Many people have the dream of creating a great work of art, a breathtaking painting, an incisive novel that captures the zeitgeist, a song that touches the hearts of millions. Often we will stop ourselves before we even form the first stroke, as if our right hand grabbed the left hand before it had a chance to bring the pen to the parchment. In some form we are scared. We have such high aspirations for what we might be able to create, we are worried that the first lines we write may be so horrible that we won’t want to continue. Nevertheless, that is exactly where we must start - imperfectly, and perhaps far from our ambitions. Charles Bukowski wrote that he had a rule about judging his own work. One of his characters asks “Are they good, the ten pages you wrote today?” Chuck would respond “I don’t know; I never know until 30 days afterwards.” So he would withhold his judgement until he had sufficient distance from it to see it a little more objectively. That would give him the space to create without worrying about the quality. Write first, critique later - in this case, much later. Another trap is not just comparing ourselves to our own aspirations, but to the works of the masters. We can attempt to imitate styles and processes of great artists in order to improve our own talents, and we learn a lot from that. However, the one thing that we can give that no one else can, is our own voice. More often than we think, that is more than enough. So, today, we can set aside our judgements and inhibitions. Take up the quill or brush in private, to externalise the most intimate. Create today.

In this episode, Kurt recounts an unusual dream. He is seated in a circle of nuns, monks and other practitioners on the grass in the grounds of a temple. To his left there is a young woman of Malaysian appearance, around 20 years old. She is overflowing with joy, laughing and joking. Kurt knows that she is the head of the temple and also an arahat, an enlightened being. Everything is covered in the warm purple, lavender and orange hues of a sunset. One feels so intensely peaceful and content. The group starts to walk to the hall for the evening chant. A cloud floats by overhead, tinted with these same sunset colours. The cloud is symmetrical, and in the middle it has the face of the Buddha. “Surely this must be a good omen,” one thinks. Reaching the temple and sitting down to pray, one picks up an unusual lotus flower. It has long indigo petals, something like that of a thistle, and they are again formed into the shape of the Buddha’s face, another good omen.