Freeimages.com/Abdulaziz Almansour
Delighted, the moon revels in the dark night
Through the thick blackness, he saunters
Conversing with stars
They twinkle with delight at his antics
He caresses a river softly as it rushes under his touch
Then stoops to kiss an icy mountain peak
The snow caps may sparkle at his sweet embrace
But they do not melt
For those glaciers know that while my muse appears bright and gracious
His core is dark and cold
FreeImages.com/Arturo Benjumeda
Out of reach, among the stars, hides Lady Muse I’m told. Like an ancient goddess, she resides in the cosmos waiting for an exceptional mortal to catch her eye. She searches for an individual gifted with both sensitivity and skill. One who will abide by her desires and bend to her whim.
Once selected, she descends on her new favorite, blessing them with an artist’s inspiration. Still, like many celestial beings that make their home just out of human reach, she is fickle and often leaves as quickly as she came, abandoning her hapless ward. Or, so the story goes.
Yet, despite what I’ve been told about this capricious divinity, I have always found her here on earth, ready to whisper inspiration in one’s ear if one will merely stop to listen. I see her graceful curves playing in the ocean surf. I hear her giggle as a chipmunk stuffs its puffy cheeks. I feel her pride as I stand before an artist’s finished work. I see her sorrow in the tears of a stranger. She is present when new life is born, and remains grieving long after death.
I have never known her to conceal herself within the inanimate expanse of space. Where life exists, where tormented beings struggle for survival and hope reveals undiscovered beauty, there dwells Lady Muse. She speaks through untold stories. She manifests herself within the depths of human emotion and through the experiences that define a life. She stands by with glistening tears as tragedies unfold and reaches out to comfort the victims. She bends tenderly over the desk of a child the first time crayon touches paper, excited to see what this new mind will create.
My lady is not, as many would have you believe, arbitrary or elusive. She waits within the living, breathing world to inspire any artist willing to pause, and listen to the voices of the world around them.
She reads books as one would breathe air, to fill up and live. -Annie Dillard
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