Creativity

From the time I could learn to comprehend the dictionary meaning of words, "Creative" or being creative has always attracted my attention. As a boy, it was the expectations of my elders, that I be more creative. They felt that others did things in a better fashion where apparently I failed or did not meet the benchmark. As I grew up, had a wife, her keeping the house ship shape and the kitchen spic n span, or producing flavourful foods was an act of creativity for it attracted my admiration, reciprocated by her love. It was time for the offspring and together we felt that we had been creative in bringing about two wonderful dolls on this earth. As time passed I probably started looking in them what perhaps elders had been looking in me. The need to be more creative. With more than half the life having been spent in the relentless struggle to achieve the very numerous physical, material worldly goals, I sit by myself and start to ponder all over again. I notice me sitting on my either side. With the three of us (me) in conversation with myself wonder without answers, what after all is creativity? Am I conceding that whatever transpired between me and the environment had a halo of nothingness? I feel the need to redefine my quest. Was I misled to believe that it was my forte. Was I being trained to understand a complexity, as intense as trying to peep into the Sun's core. The better part was that the guides, those elders, teachers presumed mentors et al were equally or more ignorant. In their own intellectual poverty, they found in me an unwitting volunteer who could explore their agenda of filling their awareness vacuum. This continued exploratory desire left me flummoxed by the enormity of this eight letter word. I decided to change tack to a different dimension altogether. It was to question myself whether I had the mandate to explore and expose the true meaning of Creativity. And how do I qualify myself to do so? Consumed in these thoughts, walking down the footpath I noticed a pink lavender floret. It was a tiny petunia trying to raise its pretty head against the mighty steps that traverse the path. Fighting odds, its roots clinging to the brownish green moss that the pathway tiles had gathered. Ever under the threat of being obliterated into the oblivion unknown and unsung. Yet complying with the onerous responsibility of bringing a lavender hue to that otherwise mossy-cement tile-way. I stepped aside- Gently looked at the little flower, bent down to lower myself as in obeisance to take a closer look for some time and then walked on. This little flower taught me to look down. The MIGHT perhaps lies beneath. Have I understood the meaning of creativity??? The question lingers on.