the capacity for disobedience

these sand castles aren't your usual pail and shovel constructions. all you need is wet sand of the right consistency and a bit of patience. my sister was the master of the drippy castle. i have to say the sand at Bear Lake where we used to spend a few days each summer was nicer than this rough California kind. either way, they are the perfect way to waste a few hours on a sunny beach.
singing or building or painting or fashioning out of dust-- a created thing has a purpose. (fate, destiny)

and that purpose is defined by its creator. a created thing is born to be or do what its creator wants. a song is born to be sung. a building to stand built, to house whatever it was built to house. a program to function. trees to grow, flowers to blossom. elegant gourmet meals to be eaten.

your chicken cordon bleu has no choice.

but...

there is a higher sort of creation. a kind that means more. something that shifts the power. a painting that moves your brush. a story that is speaking through you rather than just spoken. sand castles that shape themselves more than you shape them. an infant who grows into her own distinct person.

the capacity for disobedience is something magic.

{ the above spontaneously adapted from page 14 of my blue composition book }

i am here presupposing the existence of a supreme creator for this little universe of ours. for me that fits the pattern.

my capacity for disobedience is something magic. something i think i need. what power is there in a created thing that has no chance to break away? trees must grow and flowers blossom, but they do not move. they do not change the world. they do not change themselves. they just are.

not that i am outside the hierarchy of creation. i accept being a created thing surrounded by created things. not that i'm advocating rampant rebellion either. it's the capacity for disobedience that's magic--that sliver of breathing room there is between rules and anarchy--not disobedience itself.