a sense of flow?

Zen Buddhism holds the belief that the individual and universal mind are essentially one. Before picking up a brush, the calligrapher attempts to empty the individual mind through meditation in order to tap into a larger more creative universal mind. From a composed inner state, one brings precise awareness to the stroke of the brush on paper.

There is a Zen story about a professor visiting a monk. It seems like an encounter between Western and traditional Eastern culture. "The monk welcomes the professor, invites him inside his temple, and offers him a comfortable seat on a cushion. The professor says he wants to learn from the monk, to gain some of his wisdom; before the monk can say anything, the professor launches into a long and proud account of his own accomplishments, his own theories, his own knowledge. The monk listens quietly, then asks politely, 'Would you like some tea?' The professor nods and smiles, continuing to spout his ideas, and the monk hands him a teacup. The monk takes a large pot and pours tea into the cup held by the professor. The tea rises almost to the lip of the cup, and the monk placidly keeps pouring--- as the professor continues chattering. Only when the tea overflows and the monk continues to pour does the professor finally notice and stop his monologue. He leaps to his feet and demands, 'What are you doing? What is going on?' The monk replies, 'This cup is like your mind. It can't take in anything new because it is already full.'"

I have a feeling that this is why my moments of inspiration most often arrive in the shower, on a walk, after silent meditation or just before drifting off to sleep. My mind is often so full of chatter that there is no room. I am beginning to recognize that recreation is not goofing off but essential to a productive life. In order for me to be in touch with my creative spirit, I need to connect with the world around me and allow for moments of reverie and to be comfortable with the sweet stillness of silence. The paradox of creativity is that it does not arrive out of nothing. The greatest innovations are simply a transformation of existing things. When I concentrate too hard on output, I become blocked. I am unable to do anything. Those occasions when my writing or dancing or acting flows is when I have done the preparation and then surrender to the moment.

This open receptivity is something that children do naturally. You can observe it any child who is blessed with a secure and loving environment. When I was a preschool teacher, I was continually amazed how the children would act things out in order to embody and make sense of them. Oh, boy! When I would hear my own words and gestures repeated in the dress-up corner, I was shown how intimately we are connected. Creative transformation is really the embodiment of our connections to one another, the world around us, and the workings of a spirit larger than our individual selves.

Life is a creative adventure! This poem by Unitarian poet, Walt Whitman, is an invitation into the childlike wonder of being alive.

Certainly, we need to attend to our basic needs. It is important to earn a living, to pay the water bill, to be able to put food on the table and to have shelter from the cold winds. If it had not been for the industrious mice storing food in the old stone wall, they would not have survived the winter. What I love about that story by Leo Leonni is that their existence is enhanced by Frederick's creative sensibilities. While the other mice scurried around and he seemed lost in reverie, he was collecting the colors of the landscape. When the community felt most despairing, he evoked images through poetry which lifted their spirits and warmed their hearts in spite of the unpleasant conditions.

Theologian Henry Nelson Wieman, is known for his philosophy of creative transformation and creative interchange. He believes in a saving power by which human beings actualize their true selves and their connections in the world. When individuals interact and through a creative event come to an appreciative understanding of one another that is what he would term "creative interchange". I recognize that our theologies agree in these central tenets.

So, I close with this prayer:

Blessed be.