Beautiful Wings: A brief discourse on potential, creation, and birth

For those who don’t write songs, poems, or screenplays — who don’t paint, choreograph ballets, sculpt, or play either the piccolo or the tuba for a living — a question often arises: Where do your ideas come from?

It’s not an easy question to answer. In attempting to do so, I’ll often start by throwing the question back at, say, the accountant or actuary who asked it—(I mention these two jobs because they are often mistakenly presumed to be uncreative.) I’ll ask, “Where did your question come from, the one you asked just now?”

The need to know and understand is itself a vital part of creativity.

And then, I might ask, “How did you take the nascent idea of becoming an accountant and make it a reality?”

This is all to say that there isn’t a human being alive who isn’t creative. We all create. We do so every moment of our lives, even in — and perhaps especially in — our sleep. (BTW, I know a few accountants and actuaries who are among the most creative people I’ve ever met.)

Creativity belongs to everyone, not simply those within the so-called creative class. Creativity is the natural outgrowth of curiosity. But there is a deeper aspect to the process of taking the germ of an idea, developing it, and manifesting it in the world. A filmmaker friend of mine refers to this process as “bringing an idea through the pinhole.” I love his metaphor.

Through the Pinhole

And speaking of curiosity, I’ve always been interested in what lies behind that pinhole. What exactly is it that we are bringing through this tiny hole? For me, this is both a practical and a mystical question.

I promise I won’t throw any more questions back at you. I’ll only share what I’ve learned from my teachers. Since I’m going to put their teachings in my own words — which is one good way to try to understand something — I apologize in advance for taking something complex (some might even say holy) and breaking it down as simply as I can.

According to Jewish mystical tradition, there are three dimensions to every creative act. In transliterated form, they are Chochmah, Binah, and Da’at (Wisdom, Understanding, and Knowledge). In addition to sharing my newly minted song at the end of this essay, I’ll first explore how these three dimensions of creativity relate to things as seemingly disparate as songwriting and the birth of a human being.

In the first stage, Chochmah (Wisdom), we don’t yet engage with what is readily apparent — we sense only the vaguest flash of an idea. Chochmah is more of a desire or impulse to create than a definite notion of what will emerge. I think of it as an unformed idea, akin to a hint or a suggestion. In songwriting, Chochmah feels like the sense that a song is about to emerge. Often, those feelings are strong enough for me to stop whatever I’m doing, pick up my guitar, and begin writing.

At the level of human birth, think of Chochmah as the seminal moment of conception — the very start. (Notice how “seminal” and “conception” relate to both creativity and birth.) Just as when sperm meets ovum, something has begun, though it has no definition yet — only expectation. This stage is about impulse, hints, feelings, and powerful emotions, none of which have shape or form.

The second stage is Binah (Understanding). Here, the details of an idea begin to surface. Though still obscure, there is now a sense of what could be. Binah is the unfolding of the idea, where the initial lines of a song appear and a roadmap starts to form. Now, I can say I’m beginning to “understand” the song.

In the birth analogy: The cells are dividing, the fetus is growing. We can see individual body parts via ultrasound and even determine the fetus's sex. We now have some understanding of the path toward full human development.

In songwriting, the song is present in the same way — there is something to work with. It’s like a lump of clay on a potter’s wheel: we might now guess if it’s becoming a plate, a pot, or a teacup. In Chochmah, we couldn’t even guess.

The third and final stage is Da’at (Knowledge). The idea is now fully formed and internalized. Its existence has the power to change and inform me and others. Whether it’s a teacup or a nuclear warhead, it can impact the world.

Another way to think about Da’at: If I had been working on avoiding conflict — reading books, seeking mentorship, and engaging in introspection — once those lessons became second nature, I would not only know how to face conflict intellectually but I’d be transformed on a deeper level. It would fundamentally change me and my relationship with the world.

In other words, true knowledge means the idea has become part of us.

Songwriting

Now, back to songwriting.

1. I feel inspired to write.

2. I work out the early details.

3. I figure out the chord progression and melody.

4. I play the song enough times that I no longer have to “think” about it — I truly know it.

5. With this knowing comes awareness of both the song's strengths and its limitations.

Returning to the birth analogy: When a child is born, there is a profound difference between what it was before — a fetus (sacred potential) — and what it becomes after birth: a full-fledged human being (sacred existence). At birth, we no longer have potential but definite knowledge of its existence.

Yesterday afternoon, I went through these three stages as I wrote “Beautiful Wings.” It’s been an emotional time for me — and perhaps for you, too. While this is a serious song, I thought it might be helpful to outline how these three steps influenced my writing process.

1. Chochmah: I felt an urge to write, though I had no idea what shape the song would take. I sat down to work with nothing more than a feeling.

2. Binah: As I finger-picked the song’s opening chords, a disturbing image came to mind — a child kidnapped on October 7. Along with sorrow and helplessness, I felt incredible empathy and love. The first lines I wrote reflect those emotions. The more I wrote, the clearer the image of the child became, until for a moment, he was almost as real as my surroundings. I cried as I wrote, and for me, that’s always a good sign. As the Talmud says, “What comes from the heart, enters the heart.”

3. Da’at: After adjusting lyrics and melody, I became comfortable with the song. Unfortunately, editing pulled me away from the initial emotions I had when I began — a necessary trade-off in the creative process. However, when I play it again I regain those same emotions. Like I said, in its completion, it has the power to change and inform me.

Whenever I work on a song, I treat it like a child. I offer no criticism; I am gentle and easy with it. I will it into existence, coaxing it along. There is always time to discard it later, but never while breathing life into it.

Here’s an early version of “Beautiful Wings”:

If you can hear me, raise your hand.
If you can hear me, open your eyes.
If you can hear me, spread your beautiful wings
and fly, fly, fly...

the song if I so choose. But never when I’m breathing life into it.

Here’s an early version of  “Beautiful Wings.” 

If you can hear me, raise your hand. If you can hear me open your eyes.

If you can hear me, spread your beautiful wings 

and fly fly fly.

If you can see me, make a sound. If you can see me, let me hear you cry

If you can see me, spread your beautiful wings 

and fly fly fly

I’d erase your pain if I only could. I’d push it away ‘till it’s gone for good

I love you so much I’m dying with you. I swear to God I will never forget you.

And if you’re hungry, let me know. If you’re hungry, say the word.

If you’re hungry, spread your beautiful wings 

and just fly, fly fly fly like a bird

I’d erase your pain if I only could. I’d push it away ‘till it’s gone for good

I love you so much I’m dying with you. I swear to God I will never forget you.

Beautiful wings. Beautiful wings. Beautiful wings.

No need to ask a question. What about this can ever be understood?

All this, all this— make it stop

How I wish it would

If you’re lonely hear me sing. If you’re lonely let me rest with you.

If you’re lonely spread your beautiful wings and 

soar high above this sea of blue. 

Soar high above this sea of blue.

Beautiful wings beautiful wings…

Check out Peter’s new book Suspended by No String: A Songwriter’s Reflections on Faith, Aliveness, and Wonder.