There Are No Shoes for Dancing with My Muse
I named my angel once but my Muse is more elusive….She does not have a name or a face, well, unless we include the moon and her magic. The moon is the mirror of my Muse but I never really see her.
But I feel her. I feel her do the bump with me at night when I am getting ready to change the channel on the television. She gyrates and moves her hips to wake my creativity and I never remember whether I changed the channel on the tv but she changes the channel in me.
She channels my innermost being. Her hands do dancing Mudras as I dream and she works meaning into the night even though all I do is sleep.
Sometimes she asks me to jitterbug when all I want is rest. Yet her feet move and the beat grabs my heart and something opens inside, butterfly wings touch the edges of my eyes and I begin to see what has no name.
Then the wind that gives the butterfly reason blows in my belly and I begin to fly on feeling.
Words start tap dancing. Moons find the night. Stars shoot across the darkness of my mind.
The canvas of time evaporates into the ether and I am only the space I take up on the couch. I lose myself to her. I surrender without struggle. I am not the wave or the salt water. I am not the tide. I am the sea.
I can bless all life or destroy the land. I can churn into a Tsunami or save a child from drowning. I can cradle the moment in the ebb and flow or crash it on the shore till hope breaks into despair.
My Muse is with me always. We met when I was 9 years old. My first poem was about a cat. I did not even like cats and now I have four. I am sure she knew.
She knew me before I knew what love could hold. She knew loss courts us all and she teaches me to waltz with loss on a good day, do the tango on a bad day and I can even rap on those days loss tickles more than it tears.
My Muse is loyal like the moon and like the moon she sometimes hides, sometimes glows and sometimes gives wolves reason to howl.
Mostly, my Muse gives me a window to look out of when I am too far in and window to look into when I am too far out.
Like elephant Spirituality on Facebook
Editor: Kate Bartolotta
hot on elephant
The 4 Stages of a Good Divorce. A Letter to my Children: You do not come from a Broken Home. Mom, can I Call her Mom, Too? To the One Who Tried to Break Me. An Open Letter to the Fixers. How your Stored Memories in the Amygdala can lead to PTSD. Jon Stewart makes first appearance since retiring—”it’s not your country.” Waylon shares 10 transformingly beautiful Quotes about Love. These People are Rare Gems—Keep Them, Fight for Them, don’t Give Up on Them. 40 Things I’ve Learned in 40 Years.