Poetry is a personal relationship between a poet and life. In this relationship a person discovers their muse. I can tell you many stories about muses, but here is our secret: It’s not the ex-lover, current lover, friend or anything external the poet might be talking about.
The muse is reflection of the poet.
I danced with my muse a few mornings ago. It was beautiful spinning about in wonder, and a strange conversation as one part of my mind whispered words to my consciousness. Poets are such prismatic shattered crystals of split personalities and all.
God help you once discovering you are a poet, as it means being totally and completely torn asunder…
God bless you in the poetry, it’s beyond description: reintegration as something greater.
It’s no wonder that poets are at times a spokesperson for the gods. I am thinking about Rumi in this statement. As isn’t joining to wholeness: also a definition of God?
Its leaves me trembling, the process, worse than any hangover, fight, even eventually …the bliss of exploring what I label as A Personal Tao.
Of all that I have done, despite the costs. I am most proud to have been a poet.
Here is an interesting article about muses and the process of creation
We each, every day, create and move within our own life.
Are the forces of creative output:
Internal or external or best left undefined?
The answer is all of the above at once…
Being human we like to force it all to be a black and white answer. This is the actual issue. It’s not a question of where the process of genius or creation comes from… the issue is ego tries to “limit” it to a single source…
As soon as we limit ourselves to a single source for creativity,
We then remove 2/3rd of the potential from which to weave dreams into the creation of new ever changing realities.
Dating Your Muse
A muse is a harsh mistress.
She lives in the electric moments of a life. Which means at times she won’t hesitate to use a electric cattle prod to stir things up.
My muse was kicking me about in some of the darker corners of the soul. Which then brings up and forth a desire to write to understand and come to terms of acceptance with myself.
Being ever changing this is a ever renewing process.
So I ended up writing:
Screaming with every fucking fiber of my body.
Screaming so intensely as to be struck dumb.
Waiting for anyone…
Somewhere in the tiredness, it stops.
Leaving a moment before free fall,
a chance to look around…
to notice the ladder I am on
looking down toward infinite blackness
looking up to blue skies.
Neither direction being what I desire, so I…
To being back on my feet.
my own world
my own hurdles.
The time comes when a person comes to release me.
It’s always myself.
This is really an issue of depression which gets triggered by bad allergies. I can and do handle it well. Yet it still occasionally pushes me about, with my muse being more than willing to step in and kick me at these times.
Nothing is worth hiding, if you want to be free, to have joy, to discover the wonders of life. Poetry allows you to open up and not hide from your darker experiences.
To hide something from others is to hide your nature from yourself. So instead, I have learn to fully experience wonder by letting myself be myself. It isn’t always easy, but it helps me find new edges to explore. The beautiful thing about discovering a Personal Tao is you live! You always push on, to experience the unknown moment around the corner. When things get bad, A Personal Tao encourages one to work and change things to become great. My Taoism has been a wonderful support for helping me survive my depression. As example: after writing that last dark feeling, My Taoist beliefs caused me to re-sync and find balance again.
So even if my muse was kicking me around. I turned it all around to dance with her in the sun.
Opening myself to peace, I walked over to a park to encounter my muse as an amazing uplifting moment:
A hollywood style moment
Leaves spinning sideways to the wind
Light as a stain glass cathedral bursting from the clouds
Standing mid way between reaching trees,
letting loose, letting it go bare…
it all spun about in slow motion time.
Leaves landing on me.
Leaves flocking in swarms to dash about.
Leaves dropping quickly to the ground
to be swept back up and off
to be taken far far away.
All spun about as
A performance of a blustering fall day.
In time we all bare down:
to the dance upon outside whims.
to the time
of our own seasons.
It was incredible being in the middle of a storm of falling leaves, all glowing from the sun, each leaf becoming a radiant burst of windy motion. And that moment is eternal: a place in heaven embraced in my expression of life.
It’s about balance and discovering the grace of surfing thru both negative and positive aspects of life: It’s this difference between the two which permits the differentiation to know heaven upon stumbling through it.
Yes a muse is a harsh mistress.
But she is a partner I dance with everyday gladly.
As it means to be truly living.