How to hear creations song

It’s true, I hear the song creation sings when I am fully involved. Fully involved in painting, cooking, driving, playing games, mowing the lawn. it doesn’t matter which noble undertaking I am involved with when the monkey mind ceases its incessant chatter, when the ruminations in to the past and future abate, when time passes unfettered by mental meanderings, I have reached the state of mind prized by athletes and gurus alike. I am tuned in to the pulse of the unknown.

Just as theology demands loyalty I can easily imagine my symbol of peace to be the only true way. It is what works for me. Painting is the thing I deny myself. I don’t deny myself fly fishing. Not that I engage in it either it’s just not my symbol, it’s not my path to peace. Painting is. When I am fully engaged the troubles of day to day drop away and I am left riding a wave of possibility and freedom.

What do you lose time over? Is it a tv show? a game?
is that wrong?

What is the goal? productivity? object creation?

Can the goal be the attainment of that state of being which slips me in to harmony for a time?

I have a lot of questions which leaves me open to a lot of answers.

“The object of painting a picture is not to make a picture – however
unreasonable this may sound. The picture, if a picture results, is a
by-product and may be useful, valuable, interesting as a sign of what
has passed. The object, which is back of every true work of art, is the
attainment of a state of being, a state of high functioning, a more than
ordinary moment of existence. In such moments activity is inevitable,
and whether this activity is with brush, pen, chisel, or tongue, it’s
result is but a by-product of the state, a trace, the footprints of the state.

These results, however crude, become dear to the artist who made
them because they are records of states of being which he has enjoyed
and which he would regain. They are likewise interesting to others
because they are to some extent readable and reveal the possibilities of
greater existence.”

– Robert Henri (1865 – 1929)

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