Sunday, March 1, 2009
Of late for some strange reason, I haven't been able to think of a single topic to write. I know all too well that ideal creativity is something that ought to flow constantly from within. But nevertheless I feel of late as if the stream of thought has dried up. Its a good thing that my bread and butter are not dependent upon what I write, but nevertheless, it irks me to a good degree that I cannot think of a single worthwhile thing to write about.
I really envy those who lead lives in constant motion. Those who's lives are constantly enriched with new sights and sounds. Like for instance a journalist or a photographer. Or even an entrepreneur of some sort. I'll bet they'll have a good deal in plenty to write home about.
Theres not much adventure in the life of a student. And a medical student to boot. The same dismal routine of going for class, coming back, shopping, cooking etc. (did I mention studying?)
Some say if your life doesn't have adventure, one must go ahead and make that adventure happen.
I suppose thats easier said than done. I always considered philosophy as a poor mans soup. Its rather easy for some wise guy to mouth off fancy quotations without having to physically experience the sort of ordeal the person opposite him suffers.
Theres always a philosopher amongst us. You know the sort. The sort of bloke who has his head in the clouds, seldom caring to bother about the real trials and tribulations that plague those amongst him.
But nevertheless, its rather an awful feeling not being able to think or create something because you feel positively uninspired and insipid.
Inspiration is the key.
One ought to draw it from all that one sees and experiences around him.
But of late, somehow everything around me feels bland and unimpressive. Perhaps its the monotony of the routine that we follow day in and day out.
Sort of a "ho hum" feeling.
Creativity is the sort of thing that needs to be constantly replenished with new ideas and opinions. Its the sort of thing that maintains a constant train of thought.
I don't know what could possibly account for the fact that I do not seem the least bit inspired of late.
In ancient times, Muses were considered to be the guardian spirits that constantly gave inspiration to poets and authors and artists. It was they who constantly provoked men of art to churn out masterpieces.
I suppose my Muse must have packed up her bags and gone off on vacation somewhere. Or perhaps she has found some other bloke who is in need of her services. I suppose the Muses don't care much for fidelity.
Either ways I am bereft of creative thought.
Perhaps I ought wait patiently for her to return. And give me back the creative impulse that has been lost to me.
Since patience is such a God awful virtue!