Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider, is chaos to the fly. – Charles Addams
I think our creativeness breeds at the delicate hours from 2 am until 4am because our mind is in a fragile tipping point between normalcy and complete psychosis. Your normal half is holding on as the hours become thinner and your psychotic break is desperately trying to rip through your frontal lobe. You are up pondering the stars and the universe and you realize your thoughts become more complex. You even start to wonder if those thoughts are your own.
So while you are contemplating your existence, ponder this: the amount of times you have stayed awake in the wee hours of the night and a wild thought slips in, are you certain Normalcy has been in charge all along or have you been enslaved by the deep psychotic leak of your mind?
I often wonder about my creative muses that seem to only want to rise at 3 am. Many times I have woke and could not return to sleep because my thoughts were digging their way to freedom. What pained me, seemed to be truly necessary. Reluctantly, I would open my notes app and begin to type. However, it wasn’t me typing. It was the burning sensation behind my frontal lobe. Furiously “it” clawed and screamed until every last syllable was uttered. After the process was over, after the last word was written, the fire died and the clawing ceased. I would fall back to sleep with ease. Whatever “it” is or was, calmed and oozed back into its crevasse.
However, I often wonder… Did it really fall back into the darkness, or did it take over? Am I normal, or have I been enslaved?
I would like to assume I am normal and that “it” only shows itself when the fire is too large for Normalcy to fight. This is when the stories, the poems, the crazy makes its way onto virtual paper. Or should I assume “it” has taken over and Normalcy is crying, in a fetal position never to return. Perhaps, “it” is so well versed that I am fooled to believe anything.
So I say to you, readers, what is normal? Is it normal to have such thoughts? Am I a rash individual? Am I cursed with a creative power that only shows itself when it needs to feed? Or is “it” always hungry and I have been in control the entire time; only feeding “it” when I say?
The world is chaotic. Being creative can make one feel even more chaotic. But perhaps I should change my perspective and learn something from the spider: when chaos ensues, capture it.