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Nurturing My Muse…

My 9 to 5 job that presently keeps me fed and cared for is an intense social job. Between colleagues and clients there is no true introvert quiet. While I may not be perceived as an introvert, I truly am, through and through. I fill up my cup and come back to life when I get to be by myself. The only company I seek or wish to nurture is my muse. He is always welcome, for he awakens and fulfills my innermost desires.

This mornings RAW musings. To read in full click here….

Yesterday after a full week of juggling my day job with my love and passion to come to the page, I was tapped. My muse and soul pleaded for quiet. They literally screamed for pure divine solitude. So, I listened, nurturing the muse, soothing the soul and gifting the body and mind with freedom to rest while wondering into philosophical caverns.

Filling up my muse’s cup, I explored and wandered with other writers, who like me ached for solitude…

Today I arise. My muse is such grand company. Stirring within me such pleasure, passion, joy and excitement for life’s grand adventure. Oh how I love to play with my muse, he puts the sparkle into life, inspires me to yield, let go and unabashedly play.

Thanks to my muse I do not give up. I step forth with pure trust that he shall guide me home to the writer’s life, to freedom, to a time when he and I get to play all day if we so choose. No time clocks, no outside work, just he and I co-creating with wild abandon.

I feel strongly that we all have a muse, a calling, a beckoning to come home. Delightfully, our muse’s are unique, diversified as we are. When we nurture our muse, hear them, let them take over and fill us up, the sensation is like no other. Infinite joy, wild passion, soft exploration, sweet discovery… There truly are no words to describe such union.

Freedom lies within our surrender, it awaits release, invitation, presence…

I have also discovered that my muse is not just one dimensional. I feel him weave with me whenever I allow myself to be completely present and enraptured with life. Fully allowing myself to feel, taste, touch, hear and smell the limitless sensations of life’s emotional treasure box.

Once one has drank the rich syrup from the cup offered by their muse, there is no turning back, the taste lingers, it haunts you, whispering an invitation to come home. Oh, once you dance unabashedly with your muse, their is no other partner who can enrapture you so… His bite has infested you, there is no cure. Nor, will you wish for a cure.

When we live each day married to our muse we are like a beacon in the dark, seen by others as we learn to see. I cannot imagine life without my muse. To shackle him is to stop my breath. To imprison him, is to clench my heart into stillness.

Why have we been taught to tame our muse, gag him, place him in bondage behind the walls of societal etiquette and expectation? Set him free, release the bonds, remove the gag ~ for only then are you free….

Do not fear my dear muse, I shall always nurture you. In me, you are home. In you, I am alive and home. As we dance together the world awakens with wonder. I hope that more dancers shall join us, filling the galaxy with impassioned, vibrant beings who are enraptured with life’s grand adventure.

  • I am curious, how do you and your muse express?
  • Share with the world?
  • Do you nurture and invite the well being of your muse?
  • Or turn them away, fearful of their intensity and passion?

Click on the image below to enjoy how my muse and I play with a fictional journey into “What if” ~ Travel with the characters as they reunite with their muse, awakening a passionate life…

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Writing is my home…

As I joyously inhale the rich scents of Spring, I smile at the magic of the pond surface, it invites me to become mesmerized by its soft masquerade. Pretending to be the cerulean blue sky, budding trees and patchwork clouds, until a duck exposes its truth.

What we see may not be that which we believe…

I sit in contemplation, why do I write? I explore this topic with sincerity, for I am clear, I do not wish to be an inbox pest, or an in your face “look at me” bombardment in this technological age. Writing has been my calm in life’s storms. Words whisper on the wind, thunder in my dreams, offer safe harbor for my truths and ignite my desires. Writing is my home.

It occurred to me yesterday that there is a poignant difference between words that are meant to be READ and words that are written for one to FEEL. I put my words to page for the latter, hoping they may touch a part of you that knows and remembers. Like a firefly in a dark room, my writing arrives to kindle your heart, mirror your magnificence, and celebrate your existence. My words wish to be your friend, whether they resonate or not, it does not matter, they arrive free of expectation or judgment.

Words beckon me, they arrive in dreams, promenade on the wind, sparkle in sun rays and wink with the moon. As far back as my small human brain can go, they have called, beseeching me to hear, to feel, to know their exquisite texture, tone and truth.

A composer hears music, an artists woos colors, a singer ignites sound, a dancer feels cadence, a writer breathes words. I write because I must, whether or not anyone reads my sentences matters not to my persistent muse… As a willow will bend in the wind, the colloquy shall flow from within, arriving on any inviting surface.

“I do not write to convince you, I write to invite you…

I do not write to ignite your approval, I write to remind you of your magnificence…

I do not write to tell you what to do, I write to celebrate you

I do not write to tell you something is wrong, I write to empower you to choose yourself…

I do not write to give you 7 Steps to a better life, I write to inform you that you are already enough…

I do not write to critique your life, I write to reflect back your perfection…

I do not write to magnify your discontent, I write so you may embrace your worthiness…

I do not write for you to read the words, I write in hopes that you may feel the words…

I do not write to get your attention, I write because I must, it is who I am…”