Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's all right
Little darling
It's been a long, cold lonely winter
Little darling
It feels like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's all right
Little darling
The smiles returning to the faces
Little darling
It seems like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's all right
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes
Little darling
I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling
It seems like years since it's been clear
Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's all right


Harrison wrote this song in April 1969 (the year I was born) in the midst of personal troubles, group's business and legal issues, overshadowing the band's creativity, and mostly the much colder winter in England that "goes on forever; by the time spring comes you really deserve it."(G. Harrison, Anthology).
At this very moment, I feel greatly connected to every single word in these simple lyrics...
It's been a long, cold, bone-chilling winter. The winter that drained my energy and almost assassinated my inspiration and passion for writing and photography. And, I love winter! The truth is, I love all seasons and feel blessed to be living my life following such an amazing rhythm of the earth. Yet, this winter was way too long and harsh. It put me in all kinds of bubbles. Bubbles that blurred the beauty of the season to me, sometimes even the entire world. Bubbles that made me doubt my photography and sharing it on the blog (who wants to see and read my prose anyway?). Bubbles that made me feel lost in comparing myself to others, or to my own high expectations...
Then, one morning, on my walk with Charlie, I found a tiny, little bird nest, in the middle of a sidewalk, in front of my boots. I held the perfect nest, the size of my palm, in my mitten. I looked up for a tree or some sort of sight where the nest dropped down from. I couldn't find anything. I looked at the nest, nested in my hand and felt as I was holding a bird, a tiny, little bird that was flapping its fragile wings to build muscles. Later on, he tried to lift them high above in the air, and fell on the ground; the mother put him back to the nest. He tried again the fly-hope things, and practiced with his whole being day after day, rain or snow, cold or heat until gradually refined his innate ability into a finely tuned skill. He failed over and over again while one ordinary day, the parental bird pushed the little one off the nest and suspended in mid-air with no landing in sight, he forced his wing to unfold for one last time and begun his flight straight up to the sun.... and left this nest (for me to find it). 

          “Help me,” he said very quietly, speaking in the way that the dying speak. “I want to fly more than anything else in the world…” 
        ”Come along then,” said Jonathan. “Climb with me away from the ground, and we’ll begin.” 
          ”You don’t understand.  My wing. I can’t move my wing.” 
       ”Maynard Gull, you have the freedom to be yourself, your true self, here and now, and nothing can stand in your way..."
          ”Are you saying I can fly?” 
           ”I say you are free.” 
 As simply and as quickly as that, Kirk Maynard Gull spread his wings, effortlessly, and lifted into the dark night air. The Flock was roused from sleep by his cry, as loud as he could scream it, from five hundred feet up; " I can fly! Listen! I CAN FLY!"
                                                                                                                                                               

The warm blood in my veins was burning my entire body. The upper left side of my back under the rib cage was suddenly in pain. An undefined formation was trying to emerge through my flesh and... burst the bubbles. I folded my right hand and touched the spot on my back. 
It felt like a wing... was about to grow.

Then came the sun, and I said It's alright...



What do you do when you are feeling uninspired, dear friends?  How do you boost your creativity and get your creative Mojo back?





* quote by Richard Bach, Jonathan Livingston Seagull


sharing with Be Inspired/ Home Sweet Home