Being A Creator

I do not envy God (however my fine, five readers may identify the concept). Being a Creator is no joke.

You see, a good creator remains inseparably linked to its creatures. All in. Each one. Equally.

For example, any parent who has raised children knows that once you get past the initial pleasure, excitement, joy and pride of your efforts in creating them, or for those really selfless humans, adopting them, and watching them first acclimate to their new surroundings here on earth, the real work begins. Striking that eternal balancing act, you need to keep meeting their needs while at the same time allowing them to develop into individuals that can see to their own needs. You have to allow them to incrementally exercise their accruing free will so they can make their mistakes and learn from them, sometimes with the accompanying costs of sorrow and pain, which, as an involved creator, you experience vicariously. You remain just off camera, teaching, supporting, counseling, sometimes lifting them back onto their feet after a knockdown, as they constantly tweak their development as creatures through life lessons. At the same time, with each of their successes along their life path, you proudly whisper to yourself, “I helped with that.” And you continue to feel responsibility for them until your very last breath, and beyond. It is the covenant between a Creator/creator and its creatures. It’s called love.

The same holds just as true for the adopted members of your flesh or fur family. To do it properly requires you to be all in on the process from the get go. For once you allow any creature into your heart, it becomes part of you, and the only way that relationship can end is through heartbreak.

As a result of my six-plus decades of experiencing my microcosm version of playing the creator, through parenting, humans and creatures, I do not envy the true Creator, who has had to experience creating me (an off day for sure), my family members, friends, and all of the other 7 billion humans and countless numbers of other creatures, and then watching us often fuck things up with the hope that some of us learn enough life lessons to get it right, survive, or die trying. And that’s just on our terrane. It’s a big Universe and Multiverse out there. That’s a lot of creating. A lot of creatures. A lot of balls in the air at any given time for even an omnipotent Creator, given the promise by that Creator to be there for each one of us. To not drop the ball. That’s a lot of love.

The hardest part of being a creator, and what sets us apart from the true Creator, is not judging. As a creature, I am only as good as what my creator put in me. As far as covenants go, my fallible and evolving human part of the bargain is to do my best. To learn my life lessons. My omnipotent Creator’s part of the bargain is forgiveness if, having done my best, I still come up short. Now that’s love.

Me, as a microcosmic creator, often cannot help but judge. It is a baked in part of my fallibility as my Creator’s creature.

But the beauty of not being omnipotent, as creator or creature, is that you are constantly learning, evolving. I am constantly working on that judging deficit. And that evolution, in itself, is a reward that makes the effort behind every creator-creature covenant even more worthwhile. More fulfilling. A net positive.

Luckily, my creator days are winding down. My pool of dependant creatures to actively love and care for on a day-to-day basis has shrunk considerably. My flesh children have assumed their own roles as creators in their own right, making their own covenants with their dependants that they will have to honor. Most of my fur family has crossed the rainbow bridge to join my ancestors, creators all, on the other side of the veil, along with their Creator. Their covenants kept. No judgment. Pure love. Well done.

But once you are a creator, while you still breath, you are in it for life.

I still love to stand off-stage, in my created microcosm called Casa Claire, and gaze upon my fur family, happily enjoying their existence,

and I continue to engage with my other adoptee creatures, that stop by daily for a cuddle and a free meal,

and I sometimes get to just appreciate those other creatures not directly dependent upon me, who have heard about this bountiful oasis and regularly pop by for a meal and a chat, transient extensions of the family Claire.

But my relatively brief time in the role of microcosmic creator has also taught me why my Creator has stayed in the game for so long.

Creation is addicting.

No creator worth their salt – https://www.theidioms.com/worth-your-salt/ – ever loses the urge to create, so you channel your creativity wherever it can find an outlet.

So, I have gotten to incorporate a lot of my Creator’s creatures into a fictional subset. Although derivative, it may be my best work.

And while I may have taken a breather after my fifth conceptual day to declare my latest literary creation very good (Genesis 2:2), I still hope, like my Creator, I have a few more days of creation in me, before I rest.

But, until then, another day in my creation is on the horizon.

A hump day.

Those kitties need their cuddles and those rounds need to be made. Covenants to keep.

You fine, five readers must get that final cuppa caffeine in you, strap on those skates and attack the hill. Friday is closer than you think.

Fulfill your roles as creatures and creators in your own right. Keep your covenants.

Live, love and learn.

And no matter what else we all get up to, let us – as creatures and creators – make this day a great one.