This post is part of a series of excerpts from my forthcoming book. You can read them all in the Little Pink Spoons category. You can get advance notice of the book by subscribing to my Creative Adventure Journal over there to your right. The Mystic Creative Religious traditions of every culture seek to answer the same fundamental question, “What’s it all about?” While I grew up in the Christian tradition, I have long been in awe of the unintentional parallels between...
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Last Sunday morning my husband and I were walking along the seafront here on the island, and we came upon a little building neither of us had noticed before. With a half dozen tables on the grass around it, the place was painted a lovely shade of pink. All the windows were open, and the cakes on the windowsill were beautiful. We stopped, ordered coffee and a doughnut and sat down for a while. The longer we sat, the more inviting the little place became. When I returned our...
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This post is part of a series of excerpts from my forthcoming book. You can read them all in the Little Pink Spoons category. You can get advance notice of the book by subscribing to my Creative Adventure Journal over there to your right. Something Out There Calling In my senior year at Wheaton College I discovered Rainer Maria Rilke’s advice in his Letters to a Young Poet. It was as if he was writing to me: You are so young, so before all beginning, and I want to beg you,...
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Q: “I’ve seen a diagram of the Wheel at one of your seminars. Is there a particular order or direction that is followed along the wheel, and if there is, is there ever an occasion to experience the steps out of sequence?” CH, Musician A: Great question, CH, and one I hear frequently. The shortest answer is yes. Both are true. Counter-Clockwise from Home to Home The journey through The Wheel of Creativity begins at Home and moves counterclockwise through four...
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God Is In The Guitar At 14, I picked up the guitar. Three easy chords to that first song—House of the Rising Sun—moved me. Perhaps it was the vibration of the instrument in my arms. Like my Arabian horses, the guitar was another relationship, between a very limited human girl and the mysterious, uncontrollable force I longed for. I started to write songs. They were desperate songs, angry songs; but the voices inside me that could not find expression anywhere else, found...
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