Can I paint if my canvas is shaky? Or can I dance if the ground is not rooted in the stillness? As I closely observe these trees, their bottoms rooted in the darkness of the night, yet their peaks touching the light of the moon and the stars, I realise that this universal silence is the playground on which creativity of existence unfolds relentlessly.
As clouds pass through the sky, all our actions and activities pass through this silence. As clouds are unable to taint the sky, our activities, howsoever loud and violent they might be, can not even touch this eternal silence; disfiguring it is far from reality.
Who is an artist? May be the one, who tries to paint this silence on a piece of paper; or the one who sings so that people hear the silence he or she is hinting at; or probably the dancer, who through his or her postures, makes us aware of the infinite space in which we are born, live and die.
When the canvas or the space in which we survive is at even a slight unrest, creativity is impossible. When artists are madly running behind creativity, is it not wise to halt for a moment and be grateful to this silence- the ultimate benefactor of creativity?
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