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.
To the east comes the deep red light,
Triumph rising with the sun,
Full with the miracle of life,
Creative power within the light,
Daily renewal.
Sacred hoop, sacred life, let us greet you,
Heal our wounds, make us new.