The Muse

Sometimes She arrives as a faint and subtle whisper. Most times She comes as a wild roar, hurling herself towards me, urging me to wake up, to write, to sing, to paint, to dance.

This great force of Feminine comes rushing through me and suddenly, I find myself in action, making grand brushstrokes and taking daring leaps, all the while enveloped in stillness and silence.

Oh yes, She moves me.

And She pulls me, She spins me, She takes me out into the woods and then fills me up. She leads me to my watering hole, so I may take a long drink. She blankets me in silk and velvet, and I go barefoot walking. I go swimming in the ocean naked in mid-November. I go hunting for the next verse.

Oh yes, She moves me.

And now, the distillation.

I’m gathering the many drops; we’ve got an overflow.

At times this medicine is bitter. Her words are pure, quite direct, as they pierce through the ether. I try my best to sweeten it, pour some honey in the mixture.

I can only do my best as She moves me.

Oh yes, She moves me.





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