Ah, to be a muse. To ignite that spark of creativity lying dormant in another soul. To hold the head of the artist in your hands...peer into his eyes, and breathe life. To be the soul that another breathes for. Creates for. Lives for. To hold in yourself the courage to inspire, the confidence to destroy, the beauty worthy of worship. None for me thanks.
Ah, to have a muse. To create for that one person or thing. To know that the power exists in the universe to make the universe whole...at least within your own aching soul. To see beauty enbodied. To close your eyes and taste life. To know that life is worth every breath you take...because another exists. No thank you. I'll pass.
You see, both are prisons of themselves. One to have power...one to release it. And the feelings empowered both by being and having a muse are beautiful and wonderful and wasted. We all have within us that spark, that universe, that power of God himself to create beauty. We hold our creations like diamonds. I wrote a song for another person once. It was a pretty good little tune. It meant the world at the time. She loved it, we got married. I no longer remember the song. I'm still however, very much in love. There is nothing better than to be self inspired...and if that doesn't workthen to be self-disciplined. You see...art is work. It's the work that offers the reward. To have inspiration thrust on us by a muse is false...is temporary. What happens when the newness of the muse wears off...and it will wear off. Then what has become of the muse. So neither to have...or to be...but to discover within ourselves...that is the source...the greatest power of all. I love all of you. My love is my muse. My pain is my muse. My anger is my muse...and these are all mine and mine alone.