Part 2: Navigating the creative underworld

and using the power of our faith, intuition and commitment to guide us

Implicit in my last post (about the story of Orpheus and Eurydice in the underworld) are concepts of empowerment and choice—and how, when we’re conscious of these concepts, they’re available to us for our own creative journey(s).

In the mythical story of the underworld, unlike Eurydice (who is snatched, imprisoned then ‘rescued’ by her husband) Orpheus at least has a choice. He can stick with his promise not to turn to look at Eurydice until they reach the surface, a decision that will result in their reunion and joyful life together. He chooses, though, to satiate his curiosity too soon—an action that leads to loss and disconnection.

Yet, in the development of a creative project, if we approach it in the right way, the darkness provides a supportive context for growth.

We need to go below the surface if we are to deepen our ideas, our commitment, our practice: to lay claim to the transformative power of silence and stillness, and how that supports the vision and execution of what we make. If we go willingly and intentionally into the dark, we might emerge to greater insight and resilience—like the British visual artist Sam Winston, about whom I’ve written before. Winston undertakes regular ‘darkness residencies’ as a way to restore calm in the face of the sometimes overwhelming stimulus of everyday life; in so doing, his intimacy with his creativity is heightened.

But if we are to navigate the underworld without getting lost—without forfeiting, like Orpheus, what we are invested in, what we love—what do we do?

Firstly, we need to harness deep patience and radical trust.

When we embark on the journey, we never know exactly how long it will take. Rather than obsessing about the end point, about the gratification of achieving the goal, we can focus, as

Tara Penry

suggests in a comment on my last post, on what is immediately in front of us: ‘I bring my focus in close,’ she says, ‘like being near-sighted and walking without glasses.’ We take one small step, then another. For writer Annie Dillard, this means ‘laying out a line of words’, a process she likens, in The Writing Life, to climbing a ladder:

You watch your shod feed step on each round rung, one at a time; you do not hurry and do not rest. Your feet feel the steep ladder’s balance; the long muscles in your thighs check its sway. You climb steadily, doing your job in the dark.

The idea of moving, one rung at a time—climbing steadily, mindful of the body’s movement, each sinew and muscle—is helpful not just for writers but for those involved in any kind of creation.

Photo by Lisanto 李奕良 on Unsplash

Intuition plays a huge part in this process. Embracing, as Sam Winston does, the darkness as a friend (rather than an enemy) is to access a deeper wisdom, one that evades the ‘knowingness’ of logic or the intellect. In part, what undoes Orpheus is his need to be sure; to know absolutely and irrefutably that Eurydice is behind him.

How radically can we trust our intuition so it can propel us through the darkness?

Can we expand our capacity to feel the microcosmic forward movement in our thighs, in our calves, in the soles of our feet—without worrying too much about evidence, or proof or even that triumphant moment of reaching the light?

There is powerful fuel, too, when we harness our commitment: our bigger vision and purpose; our ‘why?’ Staying with the bigger picture is crucial here. What will my work contribute to the world? Why is it important I make this contribution? In what ways am I the only person who can offer this knowledge or this thing?

I know for myself that when I lose sight of this broader vision, I am more likely to falter. Returning, time after time, to how our offering supports others—connecting to the commitment to our own creation, so that others might see or experience the world differently—is the fuel.

In this sense, everything we make is a co-creation, a contract with our readers, or listeners, or viewers or clients—those who will experience our work in the future.

We enfold them into the making and into the creation itself, just as what we make is created from fragments gifted us by those we’ve encountered in the past. It’s as though everyone we’ve met, or will meet, contributes a unique piece of fabric we weave into something larger.

Stitched together from these rich, individual pieces, we create a soul blanket that is infinitely more beautiful, and more mysterious, than the sum of its parts.

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In the spirit of weaving a blanket—something expansive, warm and comfortable to hold us—I’m experimenting with holding an hour-long, online ‘office hour’—the Open Word Lounge. It’s a place where we can gather and get support for what we’re creating in the world (whatever that is). And so, I’ll be online every Wednesday 4.30pm-5.30pm UK time and I’m curious to see who might come along and what we might weave together. What are you doing or working on right now? What is going well? What’s proving challenging? What I know from working with groups is that often we’re all facing the same issues, we just don’t know it until we connect with others and benefit from a shared collective wisdom.

There’s no cost for this offering. If you’d like to come along—and it would be wonderful to see you!—please just reply to this email, or comment below, and I’ll send you the Zoom link.