My muse hasn't been speaking to me. Not sure exactly when it happened. Not sure what triggered it. Don't know if I did something that pissed her off or if she just got tired of me putting everyone and everything else before her. I didn't even realize it at first. You know how it is. Certain people in your life, usually the most essential ones to your life, are the ones you take most for granted. So even if there was silence there was also the assumption that she was coming back. Out to get milk or something.
Eventually I started to notice the silence. The vacuum she was leaving where once it was fertile. The words stopped coming, but that's happened before. Sometimes she comes in consonants and vowels, others in colors and shadows. But this time I wasn't getting either. I had no inspiration. Ideas came and went and nothing happened. They fell flat like a bad quiche, never managing to live up to their promise, leaving a bad taste of half-cooked dough and the bitter knowledge that it is my fault, that I let this happen, little by little, day by day, every time I chose something else I was actively willing for this to happen. The world started to look flat, I saw nothing on the horizon.
I'd all but lost hope and was beginning to accept that maybe this was a part of me that belonged to my past, together with when I was a pirate on top of a tree house and other lives I've lived and died. But sometimes life does throw you. Not always the most obvious form, in this instance when I went out of my way to support someone else's muse, and then -as if by magic- mine got jumpstarted.
I'm not entirely sure she is here to stay yet, but I am beginning to see new possibilities, direction, meaning to the colors, the shadows and the words. An image I cant quite make out yet is beginning to form, slowly, late into the night (because I had to prove to her that I was taking her seriously this time)
There's new hope in the horizon (to visit the new studies of the horizon series click here)