Is Social Rejection the Key to Creativity?


Being alone doesn’t have to be lonely. Though we are wired for connections, our brains often fill in the gaps and authors companions to fill in the void, where relations fail. I think creativity is the minds way of healing, it’s ‘nature abhorring a vacuum’.

Originally posted on Cody C. Delistraty:

On the psychology of why rejection and loneliness may be necessary evils for the creative genius

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As I love – loved am I 

To think that a woman who suffered so much sorrow could write of love so deeply. Or are wounded lips and injured hearts, the greatest ingredients in baking love’s true delicacies?

To think that such a poem could be found in the bowels of Jane Eyre, a tale riddled with layers of poignant fate. But then again I wonder, that to be loved, one must take the risk to love. And to love, one must know all of love’s pain and all of love’s glory. For love cannot be taken piece by piece. Love can only be known whole. And to know love for all her worth, one must know her tragedy before they taste her transcendency! 

By Charlotte Brontë

The truest love that ever heart
Felt at its kindled core,
Did through each vein, in quickened start,
The tide of being pour.

Her coming was my hope each day,
Her parting was my pain;
The chance that did her steps delay
Was ice in every vein.

I dreamed it would be nameless bliss,
As I loved, loved to be;
And to this object did I press
As blind as eagerly.

But wide as pathless was the space
That lay our lives between,
And dangerous as the foamy race
Of ocean-surges green.

And haunted as a robber-path
Through wilderness or wood;
For Might and Right, and Woe and Wrath,
Between our spirits stood.

I dangers dared; I hindrance scorned;
I omens did defy:
Whatever menaced, harassed, warned,
I passed impetuous by.

On sped my rainbow, fast as light;
I flew as in a dream;
For glorious rose upon my sight
That child of Shower and Gleam.

Still bright on clouds of suffering dim
Shines that soft, solemn joy;
Nor care I now, how dense and grim
Disasters gather nigh.

I care not in this moment sweet,
Though all I have rushed o’er
Should come on pinion, strong and fleet,
Proclaiming vengeance sore:

Though haughty Hate should strike me down,
Right, bar approach to me,
And grinding Might, with furious frown,
Swear endless enmity.

My love has placed her little hand
With noble faith in mine,
And vowed that wedlock’s sacred band
Our nature shall entwine.

My love has sworn, with sealing kiss,
With me to live–to die;
I have at last my nameless bliss.
As I love–loved am I!


I watched the flame lick the inked paper. It spread to my finger tips and I dropped you. You lived in those lines. You breathed into me through those words. And now you lay on my feet, nothing but ashes. 

The fire dies and I am on my knees. Your lies burned into my mind long ago and no flame will ever sear my memories. Your writing still glows on the blackened paper. You are still fighting to reach my heart. 
It’s cold but I do not know whether it’s the wind that gives me the chills or if it’s the emptiness inside. You are gone. I have dethroned you. No longer the idol that seats on the crown of my heart. No longer my god. 
I stare at the last part of you blowing in the wind. Your words are caught up by the wind and scattered in the rain that falls. It’s a heavenly cleansing. My tears are washed by the water. My thoughts cooled by the letting go. 
Now at my feet, there is no memory of you. I have burned the last evidence of your existence. You are no longer strong. The throne is not unoccupied. The Rightful King now resides. He rules with mercy. He leads with grace. A mighty warrior but a gentle guide.
He is my shepherd and I shall not be in want. He is my strength where I shall ever be weak. He is my shelter in the midst of any storm. He knows not departure but is an ever present help. He knows my name. He knows every waking thought. He hears words unspoken. He stores every fallen tear. He is and I am ever, gladly His. 


The prayer as delivered on January 23, 1996 by Pastor Joe Wright to the Kansas House of Representatives:

Heavenly Father, we come before You today to ask Your forgiveness and seek Your direction and guidance. Lord, we know Your Word says, “Woe to those who call evil good,” but that’s exactly what we’ve done. We have lost our spiritual equilibrium and inverted our values. 

We confess that we have ridiculed the absolute truth of Your Word and called it moral pluralism. 

We have worshipped other gods and called it multi-culturalism. 

We have endorsed perversion and called it an alternative lifestyle. 

We have exploited the poor and called it the lottery. 

We have neglected the needy and called it self-preservation. 

We have rewarded laziness and called it welfare.

We have killed our unborn and called it choice. 

We have shot abortionists and called it justifiable. 

We have neglected to discipline our children and called it building esteem. 

We have abused power and called it political savvy. 

We have coveted our neighbors’ possessions and called it ambition. 

We have polluted the air with profanity and pornography and called it freedom of expression.

We have ridiculed the time-honored values of our fore-fathers and called it enlightenment. 

Search us oh God and know our hearts today; try us and see if there be some wicked way in us; cleanse us from every sin and set us free. 

Guide and bless these men and women who have been sent here by the people of Kansas, and who have been ordained by You, to govern this great state. Grant them Your wisdom to rule and may their decisions direct us to the center of Your will. I ask it in the name of Your Son, the Living Savior, Jesus Christ. 


Here Come the Warriors

I yearn for what was and shall be but has not been for a long time. If the distress of a few could cause such a mess of the World, then where are the noble hearts that could redress our broken homes.
I see the clouds gathering in the distance, the horizon is covered in dust, the feet of inconsolable young men have awakened a storm. Powerful hearts moulded to dance to the tunes of a devious device.
I hear the rumble of a coming pain. There is no rushing for safety because there is no place to hide from hate. The ground sways and all nature knows greed will make graves of us all.
I ache at their empty call for unity, it is  an ambiguity. If their hearts were in it, then we would not be putting out fires, chasing land grabbers and witnessing ‘step downs’ with no convictions.
My eyes search, where are the good men? The ones who will not let evil have its way. The heart of the Warrior says, “I will put myself on the line for you.” Where is this creature of man or woman?
John Eldredge wrote “The warrior nature is fierce, and brave, ready to confront evil, ready to go into battle. This is the time for a young man to stop saying, “Why is life so hard?” Good discipline harness the passions, rather than killing them. The warrior must learn to yield his heart to nothing. Not to kill his heart for fear of falling into temptation, but to protect his heart for more noble things, to keep the integrity of his heart as a great reservoir of passionate strength and holy desire.”
Will the Warrior please stand up and fight! 
Where are the warriors who don’t need guns to instil change in the hearts of their fellow men? Where are the Warriors whose feminine form is not for seduction but for the labour of justice? Who will be the man or woman, who will not let hate cloud their resolve to love? “For love is as strong as death”
Here come the Warriors whose banner of compassion soars above the gathering spore of hate. See how their swords of truth glisten in the light of freedom. Look how their eyes shine with zeal for humanity. Here they come, riding in the morning, gone is their mourning. Here come the sons and daughters of righteousness!


Poem by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you   
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, 
    But make allowance for their doubting too;   
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, 
    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, 
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating, 
    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise: 


If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   
    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster 
    And treat those two impostors just the same;   
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken 
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, 
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, 
    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools: 


If you can make one heap of all your winnings 
    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, 
And lose, and start again at your beginnings 
    And never breathe a word about your loss; 
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew 
    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   
And so hold on when there is nothing in you 
    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’ 


If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   
    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch, 
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, 
    If all men count with you, but none too much; 
If you can fill the unforgiving minute 
    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   
    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son! 

Father, forgive them….

‘Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you find rest for your souls.’  Jeremiah 6:16
These young men who are ready to die for paradise and spill innocent blood for virgins, ought to know; Peace is not found in dying but in walking along the moral path. A soul does not suddenly awaken in death, it has lived and lives in us and in choosing the right path we nourish our eternity. Shouldn’t the ‘right’ path be found in serving our fellow Being? Isn’t this where we inhale a taste of paradise? And as for you who condemn the suicidal murderer, are you any better? Which is your path and where does it lead?
I once watched a guide advise a young adventurer not to take a certain path. But the young of our time no longer listen to the aged or the experienced. Alas, too much corruption and unmet expectations have dried up their longing for the affirmation of the father and the leader. Unfortunately fatherhood and leadership, tested men’s characters and found many men lacking. As fathers and leaders failed to use their influence in humility and failed to lay their lives down for the benefit of their children, son’s lost their way and died to noble causes.
Beings divided by selfish belief. Hearts marred by injustice and misinformation. Men broken under the burden of man manipulated laws. Sons now slay brother and sister in the name of eternal bliss. But bliss isn’t what they seek, they long to silence their young hearts roaring for justice. A caged beast trapped in his own dreams. Do you see? He is a man thirsty for freedom but bound by his own pursuit for it. He is a son hungry for affirmation but numb to any confirmation. A lone soul aching for relational participation but burning bridges to human connection.
Head high, chest out, steps of determination, furrowed brow and wounded eyes. His life. His story. His choice. Believing in a lie. Dying for an end that will never be. How far will a man go before his humble heart compels him to turn around? How much must he loose before he learns from the lessons of mistakes made by his buried relations? Whose voice will reach ears blocked by lonesome rebellion? Which words will stir a soul drenched in fictitious tales? How will eyes dripping with sorrow see enough to follow? Vengeance is a poison that dissolves the heart seeking vengeance,  for no one dead has lived after retaliation, there is only more dead.
‘You can take a donkey to the river to drink, but you cannot make him drink’ African proverb
In all of us, there is a searching. In our living every day, there is a pining. Some of us learn to live with the hunger. But a generation born into devious satiation is a cancer to all civilisation. Evolution hungers still. Faith hungers still. Knowledge hungers still. A youth who fails to see the beauty in hungering becomes a grave that takes life but never has enough of the dead!
I know this sounds dark but we are living in dark times, though human history has often been plunged into many dark times. I am alive because I am not dead. All I have is the choice I make now. As I think about the sorrows of the World, I crumble and this is all my brokenness can exude. The only difference between me and one whose last glance was the face of his murderer, is, I have not met the grim reaper yet. So I can choose to live in fear and shroud my self with hate of what I do not understand or I can choose another path. I can choose to care and give a damn. I can choose compassion no matter what injury my extended arms receive. I can choose mercy though I may not receive the same kindness. I can choose forgiveness though I may not be freed of blame and wrongful confinement. I can choose. No matter what the grim reaper may do, I still choose. Whether my heart will go into eternal silence in bitterness or free of hate and full of forgiveness.
‘Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.’