The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this:
A human creature born abnormally, inhumanely sensitive.
To them... a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy,
a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death.
Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity
to create, create, create—
so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings
or something of meaning, their very breath is cut off...
They must create, must pour out creation.
By some strange, unknown, inward urgency
they are not really alive unless they are creating.
US novelist in China (1892 - 1973)
Sometimes I do feel the "overpowering necessity to create", to the point that I start to wonder - who is in control here?
(and again, thank you for the inspiring thoughts-I too have been compelled to share this with everyone I know)