There was a bit of irony about Monday. Sitting in a bar with a couple of friends discussing how one needed a muse. Two wines later, a Facebook post went out – the friend sent it out into the world.
In life, I’ve found muses occupy the space in your waking life that you rarely allow yourself to be. Between schedules, stress, here and there, the notion of a ‘muse’ is lost within the blur of day-to-day. There’s a pulsation in life that you can be swept up in; a vibration a little softer than a whisper that becomes louder than the world. You can’t control those whispers of prose, but you’ll want to create poetry. You’ve met your muse.
There’s a deeper level of discovery that comes along with a muse, which makes you want to display the collection of beauty for all to see while withholding the source of inspiration. Not a secret, but a refusal to sell your soul. The art is for the world, the muse for you. A penetration to the soul, the purest form of creation, that any good muse retracts from you. However, the motivation yours; a study in humanity.
Some find muses in people around them, in quick glances of strangers, old friends, imaginary friends, topics, famous people, inside themselves, or nature. Others are discovered by their muses – previously dormant, waiting to be heard, poking and prodding until you see what you’ve never seen before at the end of your glass of wine.