True creation (of the humble sort of which humans are capable) is always subcreation. It’s a something we submit humbly to the world, to our fellows, and to the Divine. It’s not innovation or novelty. It’s allowing the eternal themes to play through our bodies, our minds, our words.
When I play “Over the Sea to Skye” on my violin — an extremely simple tune to play — I am being creative, and I am praying. It takes a bare minimum of skill and practice of course (you can’t just pick up a violin for the first time, say “Ommmm” to the universe and then whip out Brahms’ Concerto). But assuming I know the notes, know how to hold it, then I will get the most beautiful music when I let myself be a conduit for the song.
Ugly music — noise — can be had if I try and think about “expressing myself” and hack at the strings like a splatter-painter “recording his motions” by flinging paint on the wall.
So creativity is a prayer. But prayer is also creativity… it is our purest form of creativity. It’s our central act as humans, as a matter of fact. We don’t pray so that we can live; we live so that we can pray. The whole purpose of being alive is to be called to the Divine, and to answer the call when it comes. That’s letting the Divine Song play through your life, through your being; just as one lets the simple Scottish tune play through the wood and horsehair of the violin.
Food, friendship, family, work, sex, leisure — even pain and suffering — all are manifestations of the Divine song. All are notes in the tune. And all exist only to be transformed into their true forms. Of what the ultimate Truth of life looks like, we get only the tiniest glimpses. But it is in prayer and quietude oriented towards the Divine that we begin to transform these things and understand, at least a little.
And we’re practicing for that moment when the Divine will overwhelm us, whether we desire it or not.