Masks and Creativity

In the last few years of his life my dad wrote what he called his "non-poems."  He called them that because he was not a poet, he was a structural steel draftsman.  It wasn't his place to write poetry, so he wrote "non-poetry."  From time to time he would recite one or a few lines from one to me.  It was only after his death in late 2006 that I found his whole "non-poetry" oeuvre.  Some of them were sprinkled with his unique brand of humor, "Grandpa Humor" my daughters called it.  Consider this short one: "Some people say I'm indecisive, but I don't know if I am or not."  But others showed a sadness behind the humor, as did "The Mask" which I reproduce below in his own hand:

Although my dad had friends and family, he spent much of his time in solitude.  In many ways he enjoyed this solitude, but "The Mask" showed that he was fiercely lonely, too, and in many ways afraid to show what he felt to those of us who loved him so much.  If you were to have asked me about him I would have told you my dad was introspective, aloof in many ways, and an only child who turned into an old fart who liked his privacy and space.  Shows you what I knew.  

My dad's "non-poems" also showed that behind another mask he wore - that of skilled, old-school draftsman (no CAD for him) - there lived a strong urge to be creative.  Not just to experience creativity of others, but to create something of his own.  In his wonderful book, "Creativity: Where the Divine and the Human Meet,"  theologian and spiritual rabble-rouser Matthew Fox writes: "To speak of creativity is to speak of profound intimacy.  It is also to speak of our connection to the Divine in us and of bringing the Divine back to community."

In one respect I guess that my own creativity is more apparent than my dad's.  I speak and write and act on stage and share all of this with my family, friends, and community, if not the world at large.  Tonight, for instance, I will try out for the role of Macbeth in the upcoming production of Shakespeare's classic at Riverwalk Theatre in Lansing, Michigan.  If I get the part, the product of my creativity will be evident for many to see and not tucked away in a notebook (like my dad's "non-poems").  But here's the thing.  The act of creation is a very private and as Fox says, "intimate" thing.  From a cosmic perspective, my dad's using the energy of the universe to create his "non-poems" is no different from my using that energy to create a character on stage.  In each case, the act of creation is, it seems to me, a form of prayer, an act of great reverence for the eternal and the transcendent, a small nod of thanks to the entity, the force, the ever present energy (it's okay, you can call it God) that has for whatever purpose, grand or random, loaned this spark of energy to us.  Now, I also think it's true that by sharing our creativity with others we have a great opportunity to spread and magnify the energy inherent in our creation.  But that is a subject for another day and another post.  No need to get too bogged down in philosophical reflections when I need to be preparing for auditions.  As my dad said in another of his "non-poems":

"Life isn't all that complicated, as long as you don't let something jump up and bite you in the ass."

Well, there you go.