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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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Visions of a Younger Self…

I sat straight up in the small wooden chair. It reminded me an old childhood school chair. The room was empty, could I actually call it a room, for there were no walls and it went on forever. The space was just vast endless blue gray light. Only me and my chair. “Where was I? Why was I here? How do I escape?” I felt weighted down in the chair, my legs unresponsive to my minds tingling panic. I encouraged myself to calm down, to breathe, to trust and let go of fear.

Like a gigantic movie screen the space in front of me lit up with a life sized scene. It was me. Dressed in my favorite blue and red jeans with flowing light blue blouse speckled with daisies. My hair was blowing in every direction, encircling my young face and my feet as always were dirty with no shoes. The six year old me stepped closer, I was transfixed by her gaze and unable to look away.

She stopped in front of me, reaching out her small little hands to stroke my cheek. Our eyes stayed locked together, a mirror of soft sky blue. In her eyes I saw such deep love, compassion, and spirited joy. They begged me to relax, to let go, to trust and be present. I felt the emotions welling up in me, a tear slid down my face as I leaned into her tiny hand, so warm, soft and gentle. The fear slid out of my body, disappearing like mist in the infinite space.

“My dear Fawn, do you remember?” she asked. Her young voice broke the still silence. Her gentle caress continued to wipe the moist tears from my face. My eyes answered her question with confusion. “What was I to remember? Had I made a promise I forgot? Then it struck me, was I dead? Had I left my physical body and now was stuck in this random space with my young self.” Her vague question had jolted my mind into high drive, which started the generator of fear again.

“Shhhhh…, it’s okay”,she soothed, continuing to touch my forehead and gray hair. I took a deep breath and relaxed back into her presence. I tried to move my lips, but they seemed paralyzed as I processed this experience. “Do you remember the dreams we used to have, the adventures we were going to go on, the books we were going to write, the places we were going to see and photograph?” a giggle filled her body as she asked the questions. Before I could answer she placed her tiny finger on my lips to stop me, softly cooing, “Watch with me“. The space lit up with a panoramic scene, the young me running barefoot down my favorite path towards our small little house tucked in the woods.

I was singing as I bounced along the trail. I looked so healthy and vibrantly alive. Free and wild in my mind, heart and soul. I completely believed that anything was possible, I could go where ever I wanted, do what I dreamed and see all the places I could imagine. The world was the frontier, full of adventures, people and new experiences.

Everything froze, washing the image away. Then suddenly there I was again, this time in my late teens. I sat under my thinking tree, a magnificent red pine that stoically held me perched above the gurgling river below. A smile crossed my face as I remembered. Warm salty tears kissed the edges of my eyes, tears of gratitude, love, joy, sadness, loss, and regret. The weight of her small hand on my shoulder kept me present, despite the urge to slip into the quiet space of a time gone by.

“Go there” she pleaded . “Feel into what we were thinking, dreaming, feeling, wanting. Remember”, her words drifted off.

I felt myself remembering, my spirited body became filled with a blend of loss, desire and ignited hope. The sobs escaped through smiling lips and undecipherable laughter. The dreams of yesterday, of the little girl and young woman permeated my very essence. In my minds eye and hearts page, I saw the books I dreamed to write, I witnessed the exploration of new places, the connection with people around the globe, learning, sharing, bridging humanity with humanity and humanity with nature.

A gasp rose up and escaped my emotionally racked body. Like a bursting comet it hit me, “I still dreamed to connect humanity, to awaken people to their unique magnificence, to bring them home to their inner state of being, awakening them to their heart and souls desires.”

It all flushed through me, the remembered awareness that nature connected us, healed and reminded us of our true inner essence.

Bridge building, that’s what I felt called to share. The bridge between human and nature, the bridge between the inner self and outer being, the bridge between all humanity, exposing our similarities no matter our walk of life or place of existence.

I looked up into the innocent wise face of my younger self, she smiled, running her velvety hand down my cheek. She leaned in, kissed my forehead and disappeared. I sat frozen, uncertain what to feel or do. My being was digesting, absorbing the intense experience. In my ear I heard her softly whisper, “Thank you for remembering, take gentle care of you and I will see you again soon.”

I sat there mesmerized by my own vibrant memories. Rekindling the wild child, the wild woman in me. Closing my eyes, I took in a tender quiet breath. As I released the cleansing air from my lungs, I blinked my tired eyes to life, uncertain in the moment what was “real” or a “dream”. I laid there, feeling into the gift from my younger self.

To be continued…

Until then, what if –

  • You sat in an empty room with your younger self, viewing the cinema of your youth, what would you witness, learn, remember?
  • What would your younger self show you, tell you, share with you?
  • What dreams did you have?
  • What adventures did you wish for?
  • What did you love to do?

Care to share….

For more from me, visit – The Beingness Project