Creativity and the Path of the Spiritual Learner

There’s a myth that creativity belongs only to the “artists.” We’re taught to associate it with paintings in galleries, music on a stage, or books on a shelf. But that is a narrow, almost impoverished definition. This month, so much has crossed my path serendipitously about art that I feel compelled to take a deeper dive.

I was fortunate to grow up in a world of artists and art. My mother is an award-winning poet. My sister studied weaving with the matriarchal family of Diné weavers in New Mexico and is now a prolific textile artist. My father is a photographer. All the members of my mother’s family are accomplished musicians. And my paternal grandfather was a painter. As a child, I attended art openings, poetry readings, and stage productions. Instead of ballet and tap, I was sent to modern dance classes. Writing this now brings into full awareness how rich in art and artistry my background truly was. And yet, there was also an underlying message that “special people” are artists—that it was a place apart from the mundane, everyday work of the world.

In my own family, I was a bit of an outsider—more inclined toward spiritual practices, psychology, and the healing arts. From about the age of twelve, I was deeply drawn to the mystical and the natural. I read tirelessly about ancient and organic traditions: Wicca, the cycles of the seasons, the stars and the moon. I studied First Nation cultural traditions that connected humans to the divine and to the body and mind in earth-centered ways—through herbs, foods, and spiritual healing that looked so different from my Catholic heritage. I had strong mentorship in this from my godmother and aunt, who dedicated her life as a Sister of Saint Francis to spiritual seeking and healing, living and learning alongside the Apsáalooke and the Northern Cheyenne tribes in eastern Montana.

Although my parents supported me, I was often deemed “non-artistic” and therefore, by default, uncreative. In my family, that label meant you were uninteresting and a bit of a loser. Despite writing nearly daily for over forty years in my journals, working professionally with textiles as a craftswoman (running my own upholstery shop from ages 23–30), and playing with fiber arts and collage for decades, I long carried the belief that I was not artistic—and therefore not truly creative.

The truth is that creativity is not something extra you do—it is what you are. Every moment, whether you realize it or not, you are creating. You create conversations. You create relationships. You create businesses, excuses, adventures, and even disappointments. You create worlds of meaning in your mind, and you live inside what you’ve created.

Why? Because creation is not an accessory to our nature—it is our nature. Across cultures, myths, and religions, one truth repeats: humans are made by a creator, and we are creators in turn. The universe itself is a ceaseless act of creation. Galaxies spin, rivers carve valleys, seeds push through soil. Creation is the universal language of being.

When we step into life as a Spiritual Learner, we begin to see creativity not only as expression, but as exploration. A Spiritual Learner isn’t satisfied with taking life at face value; they are curious about the patterns beneath the surface. They ask: Why am I creating this experience? What is it teaching me? How can I learn from the way my choices ripple outward?

And here is where the metaphor of the sleuth becomes alive. The Spiritual Learner has permission to “sleuth”—to follow threads of intuition, to notice hidden connections, to test and explore. Creativity becomes the flashlight of the learner, illuminating what is usually hidden. Just as a detective pays attention to the tiniest clue, the Spiritual Learner pays attention to synchronicities, emotions, and the symbols that rise from within.

I’ve noticed this in my own journey. For years, I thought I needed to set aside time to “make art.” I longed for more painting, more writing, more tangible creations. I craved a way to connect back into the heritage of my own people—my family of artists. But as I leaned into this month’s reflections on creativity, I realized something profound: I am already creating all the time. The way I shape Turquoise Trail, the conversations I hold, the way synchronicities guide me forward—all of this is an act of creation. Life itself is my canvas.

And that is the invitation. To live as a Spiritual Learner is to approach life as a creative inquiry. It is to see every challenge as material, every relationship as collaboration, every season as an unfolding artwork. You don’t need to wait for brushes or clay to create. You are already sculpting your experience moment by moment.

The question, then, isn’t whether you will create—it’s what you will create. Will it be a life shaped by habit, fear, and distraction? Or a life shaped by curiosity, meaning, and soulful expression?

When we embrace ourselves as Spiritual Learners, we reclaim our birthright: to be creators. To use creativity not just to make things, but to discover truths, explore mysteries, and live a life that feels like a masterpiece.