Creativity and Spirituality: the Enduring Path

Each of us has a Minotaur caged inside us.
In the ancient myth of Ariadne, her half brother, the Minotaur, half-man, half-beast, is imprisoned at the heart of the labyrinth and fed the brightest and most promising youth of Athens in sacrifice each year. It is Ariadne, muse and guide to truth, who gives Theseus the golden thread that leads into the labyrinth, where he slays the Minotaur and then follows the golden thread back into the light.

Each of us has a Minotaur caged inside us. We, too, feed this beast the best and brightest of our creativity. In the workshop, we will use writing and other creative methods as Ariadne's golden thread!

Using the image of the labyrinth is a bridge into the deeper mystery of self is a powerful creative experience that shifts our relationship to self and allows us to hear our true voice.

"Back into the labyrinth, where we are found or lost forever." ~W.B. Yeats

Take a risk, no matter how small, and everything changes.
I once did a series of interviews with people who were successful with their creativity and there wasn’t a one who didn’t light up when I asked them about risk. It’s the fuel, the manna, the soul food. It’s also one of the most powerful components of life; without risking, we stagnate. Take a risk, no matter how small, and everything changes. If you’re so afraid of the risk you won’t take chances, you will never be creative. No way. It is impossible.

When I interviewed Nick Meglin, who has been the “idea man” for Mad magazine almost since its inception, I asked him where he thought risk comes into play in creativity. His answer was immediate and forceful:

Beauty within
Beauty inside me
Flowing and increasing
Alongside me
I am my own friend
Giving to myself
My love
Respect
My joy that I so deserve
Makes me happy
And makes me whole.
I am me.
                             by Joy Weissman

I was aware, too, that the voice who was considering this Truth was not my own.
I had a fight with my husband last night. I slept in the guest room and come morning, I was still angry and hurt. So I decided to meditate on how to handle these feelings. This was the intention of the meditation, but soon I found myself considering the question of my truth. Not the truth in terms of my version of the fight. That I was right, of course, and he was wrong-- and would never admit it much less apologize. My meditation had taken me to my Truth with a capital T. I was aware, too, that the voice who was considering this Truth was not my own. That the thoughts in my head were not my own...