Painting? Writing? Who's Talking Here?

"...no, it has nothing to do with being dead, it's not death that allows us to understand one another, but poetry."  from Lavinia, by Ursula K. Le Guin.
Tapping in to the creativity that moves me, is an act of faith.  Knowing that the truth of my Being will speak, will reach through and across the ages, will create; is what keeps me breathing.

Currently I am painting.  What is it that makes me "wrong" for not painting 24/7?  Or writing on the same schedule?  Oh, at the same time I am setting out my tomatoes and peppers, right when I should be painting, or was it writing?  Who is in there yammering about what I should be or should have been doing?

Meat Pie used to interrupt my meditation with "Let's go to the Lake, now," a most effective affirmation.  Luna does not, that I am aware of, do mental telepathy.  She is of the physical realm, throwing the toys and kindling at me to get my attention.  This voice, the critical one, must be needing some attention.  Perhaps rather than yelling back, "STOP! You #*#~%*+!!!"

I will take a more loving approach.  Maybe this voice which I am labeling as "bad" has a little something to tell me.  Maybe this voice has a gift for me.  

Hello Little Critic!  Ma cher petite amie!  What shall we talk about today?  "WHAT??? You want pie?  No.  No.  No."  I can tell this is going to take some patience.

Love,

LC