What Is A Creator?

Is the role of a creator set solidly, or perhaps an ever traveling journey of a soul?

Why must an artist create art? When has an artist become an artist, and is the indulgence of creativity in their artform merely their grasping of the title?

Is an actor an actor when they do not act? Is a singer a singer when they do not sing? Is an inventor an inventor even when they do not invent?

I think of titles such as creator, artist, actor, singer, and lover to be less of the physical act but rather the mindset cultivated.

So this may mean that artists are merely people cultivating specific mindsets, using creation of their form to develop their perspectives.

When a child is born they are not titled. They are unchallenged in potential and possibility, only limited by what others believe of them. You were born an artist, you were born an inventor, you were born an actor; for every act and thought you make is a human action. 

As an actor ever tries to find the actor within, you are a person ever trying to find the person within.

The very act of humanity is to discover, because what else are you doing? Even when bound in societal chains, are you not discovering your movements available in bondage? Even those that are submissive and ever inward, following, rather than leading are on an act of discovery. 

We discover more of ourselves each time we make a decision. There are many words to describe a soul, but I believe only you can describe your own. You were gifted with a brain elevated above the apes you descend from, and cursed with a brain descended from apes you ascend from. 

If life is not a single stroke of a brush, flirting with colors new each day, then what is life? If you are not the very force of energy fighting entropy, then what are you? 

The meaning of this life is simple: there is no meaning. Stop looking, because there are no artists who become wholly artists. Because that is a lie, a title built from what you consider truth, from what you have been led to.

Bleed the truths handed to you; the very societal chains which you reinforce and resist in pushing and pulling. 

Bleed your titles, bleed your names, and understand that everything that narrows you limits you. You, a spark of life in a great universe. You, a constellation of atoms, energized and awake, grasping for purpose. There is no purpose, there is no reason to be.

You simply must just be. Not every day needs meaning, and not every life needs reason. You were not placed on this world to be told what to do, let go. Find the truth in the mud, and the fogging of humanity. See past limbs and limerence, eyes and reason; find who you are without definition. 

Why limit yourself before you wiggle around all possibilities?

“You will never be able to experience everything. So, please, do poetic justice to your soul and simply experience yourself.”

Albert Camus, Notebooks, 1935-1951