When inspiration enters the body

 
There is one aspect of inspiration that I have misunderstood.

Or at least overlooked in my creativity practice.

And I want to share this with you because inspiration, creativity, artistic expression concern us all. Even if it doesn’t feel like this for you. Even if your daily life weighs on you a bit more than it softens and energizes you. Even then — you are still a creature wired to inspire, to get inspired, to create and express.

I have often seen inspiration as the process of taking in, of inhaling information. This information would touch me and turn into transformation, generating new ideas and a bubbly and vivid sensation in my body.

Inhaling — this is what the etymology of the word “inspiration” suggests. Inspiring, in the sense of “getting inspired,” is about breathing in the soul of an idea and allowing it to move you, to move your soul.

Like when you go to a dance class and feel inspired to try a new movement at home.

Or when you read a book on plants and feel inspired to start a small garden.

Or when you visit an art museum and feel inspired to start painting. Or to learn more about a certain painter.

These are moments that infuse us with energy, and leave us with more life coins in the thank than before.
But there is another side to inspiration.

The side of the human, the creature who gets inspired. The side of you and me inhaling all this ethereal information and the souls of ideas that surround us.

Something became clear to me recently, when I was feeling quite depleted: an inspirational moment does not work without the human, without you and me being open to the inspiration.

Buying a book or talking to a friend or going to a pottery class can be inspiring. They do carry this potential (I do believe that every little thing in this vast world does).

But such things can also be dull if we are tight and contracted — ultimately, if we are closed off. Both in our body and mind.

We need to be open to breathe in the air coming into our lungs. This is literally true, and also as a metaphor. We need to be open for inspiration to touch us.
Rick Rubin, in his book “The Creative Act: A Way of Being,” says that inspiration arises naturally when a person is truly connected to their true self and the world around them.

This connection can only happen when we are open. This means when the external and internal eyes are available to sense: emotions, textures, words, the environment.

If I am in the middle of a stress response because I crashed my bike or lost my wallet, it will be much harder to feel inspired. However, if I become aware of my emotional state and connect to my senses here, I might still find inspiration and creativity.

And for this, we need to learn one thing: to relax.

I know, this is not groundbreaking insight. You might have heard it many times. But if you were tight and closed off, this might have just bypassed you. So here is the reminder again.

We all need to learn to relax.

If everything is contracted, it will be literally hard for inspiration to approach you.
Try to inhale once and then hold the the air. Notice how your belly gets hard, and there is no space for more to come in. You might try to inhale a bit more, but the more you try, the more your body will tense up. You will brace your belly, tense your shoulders, tighten your jaw.

And this is the physical experience of many people throughout the day, including me. To a certain extent, it is a pretty normal reaction to situations that feel threatening. What can be on our way is if this state becomes like our second skin.

If I am holding a lot of tension, not the most beautiful piece of art will touch me. Nor the rain falling outside, or the bird singing in the early morning.

Let’s stop.

Open. Open. Open. What does this word creates in your body?

Tension will always be present, but can it support your body instead of gripping it?

Can you let the the belly go soft now?

Can you feel the shoulders melting on top of your spine?

Can the chest drop a bit more, and expand like calm water moving gently?

Can your fingers go soft?

Can you relax 5% more? 20%? Forget the numbers: just so it feels like you are going from a solid state to a liquid one? Maybe a little bit more?

Think of a drum, like a conga or a djembe. If I tap on the drum with one hand and leave the other on it, the sound will get stuck. It will not reverberate. Openness here means that the sound can go into the room. It can go into the body and create groove. The music can take over because it can travel. But for this, my hand has to relax and let go of the drum.

Inspiration is travelling around you all the time. To be open and relaxed means that inspiration can travel through you. It can enter your body.
This is what I have been focusing on recently: If I want to get inspired, I do need to inspire first. This means developing capacity in the metaphorical lungs.

Resting.

There will be phases where our capacity to be open is limited. You might feel your creative juices getting stuck — and that’s okay. Such phases come and go. Sometimes we are more open and relaxed; sometimes we are more tense and closed off.

What I realised is that creative capacity is directly related to how relaxed one feels in the body. The more open I can stay, the more enthusiasm I feel about the world in and around me.
There is an exciting etymology hiding behind enthusiasm. Its roots are Greek, coming from “entheos,” which means something like “being possessed by a god.” So when you are enthusiastic about something, it is like you are filled with a kind of spirit that will lead you to acts of creativity.

But it is much harder to get any god visiting if you are doing errands around the city, listening to a podcast, and reading this newsletter at the same time. Let’s be honest: we all do these things and spend a great deal of energy running around like little tigers. We need to relax like little tigers too.

My creativity practice is becoming more and more centred around the idea of resting.

Letting go of the computer, laying on the grass, on the couch, connecting to the internal layers. Breathing into my belly, putting my hands on top of my belly.

A bit like a monk, a meditator, or a person with a lot of faith who crosses their hands to pray, I am learning to give myself this time to be there and relax a bit, just 2% more than before.

And this is when the practice starts. When the judgy thoughts show up, along with a bunch of funny emotions arising from the old caves of childhood or I don’t where. But if I can stay there, if I can rest just a little bit more, I am often able to notice something: the moment when inspiration enters my body.

Foto: Sabrina Stahelin