I don't know exactly what it takes to create. But this much I know with absolute clarity: nothing can be born without sorrow.
Until the gnawing inside the chest completely stops, one must endure the burning pain of giving birth. And why shouldn't it be so? For we are the birthgivers!
Birth and creation are the same thing, friend! Just saying it differently makes it a little easier for people to understand!
Until you burn yourself to death, you cannot give birth. If you could, everyone would want to be a birthgiver!
Here I am writing, my fingers ache, my restless mind wants to hurl pen and paper away—it's always like this; yet have I been able to stop this birthing called writing? It's a wondrous journey...blood drips from my feet along the way, but nothing can stop this journey!
Again, how many days I've fallen asleep from exhaustion trying to create, or forced myself to sit at the table for hours upon hours...though nothing came to mind, despite hundreds and thousands of attempts, could I birth even a single line by my own will that day?
My body crawls with sensation, sparks from the fire within want to break free, I can neither show it nor explain it properly, ...I only smile, lips pressed tight.
If only someone understood how much pain is mingled in this smile! O God, why did you make your creation creative?