God, unto whom all hearts are open, unto whom all will
is spoken, unto whom nothing is hidden,
I beseech Thee to cleanse the intent of my heart
with the unspeakable gift of Thy grace that
I may perfectly love Thee and worthily praise Thee.
With the word creative we stand under a mystery. And from time to time that mystery, as if it were a sun, sends down upon one head or another, a sudden shaft of light—by grace, one feels, rather than deserving, for it always is something given, free, unsought, unexpected. It is useless, possibly even profane, to ask for an explanation.