No Muse, No Inspiration

Like floating along in a lazy river, so too were the days by the creek.  Nature and the natural habitat thrived in full force, in sight, in sound and in smell.  Nights were in serenade by creatures great and small.  Days were decorated with brightly colored feathered friends, blooms in abundance and scurrying turkeys and rabbits.  By night the owl kept vigil and by day the hawk.

Restful though it was, inspiration to write, to muse and to explore dwindled and faded like the evening sun.  No burning desire to create, to communicate, to challenge led the fingers to fly across the keyboard.  Isolation and seclusion became a welcome blanket of warmth in a sinister world.

Threats pounded on the door and so the lazy river, restful scene was interrupted, invaded, violated.  Charged with energy to flee and with fire to fight and not sit still, the days by the creek were exchanged with journeys in search of.  By week’s end, fatigue and financial desperation replaced all other.  And so the body sat at an old familiar spot where familiar faces paraded by and volumes of words abounded.

Within the familiar came the revelation.  No muse, no inspiration became a reality in the seclusion, in the isolation.  Instead pain, rejection and condemnation filtered in and attached themselves like mold, like lichen on the tender walls of the heart, blinding the eyes to hope and robbing the body and soul of life-affirming oxygen.

Let it be known and do not forget that when the place of restful retreat, the place of peaceful restoration is invaded, there will be no muse, no inspiration.  If thriving in abundance, living to the fullest is your desire, then see to it that the gates are closed, signs are posted.  Fools will rush in where angels fear to trod.  Fools will stand at the gate and soon climb over it when on guard you are not.  By night the owl keeps vigil and by day the hawk, and so should you.

 

 

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